A/N: Hiii.

-shot-

Look, I know this took long, but my muse kind of decided to go fly out a window and then there was school and blah and I won't throw excuses at you, I swear. I'd just like you to know that I'm sorry, that my muse is crawling back to me and I can start to feel its presence again. And that I really hope no one's given up on this because it's been … what, five months nearly? Dx

Anyway, this chapter's okay, I guess. Ad to throw in some "past" stuff to make some other things a little clearer. xD

Enjoy!

Warnings: implied boyxboy love, a little blood and a little horror, nightmares, bedtime, and fences. Flames will be used to heat my bedroom because I don't have a heater.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or its characters, but I assure you that I own A DOG AND TWO BIRDS.


Chapter 5: Titles Without a Reason

There was a time in his life that he had thought he felt like this; the equivalent of it's opposite. It was when the world was slowly draining itself into Apocalypse in the corner of his room where he sat, a bundle, sobbing. It was when what was 'normal' was an impossibility for the first time in his entirety, when the name he gave himself had shattered and mixed among the remnants of everything else that had broken. It was when, correspondingly, he cut himself across the sharp blades of what he was and what he lost and what was taken and the betrayal he felt and the pain he felt; cut himself and bled, over and over, never healing.

There were other times, too, that he thought would be yet other equivalents to what he thought he was feeling. He backtracked to two years ago, when he found out for the first time since the Apocalypse that he was able to find parts of himself among the shards and glue them together. When he found that women were no more than friends and men seemed to make his stomach curl with butterflies. There were names for people like that. He couldn't give himself a new name because there was already a title to go along with the shape the shards had formed. Some people called the shape 'fag', and others used 'gay', and they were all names he didn't like. Titles without a proper reasoning.

With that new shape, named not 'fag' or 'gay' but something else he would later define for himself, he thought about ending what the Apocalypse failed to end. Thought that he had glued the wrong pieces together, maybe someone else's or maybe two pieces that just weren't meant to stick. Thought that he would have been better off not trying to find what he was at all. Thought the names couldn't be changed because names could not be shattered. Amanda was the only one who could hold up the pieces, make him listen, grab him by the ear and while sobbing against the tiled bathroom floor and shaking at the blood on her dress and on his shirt and around them both shout at him, "They've always been like this! It's what they're meant to be!"

Did it count as a revelation when he only realized it after being told?

He liked to think so, because at least he was able to hold the shards up high and call them his own.

But there was other pain that reminded him of the pain he was feeling now. Other pain, like that of a constricted throbbing in his chest. Fast-forward to last year, March 4th, because that was when … when –


It was sometime in the afternoon when the sun, bright just an hour ago, was sinking into the thickening clouds along a bank of grey mountains, like thick streams of discolored cotton across their peaks and building up until they became one looming presence that covered the sky. The weather was cold and shrill and biting; his nose was numb and he knew it was red, and so was Amanda's. The cold seemed to stretch the path in front of them longer and longer.

They were nearly home. Or what their home was then, which Sora preferred to call one of the houses they had lived in or where they had stayed for the year, but not "home". It would never be home. Home was where they had left the first time, the island probably called Destiny and the cliché it had presented; "This Island will be the beginning of your destiny, your families destiny, the destiny of your childhood and your sisters childhood and the years beyond …" Sora hated destiny for that, but destiny and Destiny were not the same thing. He did not hate home.

It had started to rain. A rapid pouring from the clouds gathered above them; colder than the cold and harsher than the wind. The little amount of people around them had dispersed into buildings. But he and Amanda still had a little way to go.

In an attempt to get out of the rain, cold and harsh and thick enough now to blur their vision, they had hid under the shelter of a bus stop. The rain pounded the plastic above their heads, and the rivulets that ran down the sides were thicker than usual. It sounded like gun shots. Sora waited to see if they'd shoot through the plastic.

It was a whole minute as they waited for the rain to lessen that Sora had realized there was a figure in the distance. He never would know exactly how He had found them, in such a secluded place. It was just such a – a logical impossibility, being found. Of course, Sora didn't know that it was Him in the distance, and he probably wouldn't have guessed if it weren't for Amanda being as observant as she was. Pausing only to calm herself down so that she didn't warn the "someone" that she knew they were there, she had turned to him and tugged at his sleeve and with a serious trembling that ran through her whole body and found itself combed into his spine had said, "It's Him, and he has a gun!" And she had jutted her jaw out in an attempt to still her trembling lip, and blinked her eyes to hide how wide they were; to blink away the sting.

Sora was so angry and so fucking scared, he didn't realize the mistake of not running soon enough. The figure was too close and pointing at them something metallic and it glittered from the rain; shined, illuminated the hand that held it and illuminated the scar on the hand. The scar that Sora had inflicted, years and years and not-long-enough ago, sometime after a drunken lunge and a grab for a weapon upon the kitchen counter.

His heart was somewhere in his stomach, and the only thoughts going through his head were I'm going to die and I can't let Amanda die like this and maybe mum will make it out okay.

There was no reason to think that he would have survived.

"Stay behind me," he had ordered Amanda, and she had never denied what he had told her to do before, so the thought never crossed his mind that she would then. Only needed to find comfort in the hand clutching his shoulder and the breath that ghosted along the back of his neck.

There was a lapse in his memory, like he rain from that day had clouded his memories, too, because it wasn't satisfied with how much it had fucked with him already; he couldn't remember how exactly He had gotten so close to them, but he remembered what happened after that. Could feel the shivers that ran own his spine then run down it again.

He was just outside the bus stop, still in the rain but that had no effect. Sora could smell that undeniable scent of alcohol and smoke and burnt rubber and fuel, contrasting with the clean tang of the rain and setting the scene He had set hundreds of times before. He was licking his lips; jut of his tongue across his bottom lip, tightened his grip on the gun so that Sora could even hear the squeak of it and then –

"Hello there, sweetheart."

And then He went and said that goddamn word.

Behind him, Amanda stopped. Just … stopped. Her shivering stilled, her breathing lessened so that Sora could barely feel it on his neck, and she just … stood there. The only thing that assured Sora that Amanda had not had a heart attack and died then, right then and there, standing, was the slow trickle of tears dripping down onto his shoulder.

That was her breaking point. She didn't have many. But being called sweetheart by this man was breaking point one and it served its purpose well. It broke. And she was broken again.

He cocked his head to the side, amusement and glee a flash in his eyes and there was another lick of his lips, another adjustment of the grip of the gun in his hand and his other hand was buried deeply into his coat pocket. Probably holding yet another weapon, most probably a knife, but Sora couldn't be too sure and he had given up on predicting what He was thinking long ago.

"Hm, you know, I've been imagining how this would pan out for a while now," He had murmured, flicking his gaze away from Amanda and to Sora. It stayed there. There was another lick of his lips, like a serpent. "I never expected it to be this … easy."

"You bastard," Sora had growled. The gun decided to sway pointedly in the direction of Sora's chest. His heart stuttered and he tried to hide the shiver in his bones. Sora heard the click of the gun. He closed his mouth.

"On the count of three, one of you fucking brats is gonna hit the floor. I don't care who. Just don't go pushing your luck, boy." He spat in the direction of Sora, but it missed, becoming a slimy mess on the pavement. Amanda's grip tightened around him and the slow trickle of tears stopped, suddenly and abruptly. Sora's chest heaved when he realized she was getting braver. Preparing for the worst.

Sora felt like blowing His brains out onto the concrete with that precious gun of his and watching the gunk wash away in the rain and mix with his spit. It would have been a deserving end.

"One …" He hummed, and Sora shook the thoughts of His possible death aside. Didn't rely on the fear eating at his insides. No, no he acted on sheer impulse and the adrenaline that tingled his nerves and that animal instinct, that knowing of where to go to survive, what move to make, what punch to throw –

But what was he supposed to do?

It wasn't distinct, but it was audible. It was a rustling behind him, and he felt movements and jabbing against his back and heard jingling, felt Amanda's arm nudge his hip. Suddenly the smell of deodorant and perfume and makeup filled his nose, and that's when he remembered that Amanda had her hand bag with her. Sora paused, made sure that her face was definitely still resting on the side of his neck. He knew what she was planning. There was only one thing of real usefulness in Amanda's handbag.

And then he noticed the increase of her breath against his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt it reciprocated in Amanda's.

"Two …"

There was no time to plan. It was just an idea in his head, cooperation between him and Amanda without the need of talking or justification. Sora loosened his grip on Amanda's waist behind him, tapped his thumb against her hip, something like a nod, a symbol of his understanding. She had tapped his shoulder, and then gently pushed his neck to one side. She wanted him to move that way. He tapped his thumb again. It was their own language. Bile filled his throat, and he gulped to keep it down.

"Th –"

Sora ducked out of the way, heard plastic drop to the floor and smothered his nerves with the sound. Amanda jumped, holding the deodorant bottle in her hands and poised, ran the two safe steps between her and Him and just as his eyes widened in surprise, sprayed.

He lurched backwards; hand in his pocket flailing out to shield his eyes. Knife thrown into the air but it landed much too far away for Sora to even attempt to grab it. Shit. He fell with a slightly comical wet thump into the puddle behind him, and He cradled his face, hissing and groaning and hunched. Amanda dropped the deodorant bottle.

They ran.

"Don't look behind!" Sora shouted out to Amanda above the pounding in their ears. He had to shield his eyes from the rain.

She had always listened to him when he told her to do something, so he never thought that she wouldn't. Not then, not ever. But they hadn't gotten far enough, and they were wet and cold and scared and Amanda probably wasn't in her right mind, then, probably didn't even realize the reflex action. And Sora couldn't look behind him to see what she was doing. But he could sense it.

When she looked behind.

She had let out a pained gasp, and there was a thump, and it was the only noise he could hear besides the pounding in his ears and the harsh heaving of his breath. And he had turned around, too. They had both looked back.

He skidded to a stop, swiveled around and tried to turn back, but he slipped. Hit his chest against the concrete, heard the crack of it but didn't register the pain as he watched Amanda struggle off the floor with difficulty that could only have meant one thing, one thing that sent NO as a vibration through his body and made him see the spread of red on the concrete underneath her.

The figure in the distance was not in the distance anymore. He was close enough so that Sora could see the gun glisten in the rain, illuminate the hand that held it and the scar on the hand. Amanda winced, and her shaking body defied her shaking hands, and she couldn't stand up.

And Amanda had looked up at Sora, looked right into his eyes and they widened with comprehension when she saw his face.

NO! Not Amanda!

And then He shot the gun.


After thinking about it, maybe the pain he had felt then was slightly more defined than this kind of pain. This pleasing kind of pain. But the pain he felt then and the pain he felt before were both equivalents of the pain he was feeling now, alright. Just … different.

He assumed that love felt something like this; like this pain. If he was, actually and irrevocably and impossibly, in love, then he assumed it would feel like this.

Love, when you know it's not reciprocated, is supposed to claw at your chest as if you have lost someone close to you in a horrific episode of trepidation, of disgust, like a pounding in your ears or the non-sound of gunshots above your head as you wait under a bus stop, isn't it? Like a knife slitting the flesh just above your ribcage, the blood a pearling, fluid substance and you can watch it cascade down and thicken and drip and turn everything into PAIN, isn't it? Like the tears that go unshed but instead claw at your head like that of a thousand ants waiting to feed off the rotting of your mind, your soul, your heart, isn't it? Like the way the very essence of innocence can somehow be turned impure just by a single twisted thought, isn't it? Like when you find out that the one person you trusted the most wanted to kill you so badly it made them insane, to feel that betrayal and hurt and degree of lusted loathing, isn't it?

Isn't it, Riku?

Not that he was, like, in love or anything. Psh.

He couldn't let himself love, anyway.


Sora hadn't had a good night's sleep in God only knew how long. If he had to guess, he would presume that it was something like a year, but he couldn't be sure.

It ended up being for a lot of reasons, really. Sometimes it was because he had a nightmare, or sometimes it was Amanda having the nightmares, and sometimes there would be too much on his mind (thinking about Riku), or he'd hear the voices of his friends whisper in his ears and he'd be too afraid to go back to sleep. Sometimes, even, when these things did not happen, he spent the night waiting for them. It was like a timetable; it was all planned, it was all regular. He hadn't spent a night were all he did was sleep. That was crazy; he couldn't even think about it anymore. Couldn't wonder. Because it was like hoping, and one did not hope when there was no hope.

Tonight, Sora woke up to Amanda screaming. He jolted upright and held his head for a second, sudden movement made him dizzy and it seemed that her screams were echoing against his skull; a familiar and unwelcome throbbing. He stumbled out of bed, carried his head in his hands and hissed as his foot hit something sharp. The door was ajar but the light was not sufficient; it only acted as a poor indicator of where he had to go. If his door was closed, he probably wouldn't be able to hear Amanda's screams, anyway. But he had learnt long ago that it was better to keep it open.

As soon as he opened door, the light in the corridor blinded him. The switch was at the opposite end of the hall and he didn't want to stumble all that way, so he squeezed his eyes shut, listened to her familiar wail, and trailed his hand across the wall. When Amanda's screams were at their loudest, he felt the nook of her doorframe under his fingertips. It was only then that he could hear the distinct sound of sobbing; cut and hushed and sore, and the silence behind that, unperturbed, steady, filled to the brim of her room and seeping out into the hall. There was nothing else besides the non-sound of the light around him and his footsteps.

Sora's hand was shaking as he lifted it up to knock on the door. He knocked once, twice, three times in soft succession. He had also learnt, long ago, that it was better to knock before he entered Amanda's room. Blackened silhouettes entering through your bedroom door in the middle of the night, after you've dreamt about a time a year ago where the rain was too thick to see and all that was definite was a glistening gun in a blurry silhouettes hand - it wasn't something you wanted to see, big brother or someone else.

Her screams had stopped, but her sobbing hadn't. The door opened with a creak, surprisingly and naturally unable to disturb the omnipresent silence around them, only to swing and hit the wall with a bang and make Amanda scream. When Sora opened his eyes, they fell upon her shaking body, curled up on the floor and surrounded by the blankets she had pulled down and saturated with the light from the hall. She was the most vulnerable at night, after all, and even in the summer nights it was safer to be wrapped in one or two or three duvets, because knives stabbed through fabric couldn't reach you.

"Hey", he cooed, advancing to the tight bundle of her body with a lethargic pull to his stride. Amanda shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist. With her arms drenched in the hallway light, it was reminiscent of a straightjacket; psychiatric patient, crazed, hallucinating, shivering and screaming at nothing besides the carpeting on the floor. It made her look like that. It made her look scary. Vulnerable.

Sora shushed Amanda, knelt down onto the roughness of the carpet and wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close and adjusted her head so that it rested in the nook of his shoulder. Her shivers ran through his body in thunderous, familiar waves, and her tears seeped through his shirt and onto his skin. His nightshirt never felt right if it wasn't soaked in her tears.

"It's okay," Sora whispered, rocking her back and forth and playing with her hair. "It's okay." And though he knew it wasn't, he was allowed to lie. It was routine to lie. These were justified lies.

Minutes passed into quarter-hours, and her sobbing had died down into choking hiccups just before Sora's legs fell numb. "You –" She started, and Sora rubbed her back in soothing circles, the way she liked it. "You'd think I'd get used to it by now."

Sora paused, hand still rubbing circles on her back and playing with her hair. He chewed on his words before resigning himself to saying, "You never get used to something like that." Hurtful truth, but maybe it could soothe her, now.

Amanda's body shook against his and her chokes grew into gasps. Sora continued to rub circles on her back and play with her hair, because in these instances the only thing to do was to wait, and he had known that waiting was the best option for a while, now, was used to sitting there and slowly watching Amanda arrange herself into a haphazard bundle and fall into another restless sleep. And as she began to do just that, his hand rubbing circles on her back and playing with her hair, just the way she liked it, the bump on her back just below her rib cage became prominent under his palm. Sora started, surprised and more than a little startled, paused, trailed his hand along it again, glaring at the netherspace above Amanda's shoulder so that he could aim his sudden flare of fury at something inanimate. Traced the shape so that it formed a corrugated circle in his mind. Amanda shivered, shifting under his embrace and he could feel her breath warm, steady against his neck, like she had fallen asleep. The scar was healing, at least, but Sora preferred that he sit there and glare at nothing and reminisce about why that scar was there than pretend that everything was okay. After all, lying to himself never worked.

There was silence, and then darkness, and then with an uncomfortable knot in his neck and a lightening of Amanda's bedroom curtains, it was morning.


Reliability is always a good thing, in Riku's opinion. Reliability meant that you could plan ahead and not worry about the uncertainties in between, because there was always that fall-back, the thing that caught you if you planned it wrong. Riku took advantage of this. He planned, and he made sure that he had something he could fall back onto, and he woke up early so that the contents of his breakfast would not be spilled onto the pavement or the grass or wherever he happened to be whilst outside and going ahead with certain plans that may or may not have involved a day spent with Sora.

His morning was slow and tedious. The alarm went off at seven in the morning and Riku seriously considered ripping it apart and going back to sleep, because no human teenage boy woke up at seven on a Saturday, especially not in the holidays and especially not because his brother would wake up in an hour to go to work. But, Riku guessed, today he was not a normal human teenage boy and rather a confused bundle of embarrassingly buoyant giddiness. His outside was his trusting neutral mask but his insides were in a tangle of YOU ARE GOING TO DO THIS and other half-thoughts that he had trouble smothering, or even identifying.

Ah, but of course, his mother and father were up before he was and eating their breakfast at the dining table without a second glance at their son or any empathy to the fact that they were ruining his plan.

"Hey, hon. You're up early," was chirped by his mother in a too-chip-for-seven-in-the-morning tone.

"Mm," was Riku's smart reply. It meant something like I'm tired so don't try to talk to me, but today could also be interpreted as I'm tired and goddamn nervous and you're ruining my plan so don't try to talk to me. His father, who interpreted human teenage boy talk considerably well, smiled at him.

"You mother and I will be going out to meet the council in five," he stated, and that could have been interpreted as don't worry, we're not going to ruin your plan, and would you start the washing machine before you do whatever you want to do? And make sure you're back by dinner time.

After a considerable amount of shock and a strong wave of gratitude Riku asked, "Why?"

His father cocked an eyebrow in a slightly surprised reaction while stuffing his cheeks with toast. "We're going to ask if we can chop the tree from the front yard down, remember?"

"Oh." Well, that made perfect sense. Kind of.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Sudden screeching filled his ears, and Riku flexed his muscles in an uncomfortable reflex action as his father got up from the table and walked over to the counter and his mother followed him with the plates. They grabbed papers and wallets and mobile phones (and purses, in his mothers case) from the counter and, as they walked past, Riku's father swiveled on his heel and said, "See you, kiddo," which obviously meant remember the washing.

"Yeah, see you," Riku smiled, and his mother pecked him on the cheek while hopping on one foot to adjust the strap on her heel. Leave, dad.

When they left the room, it became unnaturally quiet. Riku held his breath and didn't let it out until he heard the soft slam of the front door.

Now he had to figure out what to wear before Mitch woke up.


Mitch had left in a rather reasonable manner considering it was, well, Mitch. And that Riku was awake at this time at all, and that there was a very obvious reason for his being awake that Mitch was more than reluctant to pass up. Perhaps, Riku thought, if the day started out this … okay, maybe the rest of the day (with Sora) wouldn't be as bad as he was thinking.

He hoped to God it wouldn't be as bad as he was thinking.

But Mitch was gone now; a snide remark or two thrown at Riku before he rushed out the door, tugging on his Nikes and cussing obscenities at the time, and so Riku needn't worry about him anymore. He had other things that were worthy of his worry. For instance, it was a quarter past nine and Sora wouldn't be out in the backyard till ten, and Riku had nothing to do besides pace around the living room, glance at the clock every two seconds and entertain the less likeable thoughts in his head about what the day would be like (with Sora).

If he kept doing this, he'd drive himself rather unattractively insane.

And so Riku promptly fell onto the couch with a huff and entertained his less likeable thoughts there. For three and a half minutes, according to the clock. And precisely thirty seconds after those three and a half minutes he was biting his nails and tapping his heels in an unrecognizably frantic, ergo catchy, beat.

This was ridiculous.

So he went and started the washing early, because he could (and maybe so he'd be doing something besides biting his nails). Riku was sick of thinking the worst, sick literally to his stomach and he felt more than ready to puke the little breakfast he was able to eat onto the floor. So instead of half-thoughts about getting slapped and/or knocked out by a certain brown haired boy who may or may not have had a bad temper, he entertained the more perverted, likeable thoughts deep down inside that made his gut squirm with tingling sensations (that had nothing to do with throwing up) and made his throat go dry. And he decided that, though he may need another cold shower, he liked these thoughts better.

They seemed to progressively get more entertaining as Riku got more nervous, and in between the times of nine eighteen and nine fifty three the order of his thoughts went a little something like this –

They were in a park, not quite afternoon and not quite night, and Sora was on a swing. There was no definable reason for this, exactly, besides the fact that maybe the thrill of getting caught was exciting to some extent, but Riku really didn't know any other reason his subconscious chose a park as the setting of the scene. Did it matter? When his lips were brushing Sora's, he decided it didn't. (But it could have been due to the fact that he planned to take Sora there later that day, because parks were comfortable places where one could possibly feel comfortable enough to snuggle up to another just because they could, but he didn't really care. Really.)

It was a slow, lingering brush, but that was all. Barely a press of lips, hardly could be called a kiss but more like a tease, a taste but not the real thing. That was all, and at that point that was enough, totally enough when he opened his eyes to see Sora's lashes fluttering against his cheeks and to open to something like half-lidded and the curve of his lips to grow into a sheepish grin. It was more than enough, just to know that Sora wasn't going to throttle him and accuse him of being a rapist and a fag, but then, when Sora bit his lip and the look in his eyes asked... again?, Riku wanted more. He wanted the real thing. (Or as real as a kiss could get in one's subconscious.)

At this sudden but delightful revelation, his mind supplied him with a wall. It wasn't a particularly interesting wall, just worn and grey and blotchy, but it was supplied nevertheless and he was grateful for it, because with this wall came the ability to press Sora flush against it. And he took this opportunity in full stride, without one single hesitation and in one instant he was grabbing Sora's wrist and in the next they were flush against the wall and Riku was pressing everywhere, hips and chests and tangled limbs and lips and when Riku kissed Sora and turned it into something hungry and he nibbled on Sora's bottom lip Sora groaned, rubbed his knee in between Riku's legs and o-oh god. Replicated the action for Sora and he moaned Riku's name and god. Hands under shirts and exploring heated skin and the half-thought of taking clothing off but never really getting to that point and Riku's lips tasting the skin behind Sora's ear and Sora's breathy ah's into the crook of his neck and god.

And god, was it already nine fifty-three?

This delightful yet unrealistic thought process ended with an uncomfortable halt as Riku processed the time, the slight problem of something down south that wouldn't go away, and the fact that he had seven minutes to rid of this problem.

"Fuck."

Obvious swearing aside, no, he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't. Riku was going to think of something appropriate that would work in seven minutes and he was going to think of it fast (as to not bring up an uncomfortable situation or the possibility of being throttled and/or killed by Sora, if he didn't run away in disgust).

He didn't want that. He wanted Sora to be comfortable. That was the whole point of today. Sora being comfortable, comfortable enough to lean (snuggle) against Riku just because he could, comfortable enough so that when Riku probed into his life he wouldn't think a second thought about telling him every single detail and not notice how Riku would gobble it all up like it was all he could ever eat. Riku just had to … think of something that would put him off these delectable thoughts. Immensely.

He did not like where this thought was taking him.

Oh God.

Memories that he didn't want to remember bubbled at the surface, at the edges of his eyes but he wasn't able to see them, yet. He didn't know whether this was such a good idea or not. The memories first turned into sounds, muffled sounds that were muffled by the wall between his bedroom and his brother's, sounds such as bed sheets rustling and murmurs and moans and bed springs and then he was there, in bed, on a cold night half a year ago. Woken up by a particularly loud (and frightening) moan and he was trying not to listen to what was obviously happening between his brother and his girlfriend.

"M-Mitch –"

Oh God. Riku covered his ears with the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut tight, like maybe the sound was coming from the dark around him and if that dark was dismissed with his eyelids the sound would go away. But it didn't, it didn't go away but it got worse. So much worse, and the bedsprings of Mitch's old bed came into the picture and the small huffs of breath that could once be distilled by the pillow were much louder and severe and he could hear more, like the wall wasn't actually there and god, couldn't Mitch go do these things in a hotel or something?

Riku cut his memory off there, before he scarred himself. Again.

He looked down. At least it had started working. Now he just had to continue not thinking about anything that would cause him any more trouble and he'd have two minutes to go check his reflection in the mirror and grab his wallet.

Two minutes later, it was ten o'clock according to both his mobile and his watch, even though the clock on the wall read an unreliable nine fifty-four. He would have to remember to change that.

He had brushed his hair through with his fingers, then given up on that and used a brush. Made a mental note to trim his hair. He had then stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection for a good thirty seconds before rubbing his temples, sighing, rolling his shoulders, and walking out into the backyard with the washing in hand. If he had to do it, he had to do it, and he was going to incorporate it into his plan and work around it because it was not disadvantaging him, dammit.

As it turned out, the moment he stepped out onto the grass was the moment Sora walked out his back door. Riku allowed himself a pat on the back for his absolutely great timing (and didn't push away the thought that hey, maybe this was fate) before getting back on track.

He put up the washing while listening to Sora whistle. It was nice. Just knowing that he was meters away from Sora was nice.

When the washing was done, and his flannel was splattered with water, he walked over to the fence. Sora was now so quiet that Riku didn't even know if he was there anymore, but he knelt down onto the yellowing grass and he looked through the hole in the wood. Sora was there, but he wasn't drawing like Riku had thought. He was just … gazing out into the distance, somewhere between the corner of the fence and where Riku knelt. Gazing and smiling like a complete and utter idiot.

Riku wondered what he was thinking about.

Throwing all tact aside, including the opening line he was supposed to announce to Sora as he jumped over the fence via the ladder he was growing quiet fond of, Riku climbed the ladder, jumped off, watched the way Sora started and hit his head on the branch above him and landed with a graceful crunch of grass under his feet.

"Ouch. You okay?" Smirked because he couldn't help it.

"Guh," Sora mumbled, rubbing his head. Glared at the branch above him for a couple of seconds with a firm, annoyed pout that looked rather good on him, in Riku's opinion, before glancing towards Riku. Nervous flick of his eyes, a tanned hand running through his spiky hair.

"Um … exactly what are you doing in my backyard? Again?" And as an afterthought, "I don't, uh, mind or anything."

Ignoring the question, Riku walked his way over to Sora and squatted in front of him. Studied his face like he was never going to see it again. Loved the way Sora's expression turned from confused, to stubborn, and then to embarrassed, how he turned his face away and mumbled something incomprehensible to his shoulder.

"What was that?" Riku teased, leaning to the side to catch Sora's eyes with his own.

Riku was so close, could smell the shampoo in Sora's hair and the soap on his skin and the food he ate for breakfast (toast, definitely toast, probably burnt), could feel the heat from Sora's skin close and warm and so inviting, just cooing him to come closer, closer, closer …

Fantasy forming in his head, something like the park scene but it looked more like Sora's backyard had sprouted a swing set, wood chips and all, and some monkey bars along the fence. Riku was kneeling instead of squatting, because that was most obviously the more comfortable approach, kneeling in front of Sora and Sora had his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly. Moving closer, just a little, tickle of breath on Riku's lips. Tilted his own head to side and closed his own eyes and leaned forward a little closer and then –

And then he shook his head slightly like it would somehow shake the thoughts out of his mind. And Sora was looking at him. Staring, more like it. Sora was staring at him.

He needed to not make himself look like a complete douche, now.

"So. What were you thinking about?" Oh, brilliant move, Riku.

Pause, frown of consideration and then, "… Huh?"

"Before, you weren't drawing. You were staring at the fence. So it looked like you were thinking about something." Smile, shift on his feet and he tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. "What were you thinking about?"

It was funny how Sora's eyes widened. And widened … And widened. "Nothing!"

"Psh, I don't believe you."

"I swear!"

"I'll tickle you."

Sora froze. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"But I wasn't thinking about anything!"

Riku rolled his eyes and blew the hair that continuously fell in front of his eyes away.

"You're such a bad liar it isn't even funny." Did he really expect Riku to think that he wasn't thinking about anything after Riku saw that look in his eyes? While he stared at the fence?

Wait.

Waaaaaaaaait.

Sora was looking in the direction of his house, wasn't he? And he was continuously denying thinking about anything, wasn't he? And he was blushing, wasn't he? And he was smiling before, wasn't he?

No. No, he was NOT thinking about Riku. He wasn't. That's just … fuck, that's just unimaginable. Actually, no, it is imaginable, but it's not possible. Riku was just being full of himself. That was it. That was all.

But he asked anyway, because, you know, common curiosity and all.

"You were thinking about me, weren't you?"

Sora froze yet again, but this time he was staring at Riku, right into his eyes, and they told Riku quite plainly that yes, that was exactly what he was doing, and please don't hate me for it.

Riku could have sworn Sora's eyes were saying yes. He could. Have. Sworn.


A/N: Yes, I know. Not enough SoraxRiku. But it shall come. NEXT CHAPTER.

See you guys then xD