It's been awhile and for that we truly apologize. We haven't left the site nor have we quit the KH fandom. Life just has a bad habit of getting in the way-either that or writers' block, which I'll admit, struck more than a few times during this chapter. We love you guys, especially all of you who have remained faithful to RiSo and the KH fandom in general. Thank you so much for all of your support.
Roxas's morning began normally enough: fumble around searching for the snooze button that would turn off the alarm blaring loudly and annoyingly in his right ear; stagger hopelessly in vain looking for some decently clean clothing; take a shower hot enough to scald and hopefully wake him up sufficiently so that he didn't kill himself with caffeine overload as an alternative, and then go to class.
Unfortunately those were the last reaches of normal for his Monday. Because sitting in the last row of his class was Axel—Axel, who had disappeared with that creep, Saix, on Sunday morning and who he hadn't seen or spoken to since—who had gone from the carelessly insouciant jackass that he knew, to a hard brittle stranger whose wit had been sharp enough to cut himself on.
There was no mistaking those fire-engine red spikes offset by smirking emerald eyes, or the black combat boots tapping restlessly on the cold tile of the classroom floor. He did a double take, then took a third look, longer than the first two just to make sure that he wasn't imagining things—or perhaps caught in one of his alternate universe dreams in which he found himself naked and hideously embarrassed for everyone to see.
He debated for an endless second whether the intelligent move would be to take his customary seat near the front of the class or whether he should just confront Axel head on—ask him what the hell he was doing there and why he felt it necessary to torment him with his presence.
He had just convinced himself that it was smarter to act as if nothing had changed, to go sit on the left side of the classroom closest to the window where he could peer out when History inevitably grew boring—but then Axel's smirk grew, as if he knew what Roxas was thinking—the smirk called Roxas a coward, challenged him to take the empty seat next to him or run from him, as taking a seat near the front would be construed. So he pugnaciously set his jaw and marched up the aisle, determined to make Axel regret the choice.
He slid into the seat next to him and dropped his bag to the floor with a hard smack then turned to face the redhead.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Despite his determination to remain calm his voice came out little more than a hiss.
"Why, Roxas, good morning to you too. How was your weekend? Did you sleep well?" Axel wasn't even trying to hide his amusement at the situation and Roxas could feel his temper flaring hotly to life.
"What the hell—" He couldn't even finish the sentence this time, he was so thrown off-kilter and—well, flabbergasted didn't even begin to cover it.
"It's a new day and the dawning of a new era," Axel said, that irritating smirk still in his eyes and tilting his mouth crookedly.
"What does that mean?" Roxas asked, trying with all of his might to keep his voice cool and steady but failing abysmally. His voice had not trembled.
"Roxas, Roxas, it means that I am now an associate scholar at this school—a bosom peer, a fellow free thinker and the embodiment of scholastic achievement."
His mouth did not hang open. He was perfectly composed, calm. Axel's presence meant nothing in the scheme of things, had no bearing on the routine of his days.
"You have to be joking!" Except he could feel his face turning red and his fists clenching so tightly that his bitten-down nails were even now digging into his palms.
"I would never joke about something as serious as my academic role in a new school. I am here to inspire and play idol for all of you freshman hoping to someday achieve the greatness that means becoming an upperclassman."
It was only then that Roxas understood the ramifications of what he was saying. "You're in this class? But it's a sophomore class!"
"Yes, I know."
"But—"
"Unfortunately my former teachers did not appreciate the vast knowledge I imparted to them on this particular subject, nor my absence when I decided that history was better left in the past."
"You flunked it," Roxas said flatly.
"Twice." Axel said smartly, his smile widening. "Classroom learning is just so confining, don't you think?"
"How the hell did you even make it into this school?" Roxas asked in disbelief. Twilight Town Academy was hardly a normal high school and the entrance exam to get in had been difficult even with all the months of studying he'd done.
"Oh, Roxie, my dear naïve one, don't you know by now what makes the world go 'round? I'll give you a hint: It's not sex, although that would have been the fun way to make it into this school."
"Money?"
"Guessed it in one," Axel replied, settling into the hard-backed chair with a sigh. "I don't suppose you'd like to tutor me?"
Roxas could feel his face flushing. Of course Axel hadn't meant sex but his half-asleep brain had immediately jumped on the word, still stuck on the redhead's explanation of how the world worked and generally flummoxed by his presence altogether. "No."
"Why, Roxas, you didn't think I meant anything other than History, did you?"
"NO!" he shouted and the students who'd begun filing into class all turned to look at him. He sank further into his seat, gritting his teeth as he stared down at his desk.
Roxas made the mistake of glancing up and saw that those emerald eyes were trained on him. Something hot and intense was there but Roxas refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he turned to face the front of the class then, feeling his face grow even warmer as the teacher finally brought the students to attention.
The next hour was agony. Roxas never took his eyes away from the teacher or the grease board and what she wrote there, but all the time he was aware of Axel sitting a few feet away, his combat boots tapping the gray tile restlessly, his fingers drumming the desk top, his head bouncing occasionally to some beat that only he could hear.
Why couldn't he just sit still? Why did he have to be so distracting?
Finally, after interminable seconds, minutes, hours, days—the bell rang signaling the end of class, and he couldn't hide his relief as his breath whooshed from him in one gigantic exhale.
"Hey, Roxas?"
He turned to see Axel staring at him through narrowed eyes although he couldn't read the expression there. "What?"
"Thanks for Sunday."
"Wha—" Before Roxas could ask him what the hell he meant by that, Axel was out of his chair. He stared after him, listening in stunned surprise to the squeak of Axel's boots as he reached the door.
"I'll meet you at the old oak tree near the soccer field for lunch. Don't be late," he said, just before disappearing with one last wave over his shoulder, leaving Roxas still sitting in his seat with his mouth hanging open.
Lunchtime rolled around faster than Roxas had anticipated. He had spent the better part of his next class doing his best to hide his agitation from Hayner and Olette, who both shared English with him, and pondering the mystery of time: Why was it when you wanted time to speed up it never did, but when you were happy enough to live in the moment, to never leave your classroom or experience the ringing of the bell that signaled lunch, it somehow came with all the speed of a runaway train? He'd had a very short conversation with Hayner explaining that he couldn't meet the gang for lunch and then he was off, heading toward the soccer field with all the excitement of a death-row inmate ready to meet his fate.
The grass which made up the field was still partially wet from last night's sprinklers, or perhaps the morning fog, and his beat up Vans squelched slightly as he trudged toward the old oak. He knew that he was late but aside from the possibility that Axel would make him pay with the sheer annoyance of his presence, he didn't feel that the redhead had anything else to punish him with.
Of course though, when he finally did reach the old oak, the place was empty, the small breeze that lifted and tugged the branches of the tree the only sign of movement.
He gave a great sigh of irritation as he threw his bag onto the ground, settling down against the base of the tree and pulling his knees up to his chest. He didn't even have any food, usually gorging himself on pizza or spaghetti or whatever else the cafeteria had chosen to serve as barely palatable entrées.
Suddenly the smell of cigarette smoke wafted toward him and he turned his head to see Axel leaning against the tree trunk just behind him. It was all he could do not to jump out of his skin as his eyes skimmed up long legs clad in faded black jeans, up to an old black trench coat under which he could see the barest edges of a screen print on a faded charcoal t-shirt, and finally up to those green, green eyes marked underneath by two triangle tattoos.
"Hey," Axel said, waving a hand that held a cigarette clasped between index and thumb and not even noticing that he had just taken ten years off of Roxas's life.
"I thought you quit," Roxas managed, his throat feeling dry for some inexplicable reason as he realized suddenly just how quiet it was.
"I did. This is my last pack. Got to make it last." Roxas could've sworn he heard him mutter something about blonds and crushed cigarettes but he chose to ignore it in favor of asking the question that had been eating at him ever since he'd seen Axel sitting so casually in the back of his classroom.
"Why are you here? And don't give me one of your smartass answers about being God's gift to the student population or some other bullshit. Why aren't you back in Radiant Garden?"
Axel contemplated him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he wanted to test him—to give him the smartass answer that Roxas had told him not to give—but instead he eventually shrugged and pulled the fore-mentioned crushed pack from his trench coat pocket, shook another cigarette out, then lit it with his now familiar Zippo. "Shit happens."
Roxas was sick of not getting any answers; at the same time he knew he had no right to pry. Spending one abbreviated day at the beach together did not constitute any sort of friendship. He still had to clench his jaw to keep from biting Axel's head off. "Yeah, whatever." He stood up suddenly, picking up his bag and holding it aloft with one hand before swinging it over his shoulder.
He started forward but was stopped by something—namely Axel's hand gripping the edge of his backpack to keep him in place. "Where are you going?"
"If you're not going to tell me what's going on, I don't see any reason for me being here," he replied, curt dismissal in his tone. He tried to start forward again but the gripping hand didn't let up, merely tightened in response to his movement.
"I transferred. There's nothing else to talk about."
"Fine then, don't tell me," Roxas replied flatly. "Don't tell me why you're here all of a sudden, why you disappeared on Saturday when your father called you, or what that shit with that Saix creep was all about. Or even why you were hanging out in that alley to begin with."
Axel smiled down at him, cheshire grin in place. It didn't fool Roxas, who noted that the smile never reached his eyes. "Thought about it a lot, didn't you?"
"Maybe I should just go and find Saix and ask him what the hell is going on," Roxas snapped, tired of the whole mystery.
"Don't." Any amusement that had been there faded from Axel's face as he stared into Roxas's eyes. "I mean it, Roxas. Stay away from Saix."
He was more confused now than ever. Why did Axel even care what he did? But more than that, why did he care how Axel spent his free time? As Roxas had reminded himself constantly since they had met, they were NOT friends. There should be no reason for any of this. The hand that had gripped Roxas's bag to keep him in place slowly gentled and then dropped completely but Axel's stare remained hard. "Promise me."
Roxas ignored him, his heart was now stuttering in his chest uncomfortably and he struggled to get out the question that he'd been pondering since Axel had asked to meet him here. "Then what do you want from me?"
Axel didn't say anything for a moment and something unnamable was revealed in his expression—melancholy, fatalism, desperation, helplessness?—as he looked down at Roxas. Then a smile broke it, whatever it had been, and it was the same grin he'd worn on Saturday, the one that was real and bright and actually meant something. "You heard Saix. I don't have a lot of friends. You want to be my friend, Roxas?"
Roxas wanted to say no. He wanted to point out that friends talked to one another, told them what was going on, what was bothering them, but he couldn't. Not in the face of that smile. He was still wary though when he finally answered. "We'll see." Axel's expression brightened further and a triumphant grin that he took no pains to conceal widened his mouth. "But if you piss me off, I'm reserving the right to kick your ass," he finished, staring down at the grass beneath his shifting feet. He didn't look up at the redhead as he said it. He couldn't. Not with Axel smiling at him like that and with nothing between them but the cool breeze sweeping through the leaves of the large oak behind them.
But then Roxas finally couldn't stand it anymore and he glanced up, one blue eye peeking through the stiff bristles of his bangs, a tentative peek at first but Axel's green eyes were so intense that they managed to capture Roxas's own until they were both staring. The smile was still there and it lit Axel's emerald eyes, rivaling the sun for warmth, and for an instant Roxas felt his breath catch and his heart stutter in his chest.
"Yeah, whatever, Roxie," Axel replied, breaking the silence. He reached up one hand in order to ruffle Roxas's hair but the younger boy shrugged away irritably, still trying to tell himself that he'd been mistaken, that his heart had not fluttered, and his breath had not hitched in any way whatsoever.
"Don't call me that." For unaccounted seconds only the vague sounds of passing cars on some road somewhere, and the closer but still distant echoes of laughter from the other students enjoying their lunchtime were audible.
"You owe me ice cream," Roxas finally chose to say, doing his best now to look anywhere but at Axel, and not paying any attention to the fact his demand made no sense.
He saw Axel tilt his head in question out of the corner of one eye and for another moment there was nothing but that same quiet stillness between them. Then Roxas heard him murmur softly under his breath, "Anything you want, Roxie. Anything you want."
And Roxas was content with that. For now.
Lunchtime in Radiant Garden Academy bore little difference from any other school, despite its reputation as one of the better college prep institutions. Groups of freshman, sophomores, juniors and seniors clumped together in packs or pairs, drifting in and out of each other's personal space, like schools of fish or maybe swarms of bees given the amount of noise they made.
Most of the classes had already claimed their respective bases of operation for social discourse—the freshmen had grabbed the picnic tables in the courtyard (the quad, as it was affectionately dubbed) and it was, by far, the noisiest place in the school during lunch hours; the Second Years, stuck in that horrible in-between state of not freshmen but not upperclassman either, had chosen to display their newfound maturity by claiming the two largest tables in the back of the Dining Hall, pushing them together and congregating around them like a swarm of locusts; then there were the Third and Fourth Years, who were far less static and chose to move fluidly between groups because their self-identities were, for the most part, already confirmed, and they had other more important worries on their mind—like college entrance exams, and how to convince their parents that they really did need a car, even though Radiant Garden Academy didn't allow for them.
Squall was doing his best to ignore it all, trying to ignore everything—his surroundings, his thoughts, his emotions, his memories. He was, in fact, doing his best to imitate a wall, unfeeling and practically invisible to everyone around him.
For the first time in a year he was spending his lunch hour alone. Seifer, Tidus, and Wakka had been Riku's friends before they were ever his and therefore, if Riku needed space—maybe forever—then it was Squall who would make the sacrifice. Before he'd cemented his friendship with Riku, and then finally the others, he'd spent the majority of his time at the Academy alone. He was used to it and most of the time actually enjoyed it.
Not today. Today he was not thinking, not feeling, not remembering. He was not seeing wide hurt blue eyes in a bruised face, nor was he remembering Riku's narrowed gaze as he'd noted that Sora had called him Squall, a name he didn't even allow his closest friends to call him by. He was not going to recall the tight feeling in his chest as he'd watched Sora walk away without looking back, or the argument with Riku afterwards that had been spoken through gritted teeth on one side, and guilty, icy silence on the other.
Still, he'd gotten his point across. The fact that Sora had been such a mess—an exhausted, injured, and probably traumatized mess—had gone a long way toward nailing the coffin shut on any plans Riku had to ever bother Sora again.
Riku, despite his jaded and slightly dissipated moral outlook, did still have a glimmer of conscience, just enough so that he wasn't completely blind to the harm he'd caused or the possible consequences of what could have happened. But it wasn't Riku's face that Squall couldn't forget. It should have been, because he'd known him longer, had woken up to find Riku sitting in his desk chair on those terrible nights when the dreams had gotten as bad as they could get, and just his presence had made him feel better. But still, it was wide blue eyes shadowed by hurt and disappointment, and maybe something that had looked a little like betrayal, that he couldn't keep from thinking about.
So there he was with his back against the wall of the Science Hall, which no matter how many times was cleaned still smelled of sulfur, and ammonia, and ethanol, and a bunch of other chemicals Squall had no name for nor cause to care, doing his best not to think, remember, or feel. And it was there that the object of his non-thoughts found him.
Squall was leaning with his head tilted back against the gray stone, his arms crossed over his chest, fingering his yellow arm band when a shadow fell over him. And even before he looked up he knew who it was. Sora always did have more guts than sense.
There was silence for a moment as they looked at one another and Squall noted in a very distant way that there was still a violet bruise on Sora's cheek that was just beginning to turn green, a red abrasion on his chin, and a small cut bisecting his right eyebrow.
Blue eyes locked with gray, and Squall was more than disturbed to find that he couldn't read Sora's expression. His face was a perfectly blank mask, and Squall knew with certainty that in all the times he'd seen or talked to him, Sora's face had never looked that way. It was so unlike him—he normally wore happiness like a perpetual halo that radiated from his pores—that Squall didn't have any idea what to say.
"Sora," he finally said, eyeing him cautiously and with barely concealed puzzlement.
"Leon."
Squall flinched. He couldn't help it. And who would ever have thought that by asking Sora to call him Leon, he'd hurt himself more than he'd ever hurt anyone? Except Sora, maybe. Because if that blank expression meant anything, it was that he'd pushed the younger boy too far that night, so far that Sora felt the need to hide behind a wall of indifference just to get through their conversation.
"Sora, I—"
"It's fine. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. About everything." And with stiff shoulders and a tight nod, Sora began to walk away. Squall couldn't handle it, couldn't stand to sit there and watch him walk away a second time.
"Sora, wait." For a moment he was ninety-nine percent certain that Sora wouldn't listen to him, would continue to march away, out the door of the empty, smelly hallway and into the light of the courtyard—where he belonged.
But no, Sora paused with his back to him and waited—waited because Squall had no idea what to say to make any of this better, to wipe that blank, empty expression off that normally sunshine face. Sora waited and waited, until Squall finally rose to his feet and did what he'd wanted to do since the first time he'd seen Sora's bruised and slightly lost face on that horrible Saturday night.
He walked toward him not thinking, because thinking, he'd just realized, was overrated and possibly got him in more trouble than just going with gut instinct, placing a careful hand on Sora's shoulder, testing the younger boy to make sure that this was okay. Finally, the tension in Sora relaxed enough for Squall to feel comfortable putting a second hand on his other shoulder, then tentatively, and oh so carefully, slid both arms around him from behind, tightening them so that Sora's back was firmly pressed to his chest. And he waited.
Still, Sora surprised him as he practically melted back against him, reaching up to hold Squall's arms to him like they were the last life raft on a sinking ship. Squall held his breath, afraid to move or breathe or do anything that might harm the fraying bandage he'd placed over Sora's wounds by giving in to his urge to embrace him.
They stood there, pressed together for countless seconds until he leaned down, and Sora tilted his head as if already knowing what he was going to do, and Squall spoke in his ear, his lips brushing against the tiny hairs of the lobe there, which caused Sora to shiver as he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Sora didn't respond for a moment, merely stood there, and Squall was very much afraid that the bandage wasn't enough, that Sora's wounds were far too deep and raw for him to fix, like trying to cover a bullet wound with a band-aid. But then the smaller boy turned halfway around in the cage of his arms to face him. And in those eyes Squall saw what he'd wished for—forgiveness, and happiness, and more than just the slightest traces of hope.
"For what?' he whispered, eyes wide and so blue it almost hurt to look at them.
Squall didn't know what to say to that. It seemed obvious to him, the hurt that he'd caused, and it wasn't like Sora to pretend that he had no idea what he was talking about.
Sora turned around fully then and Squall made a motion to remove his arms but the younger boy didn't allow for it, pulling himself closer and wrapping his arms around Squall's waist.
"It wasn't your fault. I was stupid." His arms tightened, and Squall hugged him back, trying to ignore just how good it felt to have Sora there in his arms.
"Yes, you were." Sora made an indignant sound in the back of his throat and Squall had to smile. "But I was hard on you. I know that whole thing wasn't your idea."
Squall felt Sora swallow hard before the younger boy finally shook his head. "You're wrong. It wasn't Riku. It was me. I'm the one who suggested it. Riku just went along with what I wanted."
Squall did his best not to snort. Riku never did anything unless he wanted to. More than that, he was very sure that his friend—former friend, perhaps—had managed to make Sora believe it was his idea. Riku had always excelled at the art of manipulation.
There was silence for a moment before he looked down and saw Sora's downturned eyes. Misery was obvious in his expression.
"What's wrong?" Squall asked, still uncertain that Sora had forgiven him.
"Nothing."
"You're lying." Squall knew he was right when Sora wouldn't meet his eyes and began chewing on his lip. He hesitated before speaking.
"Riku."
"What about him?" Squall couldn't help tensing. Had Riku done something to Sora? Something beyond putting him in danger on Saturday night?
"He's avoiding me." Squall's shoulders relaxed at that and he almost smiled in relief. It was exactly what he wanted to hear but when he saw that Sora still looked unhappy he felt a pang of worry.
"Sora?"
"I don't know what to do. Why is he mad at me? I don't understand."
"Sora—"
Sora shook his head and tried to smile although it fell flat. "No, don't worry about it. It's my problem. I'll figure it out."
Squall felt jealousy shoot through him and he did his best to shake it off. As long as Riku stayed away from Sora everything would be fine. He knew that a large part of what he had done was selfish in motive, but in the long run it was better for Sora because Riku in no way had Sora's best interests at heart.
He tried to pull back from the hug, because they were still embracing in the middle of a very public hallway, but again Sora wouldn't allow it, and with a sigh he gave in and rested his chin on the smaller boy's head. He forgot sometimes how tiny Sora really was because his personality was just so big.
Sora sighed, nuzzled against his chest, and whoa, that was a little too much for Squall, because having those kinds of thoughts—here—in the smelly Science Hallway, was not a good thing. He was beginning to have them though, because Sora was small, and warm, and he fit perfectly in the shelter of his arms, and his nose was pressed into the little triangle of Squall's collarbone—also perfect. He wanted to nuzzle back, press his face into his those soft spikes to absorb the clean scent of vanilla, and shampoo, and whatever baked sweet Sora had managed to gorge himself on during the break.
But he couldn't. Not here.
He managed to ignore the little voice in his head which argued that he had sworn he was going to give Sora up, because he knew with total certainty that he wasn't good enough for anyone right now; especially someone like Sora, who was clean, and bright, and happy, and good in a way that people underestimated the value of.
Instead he brought his mouth down to Sora's ear, not hard to do from his position, trying not to notice that Sora trembled slightly as his lips brushed against it. He brushed his lips once more there, just to confirm the truth of it, and Sora shivered, and Squall felt warmth pool in his abdomen.
"Do you have practice today?" he whispered, mouth sweeping over Sora's ear again and again until his trembling was a constant thing. Squall loved the reaction, loved how responsive he was.
"Y-yes," Words hissed between clenched teeth, that shiver, hot press of the smaller body against his own. Squall had to restrain himself from growling beneath his throat in response.
Not here. He held the thought, letting the mantra repeat itself in his mind to keep from jerking Sora to him right there in the hallway and shoving him into the nearest wall. He was just so warm—a little furnace—and Squall had been cold for so, so long.
"Do you still want me to tutor you?"
Sora shivered again, harder than before, but this time his words were firm if a bit husky. "Oh, yeah."
He smiled as he pulled away to look down at him. Sora's tremors were easing but his eyes were half-lidded with sensuality in his small, heart-shaped face, and it was all Squall could do to ignore the heat that had traveled straight from his abdomen to his dick in response.
"Fine. Meet me in the library after practice." Sora's face lit up, but Squall's expression was deliberately severe as he continued. "No shenanigans, Sora. We'll be there to study, not to fool around."
Sora's grin didn't alter, and Squall felt his stomach drop because he was one-hundred percent certain that he was not going to be able to hold onto that resolve. So was Sora, if that satisfied expression was any indication.
Fuck it. He thought, just as the bell rang. I'm tired of fighting myself.
If it hasn't been mentioned before, now is the time to clarify that Radiant Garden Academy had the largest fencing arena on the continent. The only other arena that came close to being as big was Midgar's, and that was across a small expanse of ocean. The larger University fencing tournaments were almost always held in Radiant Garden, usually toward the end of the Academy's semester when the student body was released for the Holidays. It was quite the event, and during those times the city was filled to the brim with college students and fencing aficionados eager to witness the promise of grace in motion, to gaze in awe at an art form that had lasted centuries or more. After all, it was what the Academy was noted for. Despite the fact that the school had a successful history in most areas of sports, such as blitzball which was held during late spring, and the ever-constant soccer, as well as track and field, fencing was what had made the school famous. The amount of funds that went into the program was enormous, the amount derived from such expense, however, was returned ten-fold.
Fencing practice was not taking place in the larger arena for which the Academy was famous for. Instead it was being held in one of the bigger classrooms, the size of a large hall that had probably at some point been a ball room but was now normally reserved for P.E. when the weather was bad, with large floor-to-ceiling windows and long mirrors on each wall. The place was crowded by the time Sora stepped into the room, and all of them stopped and stared at him as his footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor.
Inwardly he sighed. Whether he had wanted it or not, everyone now knew who he was. He had wanted to make a name for himself at the Academy, but he would never have chosen this way had he had the choice. His fight with Riku, their obvious rivalry, had caused two reactions among the students: awe or resentment. Riku, for better or worse, was a seasoned swordsman, well-known and with an established reputation that he had earned during the past three years at the Academy. Sora had none. He was just some no-name kid, a wild-card, from some barely-heard-of island.
He hadn't needed to listen to the whispers to know that many of the students thought he was getting ahead of himself, and after all: Who the hell was he, other than some backwater runt with a hero complex? On the other hand, Riku had obviously made some enemies. Aside from his sparkling personality, Riku's wealth and lineage were the source of some envy and antipathy. Those particular students were perfectly happy with Sora's victory the prior week and weren't shy about expressing their approval. Sora's rebellious actions, bucking the social system that Riku had managed to establish in his time at the Academy, had caused a new wave of resentment against Riku, and if Sora had desired it, he could have started his own little gang of delinquents. The thought was somehow unappealing.
He smiled tentatively at the others in the room although only one chose to acknowledge him. The boy was large, larger than all of the rest in the room, with a mop of rust-colored hair. He chose to take that as an invitation and Sora's smile widened as he approached.
"Hello," Sora said cheerfully, buoyed by the other's willingness to speak with him along with the lack of apparent hostility or wariness he had become used to seeing. Instead, there was blatant curiosity and vague amusement as the larger boy held out one massive hand to shake Sora's.
"So, you're Sora," he said thoughtfully, his voice so deep it seemed impossible that it came from someone so young. "Smaller than I'd pictured."
Sora tilted his head and scowled slightly. "Oh, really?"
The other boy chuckled, and for all the world it sounded like a bear's deep grumble just before it settled in for a nap. "I pictured you as at least ten feet tall with razor sharp teeth and laser beams for eyes."
Sora's scowl deepened even further in mock offense. "Hey, I'll have you know that I've grown two inches in the last six months and now top out at a lofty 5'3 and three whole quarter inches."
Again there was that grumbling laugh as Sora finally reached a hand out to shake the offered hand. For someone so large, the other boy's clasp was surprisingly gentle.
"I'm Lexaeus, by the way. I'm sorry I missed all of the action last Friday but I just got back from an extended vacation. A damn shame, too. Might've been nice to see someone beat Riku for a change."
Sora could feel his thoughts darken at the mention of Riku but he didn't allow the smile to fade from his face. Dealing with Riku was for later. "Yeah, it really is too bad." Sora gave Lexaeus an openly appraising look from head to toe before grinning up at him. "But now that you're back, maybe I could hire you as a bodyguard. You could run interference for all of the fans clamoring for my autograph or the Riku groupies out for my blood."
Lexaeus grinned back. "You're funny, too. Zexion didn't mention that either."
"You know Zexion?"
"Yeah, we've been friends since before either of us could walk."
Sora could feel his mouth gape open. "Zexion has friends?" His face began to turn red as he realized what he'd blurted but he was saved by Lexaeus's burst of laughter.
"Yeah, Zex has friends although he doesn't like to admit it. He's always been a hard case that way."
Sora smiled, albeit with a trace of sheepishness. "He does like to keep to himself. So what else did Zexion say about me?"
Lexaeus shot Sora a thoughtful look. "He said you're the bravest person he's ever met." Just as Sora's chest was beginning to puff with pride at Lexaeus's statement, the other boy continued. "And the dumbest."
Sora deflated with evident drama and Lexaeus couldn't help but give another laugh. Strange, for him. He couldn't recall having laughed so much in such a short span. No wonder Zexion liked this kid.
"I'm glad you all are having fun because I promise you, the rest of today won't be."
The stern voice came from a shadowed corner of the room where there was a heretofore unnoticed door with a sign that read "staff only." An unnatural silence fell over the room as a figure emerged, closing the door sharply behind him.
Sora could feel his heart hammering in his chest as Coach Auron stepped into view. He didn't disappoint, which was surprising really, given that Auron's reputation had had Sora believing that he was fifteen feet tall and could kill with just a glance. Instead, a man a little over six feet tall stepped into the light of the room, scarlet keiko-gi and hakama ratty at the hem, as if the garments had seen every fight their owner had been in, left arm tucked inside its sleeve in a make-shift arm sling. Eyes were hidden behind dark spectacled lenses, hair long and tied back in a tail, streaked with gray.
Auron's reputation had, by all accounts, been well-earned. He had been a star fencer in his younger days but it was what he had done after that had garnered him his reputation. He'd been a soldier, a merc, a warrior monk, a scribe, a bodyguard and a spy. No one really knew the truth of what he'd done, where he'd been. But everyone did know that he'd seen enough action to earn him an ugly scar over one eye, and a wounded left arm that was now more for form than function. It hadn't, however, stopped the Radiant Garden Academy administration from offering three times the normal school teacher salary in order to get him on their staff as their fencing master. His name alone had drawn thousands of applicants.
"Which one of you is Sora?"
The quiet in the room was as ominous as the tolling of a death knell. Still, the other students turned as one amorphous being to shoot Sora accusing and curious stares. Auron, who also had a reputation for intelligence, merely followed the rest of their glances to the small boy who was torn between doing his very best to sink into the floor while at the same time resolutely meeting the Coach's eyes with his own. This was, after all, the reason he was here. Riku, Squall, Kairi, and all the rest of the mess he had managed to make over the last week, all of it meant nothing if he couldn't earn his place here, in this room.
"That's me." Sora said resolutely. Unknowingly his determined expression came across as more of a pout than the ferocious scowl he was going for, and Lexaeus, who was still standing beside him, did his best to smother a smile.
"H'm." Auron stared at him appraisingly out of one good eye then turned to look at the rest of the class before addressing them. "Unauthorized duels are strictly forbidden from now on. If anyone is party to one, or knowingly abets the two involved, there will be consequences. Suspension will be the least of it." The silence in the room was once more thick and to Sora, at whom all of this had been directed, it was stinging, causing two dark red stains to appear upon his cheeks. "Where's Riku?"
"Here."
The familiar voice came from the second doorway through which all of the students had entered. Riku stood propped against it, arms folded across his chest, and eyes trained upon Auron before dipping slightly in Sora's direction then moving back to the coach.
"You're late."
"Yeah." Riku said this without a hint of shame but he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the broken rule. "Sorry."
"An hour of kata at the end of practice. And you heard what I said before: there'll be consequences next time. Remember that." He turned away from Riku then to address the rest of the class. "How many of you are new?" A segment of the class, more than a third, raised their hands tentatively. "Stand over there." He gestured to the left side of the room and the remainder of the students, veterans by their silent testimony, shifted to the right in order to make way for the new trainees. "How many of you have done fencing or been in fencing tournaments before?" Of the new students, only Sora and one other raised their hands. "Transfers?" Both nodded their heads and Auron gestured for them to stand in the middle between the groups.
Sora had never felt more awkward, aware once again of all the eyes trained on him, and most especially, of Riku. He risked a glance at the upperclassman but Riku wasn't even looking in his direction. Instead, he was staring unfalteringly at Coach Auron who was giving the mandatory introduction that all instructors were expected to give.
Despite the fact that the students were spread out around the coach in a wide half-circle, Auron managed to make it seem as if he was addressing each person individually, and all without raising his voice. "I assume you all know what you're here for so I'm not going to give you a long lecture on what's expected of you. You know already. Fencing isn't a game. It isn't for showing off or impressing your latest girlfriend. It is an art, it a sport, it is a science, and it is serious. People get hurt, wounded, even die if they aren't careful enough.
Fencing has come a long way since it began. It's no longer about the sword and the fencer itself. In true fencing tournaments you will see a variety of martial arts—jujitsu, judo, karate—all can be employed with the use of a sword. If you have no experience with any of those, all I can say is good luck. I don't have time to start from the beginning. Presumably, if you are here, you have had some training already. The first two weeks are your tryouts. After that, I will be forced to make cuts. From the looks of it, there are over fifty students here. I can only take seventeen. Fifteen makes up five teams, three per team, and two alternates.
As I said before, this isn't a game. This will never be the kind of sport for which you can let your guard down. Be attentive at all times. If I see anyone fooling around, especially at this juncture, it will mean immediate expulsion from the tryouts. For those of you who do make the team, there will be more work to do, more training, and it will never get any easier. Those of you who have already made the team in the past, this is your try-out, too. I don't care if you made it onto the team last year, or even the year before. All that means to me is that you know enough not to accidentally stab yourself in the foot. Your spot on the team is yours to earn."
Auron finished his speech with one last stare at all of them and then motioned to the class. "Now fall into lines. I want to start with some kata. First-timers in front, veterans in back."
Sora was confused about where he was supposed to stand. Presumably, he was neither a veteran nor a newbie so he chose to stand in the third line between the two groups. When Auron nodded his head approvingly of this move, Sora relaxed back into his customary pre-kata stance, feet wide, shoulders relaxed. He turned around to catch a glimpse of Riku out of one eye, moving to a place two rows behind him. Where Sora had elected to wear the keiko-gi and hakama often associated with Eastern style fencing, Riku was wearing the practice uniform given to Radiant Garden Academy fencing team—tight breeches, high soft boots, collared cotton tunic all done in black with the crest of the school emblazoned on the front. His silver hair was tied back at the nape, his eyes intense and facing forward, and if he could feel Sora's stare then he chose to ignore it, moving into the same relaxed stance that Sora was in. The rest of the room seemed to divide itself this way, with obvious former members of the team staggering themselves into lines at the back of the room.
Over the next hour they moved through the kata—using both karate as well as some judo. Auron didn't demonstrate, merely called out the names of the kata as they moved through the forms, assessing them—walking through the lines of students and gauging their balance, their stances, and the ease with which they flowed from one form into another.
Much of Sora's knowledge lay in kenpo, a form of martial arts native to Destiny Islands, but he still managed to keep up with the rest of the students, the forms similar if not exactly the same.
"Alright, that's enough." Auron said, moving once more to stand in front of the class. "I want the new students to pair up on the left side of the room. Veterans on the right. Sora, you and the other transfer student join the veterans." Sora nodded his head and moved to where he saw Lexaeus standing. The older boy smiled at him, shoved rust-colored hair off his forehead as he moved backward so Sora could take his place beside him.
Sora and the other transfer stuck out like sore thumbs among the others, mostly because they lacked the uniform, but Sora especially. His height alone set him apart. No one else even came close to being as small.
The slight smell of sweat, sweet and pungent was in the air as the boys pressed together waiting to receive further instruction, some rocking back and forth impatiently on their heels, others tapping their feet or biting their cuticles nervously. Sora was unable to stand still even at the best of times, and he moved about restlessly, ignoring the curious stares of the students behind him, anticipating their next set of exercises. He was sure that at some point they'd be allowed to spar. Why else would he set apart the veterans from the firsts?
He did his best not to look back at Riku, not to try and catch a glimpse of green eyes and silver hair and concentrate instead on the tryout. At some point he'd have to talk to him, find out why he'd never come by his room on Sunday like he'd said he would, why he hadn't even bothered to try and check up on him—stick his head through the door which Sora had left open just for him and ask whether or not he was okay. Maybe even explain what had happened on Saturday, why two silver-haired jerks with similar features to Riku had tried to pound him. Or what Squall had said to him after Sora had left.
No answers, only questions. It seemed to be the norm where Riku was concerned. He hadn't even known him that long. Only one week and yet it seemed longer. As if they'd been rivals forever.
Concentrate.
He paired himself up, unsurprisingly with Lexaeus, waiting for Coach Auron to finish giving instruction to the other students before coming over to the right side of the room. He stared at them, noting how they had paired themselves before speaking.
"Riku, grab a bokken then come front and center."
Sora tensed as Riku pushed his way forward, grabbing a wooden sword from a hanging rack then moving toward the front. What was going on? A demonstration?
"Sora. Bokken, then front and center."
The others, who had begun murmuring when Riku's name was called, went abruptly silent as they all turned to stare at Sora. For his part, Sora couldn't have been more surprised than if someone had reached out and slapped him. He was momentarily frozen, unsure that he had heard correctly until Lexaeus nudged him.
"Go on."
Sora walked unseeingly toward the bokken rack, not paying attention to the condition of the sword, its size or anything else as he moved automatically to the front. He noted vaguely that Riku wasn't looking at him, hadn't looked at him at all since Saturday, in fact. He saw that his jaw was clenched, green eyes flashing furiously in a pale face as he stared at their coach, moving slightly away from where Sora took his place next to him.
Sora, too, now stared up at their coach, certain that this was no mere demonstration. Whatever it was, he was sure it would be unpleasant if the slight curl of Auron's lip and the satisfaction stamped into his stoic features was anything to go by.
"From all accounts you two seem to be evenly matched. From today until tryouts have ended you two are sparring partners. I'm sure you'll manage to get along." Or else, was the subtext of the words. More than that, Sora was now certain that this was to be their punishment for the unauthorized duel that had taken place between them. Riku's stony expression said that he knew it too. How Auron knew the details of their fight was anyone's guess. Still, neither Riku nor Sora had done anything to hide it, and it had therefore turned into a spectacle. Mistake.
"The rest of you grab a bokken and pair up. Fencers facing the wall are on defense, fencers facing the mirrors, offense."
Riku immediately moved to put his back toward the wall, and Sora paced in a half circle mirroring him. He was fine with being on defense. This wasn't about winning, merely demonstrating that he knew how to hold a proper defense under pressure from an opponent.
As he stared across at Riku he wasn't so certain that the upperclassman agreed. His jaw was set and for the first time since Saturday morning, his eyes met Sora's. He'd been expecting to find nothing in Riku's gaze, sure that when Riku finally lifted his eyes to him that he would only see his own reflection mirrored there, an opaque glass wall that hid his every thought.
Sora was mistaken.
Riku's eyes burned, the green so bright and hot that he felt seared, branded. What was worse was that he could sense it wasn't even a tenth of what he felt—Riku was obviously doing his level best to suppress whatever it was he was feeling only it had managed to seep out against his will. The gaze was like nothing Sora had ever felt and the electricity of it had caused every nerve in his body to go into overload, caused the hair on his arms and neck to stand at attention as his heart leapt into his throat and his knees trembled.
He couldn't hide the confusion he felt, the utter bewilderment because for the life of him he couldn't understand what he had done to Riku to cause such an expression. He only knew that he couldn't bear it any longer, wanted to turn away, escape, run from the room and hide in his room, dive under the blankets of his bed and never come out again. But he couldn't—couldn't look away, couldn't move, could barely think as the aquamarine depths trapped him, held him paralyzed with those poorly concealed emotions. What was it in his stare that burned like fire, like acid? Anger, longing, lust, despair, possession, hurt—any of those things—all of those things? Sora's throat was parched and his body went numb from the overstimulation. He could barely feel the bokken in his hand, had forgotten why he was even there as he tried to speak. God, when had his throat ever felt this dry?
"Riku…" he managed to croak.
Riku's jaw clenched hard, his green eyes flashed hotly, like dry thunder in a starless night, before he turned away. As their gazes were torn apart, Sora felt like something had broken inside of him, like splintered glass shards were stabbing him in the chest. Why? What was going on? What were they doing to one another?
"Riku." He tried again, could only manage the upperclassman's name. But it didn't matter. Riku continued to ignore him, somehow doing the impossible even with Sora standing right in front of him.
It was for the best. Sora had no idea what he would say even if Riku had wanted to listen to him.
Finally, after what seemed to be a year in the span of seconds, Riku turned back to him, still managing not to look at him while keeping his face a blank mask.
"En garde, Sora." The words weren't even audible, whispered as they were in a room full of the clacking of wooden swords. Instead, Sora read the words from the movement of his lips, not even realizing his eyes had dropped to Riku's mouth until he had only the sparest of seconds to bring his previously forgotten bokken up to defend Riku's charge.
The relief of their swords crossing was so overwhelming that he gasped, the release of tension as the bokken crashed together undeniable. Their sparring felt so familiar to him, so mundane, so relaxing in the strangest way possible, as if they'd done this a million times before and would do it a million times again before they were through with one another.
Sora never wanted it to end. For the first time in weeks he felt at peace, content, sure of himself and of why he was here. And the fact that he and Riku had been enemies since he had arrived at the Academy and their relationship was now in some gray area he couldn't define was irrelevant and meaningless.
Their swords met again and again, and they fell into step with one another, trading places with one another without thought, their feet pacing forward then back in parries and lunges, and finally more intricate footwork that resembled the steps in a dance. They didn't even realize when the exercise came to an end, didn't notice that they were now the focus of every eye in the class as their swords cracked together faster and faster in ever increasing thrusts, or the thick silence as everyone around them held their breath, watching the spectacle in wonder as the complicated dance continued.
A thin sheen of sweat covered Sora's body, sweat rolling down his spine and pooling in the small of his back. His right arm was beginning to burn, the familiar pain causing his heart to leap with joy as his eyes locked with Riku's for the first time since their spar session had started. He saw the same happiness reflected there in the upperclassman's gaze, unclouded and uninhibited as his lips tilted up into a genuine smile. Their gazes remained locked as they continued until, by mutual consent and in complete tandem, their swords came together one last time, wood meeting wood, the last clack of it echoing in the stillness of the now silent classroom. They weren't even a foot apart, their eyes still joined, when the clapping began. It started with one set of hands then moved until the clapping spread throughout the room, followed by hollers and whistles.
"Enough!" The exclamation from their coach, as sudden as it was unexpected, had the effect of a bucket of cold water on the cheering students. Sora finally tore his eyes away from Riku to look at Auron who was now studying them in a calculating way. As silence fell once more, the penetrating stare remained until the coach finally took two steps toward the fencers.
"Glad to see the two of you know what to do with your swords."
Sora heard someone snicker even though it was quickly muffled. He glanced over at the other students who were now doing their level best to muffle grins and it took Sora a moment to realize what was so funny. When he finally understood the double entendre he could feel his cheeks burn despite his efforts to stifle the blush and a scowl formed across his features as he glanced up quickly to gauge Riku's reaction. In shock, Sora saw that he was doubled over, his body shaking slightly as tremors racked him in an effort to suppress his laughter. When Riku caught the scowl on Sora's face the upperclassman could no longer hold it in and his laughter poured from him in great gasping chortles. Sora stuck his lip out in his customary pout but inside he could feel his heart leap.
In that moment he was sure he had never seen anything as beautiful as the laughter in Riku's eyes.
We are planning on having Demyx and Zexion in the next chapter but if you're curious to know what the pair did during the weekend read Bouncing off the Walls. It's not complete yet although we're working on the last chapter right now.
Love to all of you who are still with us. Reviews = Happiness and faster updates!
