One of these days, I'd like to get an actually updating rhythm, you know, like updating once a week or so. But I have so many bad days. It's not fair.
Full Summary: In the uncertain world of adults, Sora and Riku attempt to patch together their shaky relationship after almost 5 years apart. It's about love and hate and lost trust, set in a world where the magic has run dry and the boys see each for who they really are. The tension doesn't last for long, however, as both men fall into a routine that they both know very well. Along the way, they become reacquainted with the old qualities that brought them together, while familiarizing themselves with the individuals that each person has become.
Warnings: Language, Break from Riku for a while, A look at the Past, Sora's POV, and finally, Evann.
Disclaimer: None of the characters within this fanfic belong to me. If it did, this would be a full length movie with all smexy-slashy-yaoiness I could legally fit onto a single DVD. Kingdom Hearts is a lovely invention of Square Enix.
Hypervigilance
Chapter 7: Intensity
-
Sora goes to the library at least once a week. It's bright and open and he never feels like he has to constantly watch his back. The urge does arise sometimes, in which Sora remedies his paranoia with a quick glance over his shoulder. Other than a couple tense moments in the stacks, where the light had a harder time to reach, the library had become somewhat of a haven for him. There, no one knew him, no one stared at the yellowing bruises on his jaw, or inquired about the thick cast on his wrist. No one thought about the darkness in his stare, or the frequent number of times he jumped at sudden noises. He could just be another stranger in the library that you didn't acknowledge, much less look in the eye.
Sora spends most of his time browsing, pointedly avoiding the back aisles. His favorite genre was the crime and mystery section. Stories about a retired cop hunting down some estranged serial psychopath. His love interest would become kidnapped and it was his sole duty to get her back safely, enduring all the drugs and car chases and wayward criminals it took to find her. He would have several brushes with death, but every time he would get up and continue saving the day, because that's what he was good at. For obvious reasons, it was Sora's preferred kind of story.
There were days when he would become tempted by the anonymity of the library. The same kind of anonymity that would allow him to briefly stop at the two half-shelves in between young teen and non-fiction, a small spot labeled Self Help by the bright green sign hanging above it. This area listed off categories with the use of little tabs. Low self-esteem, dating advice, parenting. Depression. PTSD. Sexual Abuse. Sora tended to cringe at that little purple tab, shuffling off to a different part of the library before someone began to wonder why a battered looking kid was glaring at books with the same ferocity one would an alarm clock disturbing their sleep, or a that one cloud that always blocked the sun on a really good day. Because there were just some things that a teenage boy's dignity wouldn't tolerate, and in this particular instance, that included a self-help book for sexual abuse victims.
When his search ends, Sora picks a seat, usually at the end of an already occupied table, because all the others are full, and this particular table he picks only has one person at the other end. He lays out his choice of worn mystery novels, flipping through the first with a careful two fingers to turn the pages. They're so yellowed with age, and they have that smell that old books get when they've been in someone's basement for a while.
It started off pretty good, "Marlon Grains never stayed in one location, too long. This was, as it had always been, a simple fact." The rest Sora never got the chance to read, because, at that moment, he was unceremoniously interrupted.
It wasn't even a real interruption, or intentional, for that matter. The person at the other end of the table simply shut his book and was now dragging another from the high stack of thick dusty volumes he had piled at his side. Law books, each thicker, heavier and dustier than the last.
Sora surreptitiously read the spines of each book in the pile, Civil Law, Legal Philosophy, Jurisprudence, Legal ethics, Undead, Zombie Zero, Fangs.
Horror books?
Scanning the wide pages of a book you couldn't justly label by anything other than 'tome', was a man you couldn't justly label by anything other than 'hipster'. Or something similar. Stylish, maybe. Sora wasn't sure.
Half-rimmed red reading glasses, thick silver rings on at least three fingers. His right ear spiked with six multi-colored earrings. He wore a long maroon sweater pushed up to his elbows and had platinum blond hair that wouldn't stay tucked behind his ears. Not exactly what Sora expected to see buried nose-deep in law books.
Twenty seconds pass and Sora doesn't realize he's still staring, and gray blue eyes glance up, a little confused by the unwarranted attention. A few moments of silent contemplation, and the little line between his eyes disappeared, a smile instantly taking its place.
Sora's hands clenched his book tightly, looking down once more, only now reading was pretty much the last thing on his mind. The stranger wasn't allowed to acknowledge him, and he certainly wasn't allowed to make eye contact. The main reason he came to public buildings to hide was so he would ignored. Not smiled at by beautiful law-book-reading hipsters.
He read the same line again. "Marlon Grains was—is—never—Damn it." Eyes. He could feel those strange eyes on him, judging his bruises and his cast and the way he slumped protectively over his books. The feeling was like some stinging little annoyance that you couldn't ignore, and more than once Sora succumbed to the temptation and looked up. Only to gasp inwardly when he met the same stare and almost physically ducked behind his shielding book cover.
Sora folded his arms over his chest as if to hold in all the rising anxiety bubbling up through his sternum as he made his way to nearest secluded area, the bathroom. His hands were already trembling when he abandoned his books at the table. He just needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere quiet that he could silently freak out in without accumulating unwanted attention.
Thankfully, the bathroom was empty, and Sora could sink to the floor and wrap his arms around himself. This happened way more than he cared to admit, a scary, hopeless, drowning feeling, especially in public places. The flashbacks and the darkness, faceless creatures surrounding him, only now he had no means to protect himself. He wasn't much of a warrior anymore. He had long since forgotten how it felt to be strong and fearless.
He had no friends to help. No Leon, no Yuffie or Cloud. No Donald, Goofy or the King. No Riku. Just him, alone. A frightened little kid sitting in the filth of a public bathroom and hugging himself. His trust in Riku was shattered and therefore shaking everything he used to believe in.
If he couldn't trust the one he loved, then who the hell could he trust?
"Hey, you okay?" Eyes. The eyes were back. The beautiful law-book-reading hipster crouched at his side, brushing his hair back with cold fingertips. He smelled very herbal, that was the one thing Sora remembered through the violent fear tearing around the walls of his stomach. That, and the dampened paper towel on his face, wiping away traces of sweat from his forehead.
It was a nice gesture, Sora had enough sense to recognize that, but the stranger was way too close, his eyes too focused on the bruises, the scars, judging, making assumptions. His lips were pulled into a frown that the doctors often made when they saw his appearance, the same little speculating frown that instantly labeled him a victim. Like he was just so helpless.
"Don't f-fucking touch me." Even that sounded weak as he shakily climbed to his feet using the wall behind him for support. Still, the man stayed close as if waiting for him to fall so he could catch him. It would've seemed more sweet and kind if Sora wasn't so aware that he was breathing much too hard and fast over nothing. And that this stranger was witnessing him acting like a total nutcase without so much as batting an eyelash. He just assessed the situation and made his own conclusions based on observation.
"You're having an anxiety attack." The man said calmly, holding his arm. He dipped his head a little to catch Sora's eyes, trying to make him understand what he was saying.
Keep talking.
"Sh-Shut up." Sora figured manners were the least of his priorities right now. Just getting himself away from this fucking nobody was his main concern, breathing was second. The tremors in his hands were rapidly moving up his arms and he was gasping so hard he was starting to feel light-headed. All over a stupid look.
"I used to get these a lot as a kid." The intruder explained, probably through some fragile hope that Sora would be convinced that he wasn't alone here. "You're not dying. These attacks can't kill you."
Sora only vaguely recognized his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, his face an angry scowl. The guy sounded like fucking psychiatrist, it was the last thing he needed right now. His breath was regulating. A few minutes more and he could escape the judging stare and a hand that was...petting him?
Stroking was a more accurate description. It was calming to say the least, but it did very little to curb the panic he was already feeling. The blond was still talking, his voice low and words nearly indistinguishable but it helped more than the touching. The quiet distraction kept him from thinking too much.
"Okay?"
Sora wasn't sure of the exact moment when the man's arms got wrapped around him or how, after a few seconds of silent contemplation of his face, he knew that his name was Evann. He must've told him some point between the petting and now.
"Sora." He mumbled, a weak version of introducing himself, though they seemed to be well past that point. After awkwardly disentangling his arms from Evann's body, Sora stepped back, scratching his neck. The eyes bore a little too much empathy and understanding, like they knew exactly what he was going through.
"I know." There was a tiny smile there, in his words, that made Sora more unsettled than anything. Certainly not reassured. Sora must've looked alarmed because he added, "You told me, earlier."
"Oh," Sora frowned. He didn't remember that, but he couldn't seem to detect anything other than sincerity in his voice, so he must've been telling the truth. He curled his arms around himself again, mortified now. Not only because he'd had another attack in public, the third one in only two weeks, but in front of a complete stranger. One who insisted on talking to him.
"It's okay to trust people, you know." Evann spoke softly, his tone suggesting experience Sora wouldn't dare infer about, for fear of dredging up fresh memories that made his wrist throb under its thick cast. It was hard to imagine anyone else in his situation, battered and hurt and broken, much less the angel blond man before him, with his concerned eyes and light smile. "We're not all bad."
He reached forward and for one panicked second Sora was sure he was going to touch him again, shrinking back against the hand dryer in his haste. It was only a piece of slightly bent paper in his hand though.
Sora took it with tentative fingers, watching the man's eyes—Evann's eyes. He smiled sadly, a pitying expression, retracting his hand and stuffing it in his pocket.
"I'll see around then, I hope. Bye, Sora."
Only after he was gone and the bathroom door had settled against the frame, and all was quiet again, did Sora finally move, his back sore in a couple places from being mercilessly stabbed with a hand dryer. The paper turned out to be a business card, and Sora was mildly offended that the idiot actually thought he could be picked up that easily. Like, what kind of asshole did that?
Except it wasn't Evann's name or number on the card. Instead, it was the time and address for a support group meeting. For sexual abuse victims.
Sora felt a pang of guilt from a very deep and guarded place in his chest, regretting the fact that he hadn't been able to read Evann's intentions earlier, that he only wanted to help. Because he had been through the same thing.
–
The painkillers were making Riku's head swim slightly, as every surface were covered in a thick transparent jelly, and he didn't feel so much relaxed as he did tired and jaded. His fingers were stiff in their cast and the gallery owner was talking some nonsense he was barely keeping up with. Thankfully he had Sienna to handle the business, when he couldn't do much more than grunt and mumble.
While the owner slipped off for some kind of documentation, Sienna took his arm roughly, her long peach nails threatening to break skin.
"What the hell are you on?" She hissed, glaring critically through a pair of magenta rimmed glasses that served no real purpose other than making her face look severe in fluorescent light. Riku towered over her, only devoting half his attention to meeting her gaze. There was something far too fascinating about the way this vein stood out on her forehead when she was angry, like a skinny little worm writhing under her skin.
Riku considered answering, but the only sound he heard was a low chuckle and then he was grudgingly released when the gallery owner returned. He was a short man, had this little triangle beard under his bottom lip like a one of those elevator buttons. For the most part, he ignored Riku's presence after only the first 15 minutes of meeting him. "One of those" he called him. That's how he said it. "Oh. One of those." Riku was vaguely offended. He wasn't a drug addict, really. Just these little pills. Sometimes.
Riku seated himself on a plush, squatly bench facing a large expanse of blank wall. All the walls were blank actually. Waiting to be filled with numerous paintings for potential buyers. It was a huge opportunity, and Riku's main source of income. He just couldn't seem to make himself care too much.
He missed Sora.
His inbox was full of messages, but not from Sora. Mostly Kairi, some from her husband, but not Sora. Others were congratulations. He got these sometimes from old acquaintances that he didn't really give his number to, friends he barely kept up with. Other artists. Unfortunately, thanks to his reclusive nature, he had become somewhat of a social pariah, except somehow it worked in quite the opposite fashion of what one would expect. He had become one of those. A "need-to-know." A person so estranged from mainstream society that it was fashionable just to be able to say you talked to them. A need-to-know. That was Riku now.
The date for the opening was in two days now. Riku had run up his week wasted and oblivious. It was so typical, it was pathetic. While he steadily destroying his life, Sora was busy living his. Forgetting about him again. Making happy and playing house with his loving husband. It was sickening. Even more sickening because it was the one thing Riku wanted more than anything. He'd give up all this shoddy fame for just one piece of Sora. Just a piece.
Riku's phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it, staring straight up at the fabulously glass ceiling. It was a good 25 feet up, dipping in several places to make it resemble a glittering mosaic ocean, spots of brilliant purple and royal blues coloring a gorgeous artificial sky above their heads. Riku thought it wouldn't be so bad to be trapped as long as the cage they put him was this beautiful. Just an artificial sky and blank paper mache walls.
A quiet chime alerted Riku that he had gotten a voicemail.
He reached in his pocket, just to check it for no reason. He knew it wasn't Sora and he had long since given up the hope reserved for pity calls, but there it was. No name, just a number he faintly recognized. It had to be a mistake though.
A wrong number.
Riku listened anyway, after sifting through voicemail hell for 6 whole minutes, he brought the little molded plastic and metal cell phone to his ear, hearing the time and date of the call first.
Then a tinny voice. "Um, I'm coming to the opening Saturday, okay? You're okay, right, Riku? Call me. Please."
Kairi.
Damn.
There must've been a ton of messages from her already. Just one more that he didn't want to hear. Not that he didn't appreciate her concern though, because he did, but there was just so much unwanted tension growing between them and he never wanted that. The more he ignored her, the more it grew.
So for the first time, he dialed her back.
"Riku? God, I'm so glad you--" And hung up.
Stupid, Riku.
He missed Sora. Like a dog missed water on a hot day even though his bowl was full only two seconds ago before he turned it over in the grass.
Riku popped another painkiller and offhandedly wondered if he could overdose on them. He vaguely remembered hearing something about it once, that painkillers didn't kill immediately, they only slowly wear the body down into an excruciatingly painful death. Seemed kinda ironic that too many painkillers only caused more pain. Very misleading.
He'd do better with the conventional methods, thank you. Go out like rock star, a bullet in the head and Sora's name written in blood beside his cold corpse. Wait. That was a bit a of contradiction. He'd have write the name first. But he couldn't cut himself. Riku was a coward with knives. Knives hurt. Guess the name didn't have to be in blood. The message would be just as clear with any medium, he assumed.
You killed me, Sora. Happy now?
Riku was fashionably suicidal and even more fabulously bitter. A double threat.
"We're done here, Rikki." A loud clacking of heels and Sienna was at his side, her perfect blade-sharp nails on his shoulder. Riku only nodded and tilted his head back enough to admire the ceiling once more before leaving. Sienna's breasts blocked his view.
"Do you mind?" He murmured, swatting his hand at the open air with a chuckle.
"You're fucked, Riku." The woman rounded the bench and sat beside him, crossing her long legs at the knee. Riku was sure her perfume had been something his mom had worn once.
"Really? That sucks." Riku heard himself talking, but he wasn't saying anything he wanted to. Really, he wanted to point out her perfume choice and how it made her smell like an aging hotel receptionist.
"I know I shouldn't care, especially because whatever the hell you're doing now is making a lot of fucking munny, but I've seen way too many young artists in your...position and it wasn't good."
"Wasn't good?" Riku repeated, marveling at how different the words sounded leaving her mouth than it did his own. His voice was deeper and kinda slow-sounding.
"They're dead, Riku." She was trying to make a point, he knew this, but his thoughts were coming faster to his mouth than his brain was processing them. A few were bound to escape without rational thought or emotion or what was socially acceptable checking through them first.
"Bet you're making a fortune, huh?" He laughed, only not because it was funny, but because it was absurdly true. All artists are worth more dead. Once this so-called great and innovative person was dead, the shit they left behind was their only value then. Everyone knew that.
"That's not funny." Sienna sounded so serious, Riku couldn't help but look at her. Her eyes were severe behind their plastic fashion lenses, making her resemble a scolding librarian. Her hair was down today, thick blonde strands unraveled around her shoulders. It was the first time Riku had seen her like this. Without the blonde walnut at the back of her head. It made her ears look smaller.
"It is to me." The whole fucking situation was just hilarious. Killing yourself over lost love. So sappy and cliché.
Sienna was sitting closer than he needed her to, but that's just how she was, constantly invading his personal space. Her thin hands were around his own and her large breasts were pushing against his arm as she moved forward.
"You have a gift." She tilted her head, her magenta painted lips sticky with gloss brushing his cheek. "Don't throw it away."
Then she smiled, small and tired, and stood, disappearing somewhere in the space behind him. Her heels clacking the whole way, the sound became more reserved the farther she walked, until the noise no longer echoed off the blank walls.
She never had to say much.
–
"So he called back? That's good." Sora licked his fingertips for the sticky remnants of orange pulp stuck under his nails. He ducked his head to avoid a playful hand from Quint, looking to mess with his hair again. It was his usually greeting.
"No. The asshole hung up two seconds later—Excuse me." Kairi muttered the apology habitually, not that anyone really cared that she called Riku an asshole. Even if Charlot was in the room. She wasn't listening anyway. "I tried again, but then he wouldn't answer."
"You can't really blame him. He's in a bad place right now." Sora tore apart orange peels, ignoring the accusing look Kairi was shooting him from across the table. She drunk from her tea bitterly, eyes narrowed at his insensitivity. Her mother bit wasn't working though. How Riku was acting was not his fault, nor his responsibility.
"Maybe if he had a little support."
Sora scoffed. "Support. Please. He's better off by himself."
Kairi glared over the top of her mug. "Says you."
There was a moment in which neither of them said anything, Kairi blowing on her tea, Sora still ripping gritty orange peel to tiny pieces on his plate.
"You ever think maybe he doesn't wanna talk?" Sora resumed conversation, easing out of the tense patch it was currently capsizing in. "Riku's always been like that. I think he's more comfortable by himself."
"While I do agree with your opinion, Sora." Kairi's voice was tense, somewhere between sincerity and the constant strive for vindication that Sora just wouldn't let her have. "I don't think this is the case. I think he really needs help right now."
"Maybe I don't agree with your opinion, Kairi."
Another tense moment. Kairi's fingers twitched toward her bagel as if looking for any excuse to lob it at his head, cream cheese, strawberry jelly and all.
"You are so stubborn!" She huffed, swatting at her bangs that had fallen loose from her hair clip, muttering something about the natural stupidity of boys.
"I'm sorry. Who's Riku again?" Evann, still half-asleep in the chair beside Sora's finally raised his head at the inclination of their voices, blinking sheepishly.
Sora littered his plate with shards of ripped orange, picking pieces from under his nails indignantly. "No one."
If Kairi narrowed her eyes any more, they'd be closed. "He's the artist, remember sweetie? Sora's best friend."
"Oh, right. Him." Evann smiled tiredly, resting his head on his folded arm. Sora chuckled, lightly petting his soft hair flat against his neck.
"Go back to sleep, babe." He slid his fingers over his cheek and leaned down enough so they could share a soft kiss behind Sora's concealing hand.
"He's your best friend, Sora." Kairi fingered the edge of his mug irritably, her frown nearly pleading. She had to be sick of playing mediator to the both of them. It wasn't worth it when the glue—their past relationship, the only thing holding them together—was non-existent now. There were no best friends. There was no friendship. Period.
"So? He likes you better." Even Sora knew that his argument was weak, but there wasn't much of a choice. Either it was admit that he was wrong, or fight her every step of the way. If male stupidity was to win out on this one, so be it.
"Oh, bullshit, Sora. You just don't want to own up." Kairi crossed her legs, turning in her chair so she was facing slightly away from him. "You should've called him."
Sora's lip curled in disgust. "How can you say that?"
Kairi flinched a little, but refused to recoil from her point, apparently, very adamant that she was right here. "He didn't do it on purpose."
"You have no idea." Sora shook his head, his eyes violently trained on the mess of orange pulp in front of him. "You don't know how it feels."
"Maybe not." Clutching her mug, she leaned a little across the table, reaching her arm out though it fell just short of making actual contact. "But you never gave me any kind of idea, you know."
"Idea?" Sora repeated. No, he spat, hissed. Growled. Completely appalled. "You want an idea?"
Kairi retracted her arm, sighing a little in defeat at her inability to find the right words. She was floundering. Sora figured that was a good enough word for her extreme lack of tact. "That's not what I meant."
"Say what you mean then." His voice was more callous than he originally meant for it to be. He didn't intend to apologize though. He played his fingers through his husband's angel blond hair and scowled.
"I don't mean how it physically felt, Sora." Kairi paused when he grimaced, a tiny shudder moving up his spine in simultaneous time. "You've changed so much, and I know the majority of the blame is, well, Riku's, but you've forgiven him, haven't you?"
Sora shrugged noncommittally, chewing the last orange wedge left on his plate, just crushing it between his teeth rather than really eating it. He'd forgiven Riku to a point. Not completely, of course, just enough to tolerate him.
"I can't trust people." It was a short admittance, but it held so much weight, for him and for Kairi, who looked as if she were sorry she asked in the first place. "I'm afraid of everyone. Hope that's what you wanted to hear." As he was saying it, he knew he shouldn't have. It was too much grief to unload on someone else. It was his problem, and he'd handle it on his own, as he always had.
"Sora..." Kairi looked silently horrified, clutching her mug tightly. Steam had rising from it at some point, it was probably ice cold by now.
"Forget it, Kai. It's not a big deal anymore." He accented his point by gently stroking Evann's hair again. He'd found love again, so there really was no reason to get all torn apart by the fact that he couldn't emotionally connect with anyone other than his drunken, pathetic ex.
–
Riku rarely went uptown. Other than the times he seriously needed his healthy dose of Kairi, or desperately needed to stock his refrigerator, he generally avoided the uptown area, mainly because there were far too many people. Today was a refrigerator day. He had two days Sora-free, that, of course was assuming that he was even still going to show up to the opening. He said he would but, who knows? If Riku had ever had any kind of divine luck in his life, then it would be a miracle if a certain brunet hellion decided to make himself scarce Saturday night.
His wallet slightly lightened by a hefty deposit made earlier that day, his shopping list was a picky one. Bare essentials only. He needed milk and orange juice, shampoo, and something else. Something...meal-worthy. Finding inexpensive meal plans was kind of one of Riku's many undiscovered talents. The starving artist thing always paid off.
Browsing the name brands of products he wouldn't even let himself purchase on his strictly designed budget, Riku bowed his head so his hair fell in heavy curtains around his shoulders, his hands firmly planted in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted.
The grocery store he always chose out of the many choices uptown was this quaint little privately-owned place. He'd done his first commission job here, a large mural of fruits and vegetables on the back wall over the produce section. It was still a little amateurish, in Riku's opinion, but the shop owner loved it, said it looked very "folksy". Clearly, she had no idea what she was talking about, but at the time, Riku really was a starving artist and couldn't afford to pass up a single munny on the sidewalk, much less the 50 she paid him with.
"Whoa—Riku?"
That voice alone couldn't mean anything good, and the incredulous tone wasn't helping to ease Riku's slowly materializing fears either.
All at once, Riku had a mass of sun-bleached hair and island-kid tanned skin blocking his path, hands on his hips and an over-amazed smile forming rapidly across his face. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Tidus." Riku's greeting was more of a breathless grunt forming the correct syllables required to pronounce his name. Right then, the contest began for who could look more surprised to see the other. Riku was no referee, but he was sure he was winning.
"You, like, dropped off the fucking planet, man. It's been almost, what. 4, 5 years? Fuck. You look great, man."
Riku wasn't sure which of those sentences was a question, and was even less sure of how to answer, if that makes any sense. Instead, he just hovered there, dumbfounded, slowly losing his vocabulary through the hole Tidus just talked through his forehead.
"Yeah. It's been...a long time." He answered finally, painstakingly.
"Fuck yeah, it has." Tidus smiled brilliantly, looking like he had eaten a piece of the sun that morning and it was radiating sunshine with every word that left his mouth. Incredibly fucking happy person, is how Riku would describe him. He wasn't entirely sure when his language had taken such a nosedive, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that he was 22-years-old and most likely a senior in college and probably lived in a frat house to top it off. It all sounded very plausible.
"So you still painting?" Tidus smile had eased up a little bit, to Riku's relief, but still very much there. He was entering small-talk mode, something Riku desperately wanted to avoid. Not that he didn't infinitely enjoy Tidus' company (sarcasm x3), he just hated the whole "catching up" thing.
Riku lifted a hand and scratched the tip of his nose, feigning actual thought. "Uh, yeah. Pretty much."
"Cool, cool. I saw you have an opening Saturday. Invite, man?"
Riku blinked, shoving his hand safely back in his pocket. "Why did you ask if you already knew?"
"Because! Hell, I'm the only one making conversation here. I had to say something. You don't talk enough, you know that?" Tidus shoved his arm playfully making his body sway slightly to the side as he turned his attention to a box of peanut butter cookies. "I hate peanut butter, seriously." He looked to Riku as if expecting his opinion on the subject.
Riku shrugged. "It's alright."
"So Saturday, I'm invited, right?"
"Sure."
"Sora gonna be there?" Tidus was eyeing the cookies again when he said this as if expecting some colossal, dramatic break-down and didn't want to be caught looking him in the eyes at the time.
"I don't know."
"Hope so." Tidus declared, unceremoniously clapping Riku's shoulder. "He owes me."
Riku frowned, adjusting his glasses on his face. "Owes you?"
"Rematch." He said, bouncing a little on his feet, expelling random energy. Tidus had always been a force of unrequited energy, constantly moving. When Riku still looked confused, he grinned, tapping his temple. "Blitz ball, baby."
Riku's face fell slack in disbelief, eye nearly twitched at the realization of just what those words meant. "You're kidding." It was a game, the last game they played together before Sora had disappeared from Riku's life. Fucking blitz ball. The score was tied 5-5.
"Hell no. That pool was for 200 munny, and it had my name on it, dig?" It was only funny because his expression was so clearly serious.
"Sure, whatever, Tidus." Riku chuckled, moving down the aisles towards the more cheaper, generic section. He'd gotten a good enough laugh out of him for one day, and now he really needed to get back to his grocery shopping.
"Honestly! Ten more fucking minutes and that game would've been mine." Tidus insisted, following behind him like he had no real reason to be there other than to talk emphatically about a five year old blitz ball game. He made sure to recap all the highlights too.
As much as Riku liked to pretend he couldn't care less about people, he really missed this, being able to talk about nothing like it really mattered. And just having one, really good friend. He missed that most of all.
–
Yes! New chapter done. I was working on chapter one of my next story, so this chap was a little delayed because of it. Apologies necessary, but worth it. This chapter was a lot easier to write than most of my other ones for some reason. Maybe because it lacked smut, for once. Oh well, nothing wrong with that. More smut to come next chapter though. Just cause.
I absolutely adored writing for Tidus at the end. He just has such a great personality. He's so fun and versatile, a real amazing character.
And if you feel like it, I'd really like some feedback on Evann. I'm not sure how well his character his character got across in this. He was supposed to have a bigger role but it got cropped a little. Eh. Next Chapter to come soon! - bouncy