Disclaimer: I do not own Square Enix's Kingdom Hearts, nor am I making any money off this fanfiction.
-o-o-
A Careful Remedy
Chapter Two
But I Love You, I Love You
-o-o-
The bedroom that I share with Riku is dark when I open my eyes. I jerk a little, unsure of what I had expected. Axel had told me that I'd be sent back in time four days. I suppose that it's just weird waking up after such an ordeal and finding yourself on the other side of the bed that you share with your lover.
I sit up and swipe my hand over my forehead. There's sweat gathering there. This in itself is odd—that really only happens whenever I am going through the motions of a particularly bad dream. And—what happened to me. That hadn't been a bad dream, had it? I don't think so. I can still remember my parents in the pews, their faces wet with tears. Axel's deal. That had all been very real—more real than any dream could conjure up, that's for sure.
Still. It's hard to believe that I made a deal with Death. I mean, who dreams about stuff like that? Well, actually, that sort of thing would be more likely to pop up in a dream than real life.
I'm confused, and there aren't any answers, and I'm seriously about to go batshit crazy unless someone appears to answer my questions.
Wait—Riku.
Glancing at the time reveals that it's around five in the morning. Riku's going to kill me, but go on: ask me if I care.
I roll over, shaking Riku's shoulder as I do so. He stirs, but barely, and pulls a pillow over his head. He's obviously determined to tune me out and go back to sleep. Not that I can blame him, but again: do I care?
Only by being as persistent as hell do I finally manage to get him to fling his pillow away from him, his eyes mutinous.
"What?" His voice is still thick with sleep, but I'll always admire how he still manages to make it sound like he's ready to throttle me. Riku is skilled in the area of sounding angry no matter what phase of wakefulness that he's in. "It's like—" He looks around, presumably for the nightstand. "Fuck, Sora. Four fifty-five."
"Yeah."
"In the morning."
"Yeah, I just need to know—what day is it?"
Frustration crosses his features. He slams his head back on his pillow, huffing. Eyes narrowing at the ceiling, his brows furrow as he starts to consider. Finally, I'm provided with the date. "The twentieth, Sora. Now go back to sleep, God damn."
I do lie back down, but not to sleep. My mind is too awake, my heart won't stop pounding. I can hardly think straight. God, I wish that this were a bad dream, but my gut's telling me that it's not. On the bright side of things (and is there really a bright side to all of this?), I've got four days to fix things. Four days to get my priorities in order and set things straight. That's gotta mean something.
On the one hand, since I know that I'm going to die, anyway, I can just go ahead and get it over with. But on the other—that's not what I've been sent back to do. Death—Axel—whatever he likes to be called by—has given me a mission. Four days. Four days.
That's not a lot of time, when you get right down to it, but it's all I have.
I get up, deciding not to waste another minute in bed. Five minutes are all I need to pull on the warmest, thickest clothing that I've got stored away in the closet. Normally I don't bother with this stuff, since I work from home and don't go out much. In fact, most of my winter clothing is from the previous year. I've received some things this year, but only because Riku says he's disgusted with staring at year-old clothes, and it's time for something new. Whatever, his money. I'm well over the time to get another growth spurt, but he doesn't listen to me.
Nothing new there.
A sweater, a turtleneck beneath it, jeans, wool socks, and a pair of snow boots later, and I'm ready to go outside. Riku doesn't wake again until I'm halfway across the room, and I turn as he sighs to find him sitting up. He's got himself propped up on an elbow, and he's squinting through the dark to make out my movement. The sun won't be coming up for another hour or so.
"What are you doing, Sora?" he croaks.
"I'm going outside to enjoy the snow," I reply.
Riku's groan is loud, and he falls back on the bed, his next words a whisper, "You're fucking crazy, Sora."
I smile, even though it's a little sad, and slip out the door.
-o-o-
It's started to snow outside. I guess it began doing that while I was getting dressed, because when I first looked out the window, it was a clear morning. Regardless, now I'm just happy. I can't remember the last time that I actually got excited about snow, but there you go. It's there, and I'm not dying in it, and I want to rejoice.
Why is it that we take advantage of so many things while we're alive? You see the snow and you think, "Oh, God, there it is, snow, cold and wet and gross, get me out of here." Unless you're a tourist, because everyone knows tourists go absolutely ballistic when they set their sights on it. But I'm not exactly a tourist to this backyard, and I have to admit, it's been a while since I've leaped head first into the white fluff.
Cold takes hold of me, frozen water brushing along my cheeks, nose, and forehead. On any other day, I might piss and groan and go back inside, but not today. Today I want to enjoy myself.
I flop over on my back. I'm glad that I piled on the warm clothes because I'm sure the snow is starting to sink into the outer layers. A quick snow angel later, and I'm content to stare up at the sky, my heart pumping energy through my veins, my eyes searching out the last of the night's stars. I can remember the days when I was a kid and Riku would lounge with me, like this, just watching those glittering stars. What happened to that? Why can't I get back what we used to have? Where has it all gone wrong?
Being depressed again is growing tiresome. I'm finished with my depression—so is, I'm sure, everyone else involved with me. But it's so hard to ignore most days. Gathering inside of me, dragging me down deeper and deeper beneath the surface… Riku is the one who grabbed me and pushed me back up. He caught me in those warm, strong arms of his and made everything okay. Now, it seems, he's slipping away from me, too.
I raise my mitten and wiggle my fingers inside of it.
Then I have an idea.
By the time I'm rolling a mound of snow along the yard, flurries are coming down harder. The weather forecast got today wrong. Clear skies are promised, but I know better. It's going to snow and snow and snow until it lets off about noon-ish. That's not going to be enough for blizzard weather; however, there will be a few good inches of snow on the ground by evening tonight. Take that, Weather Channel. I have something on my side that you don't—a glimpse into the future.
Building a snowman is more difficult than I recall. I puff for air, my lungs burning. White mist that reminds me of the fog in limbo swirls out from my mouth. Our bodies are so hot that steam naturally forms when we exhale in a chilly atmosphere. You'd think, with our bodies having such a high temperature, that we shouldn't have to worry about ever getting cold. But then I guess that's the point of nature—counterbalancing.
I don't have to worry about being cold for very long. Making this snowman is warming me right up. The whole situation has really got my blood pumping, let me tell you. God, when's the last time I bothered with this sort of thing? Had to be when I was five or six… ten at the latest… fuck if I know. I'll ask Riku later, if he's actually around to pay attention. The odds of that are against me. But Mom always taught me that it never hurts to try.
Twenty minutes breeze by. The snow is falling faster, thicker. I stand back to admire my snowman, and wonder what I've missed. Oh, right. The thing needs actual appendages to look realistic. Haha, guess I got carried away.
The sticks for its arms are easy to acquire; the rocks to form its mouth and eyes are even easier. Now all he needs is a nose and some clothes.
A line of pink is starting over the horizon. I pause for a moment to watch it, my fists on my hips. What a beautiful morning. Why can't I appreciate more of these? Why am I never awake to appreciate them? Probably because I'm normally up so late trying to complete a deadline that this is the time I'm going to bed. If I could change anything, I think, it would be this. Taking advantage of so, so many wonderful things that Mother Nature has to offer us.
There's a line of mud and water following me into the kitchen. I rub at my nose and sniff. Cold's still biting at my ears, my nose is runny, and my cheeks feel like the wind got a little too friendly with them. I feel great.
Where's a carrot? Ah.
I grab it, closing the fridge door, and pause when I see what I missed before—Riku is sitting at the kitchen table. He's got the daily newspaper spread before him as he spoons up Cocoa Krispies, a line of milk on his lips. Steam is rising from the cup of coffee just within reach. A half-eaten bagel covered in cream begs me to make one of my own, but I refrain. I've got to finish up with Frosty before I can eat. New rule for the next four days—stuffing my face is not going to be my number one priority… even if my stomach is rumbling at the smell of that cream cheese and toasted bread.
My boyfriend looks up. Or rather down. His eyes are on my boots, and he drags his gaze slowly up my body before giving me a pointed stare and an arched eyebrow. When I smile innocently, he rolls his eyes and switches sections of the paper.
"You're tracking in mud and snow, Sora," he says around a mouthful of bagel. "I hope you plan on cleaning that up."
"The mop has my name on it." I step towards the table, a lump in my throat. I'm mad at Riku—well, actually, that would be an understatement. All the fury of hell can't compare to the rage boiling inside of my heart. But despite that—despite what I know he's done that he doesn't know I know about—I still love him. He's my Riku. I may not be his Sora anymore, but… he's still my saving grace. My Riku.
Maybe even, as corny as this is gonna sound, my angel.
"What is it, Sora? You look like you what to say something." Riku doesn't raise his gaze from the funnies.
My hands slide over his cheeks, pushing that long silver hair behind his ears. His eyes linger over the comic strip he's reading before he raises them to me, a question there. They widen when I lean forward and close our mouths together for the first time in countless weeks.
"Nothing," I breathe. I note that his fingers, which are halfway around the handle of his coffee mug, are frozen in place. My smile stretches wider. "Nothing," I say again. "I just love you, that's all."
He searches my face very carefully, as if he's afraid he's missed something. When I only continue to smile at him, my fingers lingering over his scalp, he murmurs, "…Okay. I love you, too, Sora."
Do you really?
Can you commit the act that you did and still say you love me?
Do you know that as much as I love you, I also hate you?
But it isn't entirely his fault. I think we both know that.
I grab a scarf and a knitted cap from the bench in the mudroom. Riku and I store all of our outside paraphernalia inside of it, and that includes old winter gear that neither of us use anymore. Before I'd always complained to Riku that we should just get rid of it, give it to Good Will or something. But he likes to promise me that one day it might come in handy, and just because it's not in season doesn't mean that it's not usable anymore.
"I don't care about fashion, Riku."
"That much is apparent."
"No, I mean—this is junk. It's taking up space."
"Waste not, want not."
I thought he was so insufferable. Yet—he's right, which I see now. Sure, this isn't probably what he meant when he said that I might have use of these things again. Who cares? The articles of clothing are being reused, and that's all that matters.
Frosty looks much better with some clothes on. I laugh after I put the cap in place, adjusting it to make sure that it's not lopsided. His arms are extended to the air, already covered in a thin layer of snow. His hard eyes are staring straight past me over his long, orange nose. I'm glad I remembered that carrot.
"You know, I was thinking of adding that into tonight's stew. Guess not now."
I turn. Riku's standing behind me in his brand new snow boots—the black ones that lace up the front—and he has two cups of cocoa in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands the blue one to me, and I oblige. The first sip threatens to scald my tongue. It's absolutely blissful. I'm never going to get to burn my tongue while trying to savor a chocolatey treat again. This has more of an impact than I thought it would.
Fuck, I'm tearing up again.
It's okay, Sora, it's okay, it's just the snow, it's fucking freezing out here. The wind's picking up, too. Don't worry about it. You're not crying.
"It's been a while since you built a snowman," Riku observes. He's quiet, his eyes on the snowman. I follow his gaze, returning mine to Frosty. He's watching us back, his mouth forever stretched into a crooked smile. At least until the snow melts.
"Yeah." The cocoa isn't so scalding on the next sip.
Quiet settles between us, mostly comfortable. There's awkwardness there, too. I don't know how to chase it away, so I don't bother. Besides, I can't fix my relationship with Riku in an hour. The four days Death's allotted me won't be enough time, either. But I'm not so concerned about repairing things with him. No, I've got another plan entirely. Here's hoping that it won't backfire. I doubt it will.
I'm trying to remember all the good things between Riku and me. Doing that, instead of focusing on the bad, is much harder than I initially considered. A memory of the two of us being positively happy together is slow to dredge itself up—after that one, though… They start to flow in front of my mind's eye more easily. Riku, holding out his hand to me, a warm smile on his face. Riku, tumbling with me onto our bed as I shriek with laughter. Riku, trailing kisses down my exposed throat as I tilt my head back into the stream of shower water. Riku, pouring over my manuscripts when he doesn't know I'm watching, his brows creased with concentration.
Riku held me when I told him that I wasn't speaking with my parents anymore. He said that he supported my decision. At the time, I had brushed him off, not fully appreciative of his consolation. Now—now, I wonder if I'm not just taking advantage of Mother Nature's gifts. Maybe I'm taking advantage of everyone, Riku included.
Oh, you don't deserve me, Riku. You'd be much happier without me, wouldn't you? But you're still here.
It should be enough for me, but it isn't. It never has been.
"I've got to go to work soon." Riku's voice effectively breaks through my recollection. He's rubbing his thumb along the rim of his cup, and his eyes aren't focused on the snowman anymore—more like they're staring past it. "What are you going to do for the rest of the day? Work on the epilogue of The Monsters We Created?" His palms cup the sides of the cocoa as he takes a long, albeit careful sip.
"Nah." I don't feel like writing it again. I know I should, to spare my editor some grief once I leap from that balcony in four days. She'll have a heart attack if she thinks that the manuscript goes unfinished while I journey on to the afterlife. Rewriting might be better, actually. I'll get to improve upon it. I admit that the first draft, the one I'd prepared four days from now, is a bit half-assed. Ah, I'll save it for later.
"So then what?" Riku prompts me after a considerable enough silence has done its second round.
"I'm thinking about decorating. We're lacking in the garland department. Plus, I'm probably going to get a Christmas tree. A real one this year." Before he can protest, I hastily add, "I know the one in the attic isn't all that old, but—I don't know. I just want to look at a brand new one." Please. Please, please, please.
I've managed to surprise Riku again. Lucky me. "Can you do all of that by yourself?" His eyes narrow. Suspicion is lurking in them. "I thought you said you weren't celebrating Christmas this year, anyway."
"Well, I've changed my mind." He has every right to be suspicious of my intentions. We had a very big fight about it a few weeks ago. Still—my hackles rise in defense. "I want this to be the best Christmas that we've ever shared. Is that so wrong?"
Oh, God damn, Sora. Blink them away. Blink them away. It's just the wind drying your eyes out, that's all!
Riku places a kiss to my forehead, and my eyes flutter shut at the touch. That was unexpected. Riku rarely shows his affection so openly unless prompted to. My heart wants to swell with happiness, but instead, sadness lingers within. I don't think I can be happy about the two of us anymore. Is that bad? When your relationship with somebody gets so skewered that even the good things make you sad? It's not his intention to, I know. I know this. But…
"Are you all right?" His words are a whisper, his fingers a gentle caress in my hair, mirroring how I had touched him in the kitchen.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say.
Picking snowflakes that are turning into ice in my hair, Riku studies me. His long lashes flutter over those green irises before lowering, giving me only mere glimpses of the beauty within. I've long been mesmerized by them. I don't think that's ever going to change. How can someone be so beautiful that it makes you ache to look upon them?
I fold my fingers in his wool scarf. When I tug on the long strand of cloth, he leans forward, his mouth meeting mine. Our kiss is sweeter than I expected, but it holds traces of bitterness. Like we want something to be there that isn't anymore—like we're desperately holding together what's left of us even as it slides between our fingers. What is there without the other? We've been with one another for so long that things won't be the same if we're separated.
I think of him at my funeral. How he doesn't cry. How he is only pretending to be sad.
Did I kill us that much? Did I slice up what we have into something that small and inconceivable?
Riku resumes kissing me. He was resting his forehead on mine, but now his hands are sliding beneath my turtleneck. His fingers are as cold as the snow, and just as pale. I've always liked that about them, though it makes my skin break out in gooseflesh when he touches me. He pulls me closer, and I let him. His mouth is as sweet as it's always been, full and ready to devour mine. Hey, how long has it been since we last put this much passion in our kiss, Riku? I can't remember, either.
His tongue slants over my bottom lip. I part my mouth for him, allowing entrance. We stay like that for a while, tentatively feeling the other out. Is it bad that I've nearly forgotten how to kiss like this? Riku reminds me how, his tongue guiding mine until we create a subtle dance together. A fire that I'm unused to stirs within the pits of my stomach, spreading over my body. I feel like a girl when my toes tingle. I don't care.
Did you kiss him like this?
I pull away, laughing in embarrassment, like we've just gotten caught necking behind the bleachers. My fingers are hot inside of my mittens, so I pull them off and let the cool air nip at them. The wind is refreshingly chill against my equally warm cheeks. Jesus, I'm not sixteen anymore. Riku's always taken me back to that time in my life, though. Every kiss with him that we've both meant has always, always felt new and exciting each time.
I honestly thought we lost that feeling, but I guess I'm wrong. It's not the first time.
Riku's studying my reactions closely. He reminds me of a scientist when he does that. It's sort of fitting. He is in the forensics field.
Eventually, he heads back inside, presumably to get to work. I stay outside and perch on the porch. My cocoa's grown cool now, yet I don't mind. Chocolate is chocolate in my book. Riku's probably dumping his down the sink at this very moment. And he talks to me about wasting. Still—isn't it those kind of pet peeves that you can't stand that sort of endear a person to you more? Or maybe that's just me.
His car pulls down the driveway mere minutes later. I see him check his rearview mirror and his side mirrors. Since we're up on a slope, it can be hard to see who'll be coming around the corner without a moment's notice. I worry for nothing—he reverses into the road and then drives off with relative ease, and the knot in my stomach loosens. I don't know why I bother over-thinking the whole driving thing so much. Everyone else does it. Hell, I drive, too. Just not all that often.
The house is quiet without Riku there. Usually there's a TV on, the Discovery Channel or HBO flickering on its screen and casting muted noises in the background. Riku's not always watching it, but he claims to like the noise. He pays more for his portion of the power bill than I do, by the way.
My shower is short. As I scrub at my body with the dark green loofa, I think back to the last time that Riku joined me in this daily ritual. Two weeks ago, right…? There wasn't anything romantic about it, though. We both had places to be, and getting clean was our top priority—not kissing under the steamy water like newlyweds until it runs cold and we have to wait until it warms back up to get under it again. Ha, those were the days, weren't they?
I turn on the kitchen TV, a small black box, when I near the toaster to make one of those bagels. I avoid the Weather Channel since I know it's inaccurate and keep it instead on CNN. Shots of the war and stock prices promise to entertain me for the morning, but I'm not that interested. This morning I'm like Riku—I just want that background noise. No harm in that.
The bagel is good, the cream cheese on top is better. I've neglected the coffee in favor of another cup of hot chocolate. Instead of taking a seat at the table, I rest my hips against the kitchen counter, one arm wrapped over my stomach as I sip from the cocoa. It's barely seven and I'm not even tired. The sky is bright with the touch of daybreak, and the snow has yet to cease in its thick sheets. I think of Frosty in the backyard and smile.
I think of the kiss and my smile fades.
Setting my cup of cocoa down, I cross the kitchen to the medicine cabinet, which is above the sink. My prescription bottle is leering back at me. I withdraw it from the cabinet and twist open the lid, and then let two small pills land in my palm. Every other morning I've let Riku believe that I take them. He leaves when I'm still asleep, so he can't be here while I'm supposed to be taking them. To make up for it, he'll check the bottle to see if the right number is missing. They are.
But that's only because I throw them away.
Today I knock the pills back and make a face once I swallow them.
Chin up, Sora, I think. You'll be happy soon.
But that's what I've always resented about the pills. Why can't I create my own happiness? Why do I have to rely on a stupid anti-depressant to do it for me?
-o-o-
It's nearly ten when I pull out my cell phone to ring my twin brother, Roxas. He doesn't pick up until the fourth ring or so, and he sounds cranky, like he is still asleep and wants to remain that way.
"Hello? Sora? What do you want?"
"Let's go shopping today. For Christmas decorations," I clarify.
He groans. "I thought Riku said you weren't celebrating Christmas. I thought you said you weren't celebrating Christmas."
"I've changed my mind." I drum my fingers over the kitchen table. "Want to go or not? Daylight's burning away."
"I don't know, Sora, I didn't get to sleep until late last night…"
Ha, and that used to be my excuse for everything. Except I tell the truth, whereas Roxas is merely trying to wiggle his way out of spending time with his brother. Well, I'm not having any of it. I've got plans in the motion, and besides, I'm not going to be around for much longer. I want to tell him this, but I know I can't. Like it's an unspoken rule or something. Besides, I don't want him involved.
"I miss you, Rox." My voice drops to a whisper of its own accord. Am I honestly heart-felt about this? Surprise, surprise. "We should be spending more time together."
He's silent. Probably considering.
"I'll buy you lunch," I offer.
"Argh, fine."
My smile is brief. Shiozus can't think past their stomachs when an offer of food is made.
"I'll pick you up shortly." Before he can answer, I hang up.
I stare at the phone in my hand for a good while before I get up to get acclimatized for this trip.
-o-o-
Roxas looks pretty gloomy when he sees me. He's standing there, his hands in his pockets, his brows furrowed hard over the bridge of his nose. A black beanie with a crossbones stitched onto the front is on top of his head over that gently spiking blonde hair. Minus that blonde and the two of us are identical in looks only. His personality is on the total opposite side of the spectrum from mine. Whereas I try to be open and friendly (when I'm on my meds), Roxas likes to skulk and brood and have people ask him if he's all right.
But beneath that sad little exterior lies one of the most beautiful smiles he has to offer to the world.
I reach over and pull on the latch to the truck door. As it pops open, Roxas slides in, garbed in a dark blue hoodie over a pair of baggy black cargos. He looks like he's Scrooging it today, and the frown on his face isn't helping his case any.
"Hey," I say, swiping his beanie and putting it in the glove compartment. He yelps in protest and tries to reacquire it. I shake my head at him, my hand still planted firmly on the compartment door. "Not today, Rox. Let's try to look presentable, okay?"
Roxas's mood visibly sours—his lips twist to the side, borderline sneer material, and he folds his arms straight across his chest. He has the appearance of shielding himself from the cold or protecting me by keeping his hands clenched against his sides. Like he's sparing me from a brutal beating. I find it funny.
"You treat me like I'm younger than you," he huffs.
"You are, by three minutes. I was almost an only child, remember?"
He heaves a sigh like the drama queen he pretends to be and slumps down in the seat. Then he buckles up. "Let's just go, okay? I don't even know why you asked me to come if you're just going to pick on me."
"Because you're my brother, and I love you." I glance over my shoulder as I carefully pull out of the driveway. I don't want the tire to catch a patch of ice, or worse, I don't want to slam into another car. Tail gating is not on my agenda for the day. "And if you really wanted to, you'd have a bigger arsenal against me. I'm easier to pick on, remember?" My smile is kind as I put the truck into forward motion.
Roxas averts his gaze, dragging his fingers through his hair. "It wouldn't be right to pick on you, though," he mutters. I can tell he doesn't want it to be all that audible, but he's not succeeding very well. "Not with…" He trails off.
"I'm depressed, not a social retard," I say. A strange impulse to ruffle his hair comes over me, and I give into it. He shoots me a questioning look, half surprised, half irate. He doesn't know what to feel. "I'm not going to fall apart into a thousand pieces if someone says something I don't want to hear, Roxas."
Silence falls over the interior of the truck. My words are carrying a lot more meaning than what they seem like on the surface. Hidden intentions is all the rage lately. But no, I hadn't intended for it to be that way. Roxas seems contemplative out of the corner of my eye, though. I'm sure he's stewing on what I said. Good.
Don't you know that by acting awkward around me you're just giving yourself away?
Or maybe I'm just not blind anymore.
I let Roxas have his moment to himself to mull over things. It's then that I see a flash of red in the rearview mirror, and upon lifting my gaze I discover that Death is sitting in the back seat of the cab.
"SORA!" Roxas screams, scrambling back in his seat. "THERE'S A TREE THERE!"
I swerve, the tires of the truck running over the curb of the yard where the tree is located. We miss hitting it, but narrowly. When I straighten back out on the road, Roxas is clutching his hands over his heart, breathing hard, his eyes wild in disbelief. Whoops, sorry, buddy.
"What's wrong with you?" he finally explodes. "I mean—we could have—could have—" He breaks off and shakes his head. Apparently it's too awful to talk about aloud.
I have bigger concerns—Death has decided to pay me a visit, and this can't bode well.
The redhead puts his arm around my seat, leaning over to whisper into my ear. Alarmed, I glance to Roxas, but my brother doesn't notice. Almost like Axel is invisible to him. Like he's not there at all…
"He can't see me." Axel is going to win the Mr. Obvious award. "I'm only here for a sec. I have to say, I like where you're going with this whole four days thing, but need I remind you that you need to be spending your time wisely? Four days are up, you jump off the balcony, and it's all over. No third chances, Sora. Kapiche?"
I scowl. As if I'm not aware of how much time I have left exactly. Jesus, I'm not a dummy.
After I nod, Axel fades away. I marvel at how it's like watching a morning glory open up to the morning sun's rays—one moment he's there, slowly… evaporating… and the next? When I blink? Gone.
I exhale shakily, tightening my grip on the wheel. Roxas is still shooting daggers across from me, eyeing me as if I was the dirge of the underworld. His hands haven't relinquished their grip on his hoodie.
I want to snap, "Oh, get over it." On any other day, I might. But on any other day, I won't be dying in four days.
So I smile reassuringly at my brother. C'mon, everything's peachy keen, all right?
He eventually returns his gaze to the window where the trees are passing by in blurs of white and green.
I release the breath I didn't know I've been holding.
-o-o-
Roxas and I used to do everything together. We weren't the type of twins to resent being so alike—we wouldn't strive to dress or act differently. Instead we relished in every moment that we were identical. With the exception of Roxas's hair, no one could tell us apart. A dye kit would have said that, but despite how keen we were on being glued to each other's hips, Roxas's blonde hair provided a certain aura of individuality.
We were the unbreakable team. We never attempted to outdo the other—we weren't competitive, and no one could make us be. We were as close as two people can possibly get on a brotherly level. We told each other everything. There weren't any secrets at all between us. We saw no need to hide anything from the other. It was the perfect friendship. We thrived off our ability to bond so closely.
I don't know where it all went wrong. Neither, I think, does Roxas.
-o-o-
"Oh. My. God." Roxas slams the door to the truck bed closed and turns to me. His hands are on his hips, and his eyes are wide in his face. "You wanted to go ornament shopping so close to Christmas why?"
I shrug and hold back a smug smirk. Roxas's pain shouldn't make me happy, I know, but it does. Betrayal seems to have that effect on me. However, I don't want to be openly vindictive. That would be like going against the grains of my very plan. Thus I keep all of the satisfaction to myself and make sure that the tarp is buttoned completely over the truck bed. It is, so I pat Roxas on the head and climb into the driver's seat.
"We've been at this all day," Roxas laments. He sounds like a petulant child with that whine he's got going on there. "It's dinnertime. Can't we go home yet?"
"After we get the tree. Did you forget about it?"
"Ugh, Sora, can't that wait until tomorrow?"
"Nope, I want to get it done all in one day." I shove the keys into the ignition and turn them. The truck comes to life with a low purr, but only after I struggle with it. I really need to replace this thing. I just haven't felt the need to acquire a new vehicle, especially since I don't drive all that much. The only reason I have something this big is in case Riku and I need to transport something big. Like, say, a Christmas tree.
"Aw, man, c'mon, Sora, I'm fucking starving."
"You're not starving," I correct him. We're chugging down the road towards the plantation that my parents normally get their trees from. The thought of them brings a pang to my heart, and I frown, but Roxas doesn't notice. He's still harping about that appetite of his.
"I am starving," he insists. "I think I'm going to die if I don't eat a burger or something soon."
"Geeze." I glare at him. "Tone it down, will you? Act your age."
"Like you act yours?" he snaps back, viciously and out of nowhere. "Riku's already told me about how you—" He cuts himself off, awkward, his cheeks flaming. "…I mean…"
I want him to goad him into telling me. "C'mon, Roxas, don't be a chickenshit now, spit it out." But I can't. Whatever Riku said is probably true, at any rate. "Haha, that's okay, Rox. I know I'm difficult to be around." God, you talk to him a lot more than I do.
"It's not that," Roxas says after a long, drawn out moment of a silence that only the humming engine of my truck fills. And we both thought it was awkward before this. "It's just… I don't know. I don't know what it's like to be your brother anymore. And Riku—don't tell him I told you this—but Riku says that it's growing hard to be around you lately. He says he feels like you don't love him." Roxas's teeth worry his bottom lip as I stew over that confession. "I told him that you do, but… he says you two are always fighting, and that you don't take responsibility for more than half of your actions. Like you're still a kid or something."
Well. I'm glad that Riku tells everyone our problems. Or, more specifically, you, my brother.
I'm not being fair, though. I wouldn't want to talk to me, either.
"Sora…? You're quiet…"
"Oh, I'm just thinking." My tone is airy, light. My heart is heavy, swamped with guilt and conflict. "You seem to know Riku a lot more than I do lately."
"Oh, well—" he starts, his face flaring bright red.
"No, no," I interrupt. I raise a hand. He's still protesting, so I shake my head. "Rox, it's okay. I understand. It's true that Riku and I haven't been getting along well. And if he can't confide in me because it's hard to, then it's perfectly fine that he goes to you with his problems." It's not okay. I hate it. I fucking despise it. But… I love my brother. And I love Riku. Sometimes I wonder who I love more. A tough call, that one. "At least this way he has someone to talk to."
"What about you?"
"Hmm? Me?" I glance at him as we pull to a stop in the next traffic light.
He swallows, his hands folded in his lap between his thighs. "…Who do you confide in?"
No one. I confide in nobody. There's no one there to listen to me.
My smile feels fake and probably looks fake. Roxas doesn't comment on it.
"Oh, you know," I say. "I've got my manuscripts to occupy me. There's not much time for anything else."
Roxas doesn't seem satisfied with my answer, and those blue eyes so eerily similar to my own are glowing with displeasure. Yeah, it was a crummy answer. So what? Do you have anything better? You know full well I don't talk to anybody, Rox. Which may have been the point of the question, but… still.
He picks up his phone again, not so discreetly hiding the screen so that I can't look at it. He's typing a text to somebody. I don't pry. I already know who it is.
Inside, my heart trembles.
Fucking hell.
-o-o-
Acquiring a Christmas tree is harder than my parents always made it out to be. For one, I have no idea what size I want mine to be. For two—Roxas is irritable and I'm ready to smack him, so it's hard to concentrate.
"Fuck, it's cold out here," he says, shivering, and retracts his hands deeper into the sleeves of his hoodie.
"Oh, can it. It hasn't snowed since lunch, Rox." What a baby. How Riku could have—no, no. No. Roxas isn't always a brat, and I'm not venturing down the road. I'm not. "The sooner you help me here, the sooner we can leave, all right."
Roxas turns and lifts his arm to point to some man that's walking past our row. "Hey, what about him? Think he works here?"
Sighing in exasperation, I look to where he's gesturing.
My heart nearly stops in my chest in a way it hasn't done in many, many years.
Tall. Very tall. And shaggy brown hair the color of milk chocolate to go with it, layered and falling down to rest against the collar of a jacket. Said jacket is a very dark brown of leather with a fur trimming—maybe a bomber? I think so, but I'm not sure. Besides, that's not what matters. What does is that ass in those jeans, along with the detailed outline of developed calves pressing against the legs of those jeans.
Turn around, Mister, show me your face.
"Hey! Hey, you!"
Hey, you, says my brother. How civil.
The guy does stop, however, turning to face us. He's kind of out of breath with this distracted expression on his face, like he has places to be, people to see, neither of which are us and our current location. He raises his brows. Just looking at him makes me out of breath.
There's a long scar running diagonally down the length of his nose, just between a pair of smoky grays. Full lips, strong jaw, angular nose. He's definitely super model material. Thing is, I doubt he works here. Someone that gorgeous, cutting down pine trees? Roxas must be blind. Either that or is head is filled up with too many thoughts of my—no, Sora. No. Not here, not now.
"What?" breathes the stranger. He rubs his hand under his nose, and then sniffs. It is pretty cold. "I'm in a hurry, so make it—"
"Could you help us pick out a tree?"
"What?" Stranger says again. Now he's just confused—and then, realization dawns upon him. He holds up his hand, already shaking his head. "Sorry, no can do. I don't work here. I'm just here to pick up a tree myself."
"Sorry for troubling you then." Roxas's grin is sheepish.
Stranger doesn't bother replying. He's already walking off, his eyes ahead, focused on his task. Whatever that may be.
I can't help but laugh when Roxas turns back to me, his expression now bewildered.
"He totally looks like the hard labor guy." He frowns and scratches at his forehead.
"Wanna know what tipped me off to let me know he isn't?"
"Sure, do indulge me."
"Those clothes were too expensive and clean for this kind of job."
"Damn, Sora." Roxas's eyes are kind of admiring. I have to look away. "You're perceptive, you know that?"
I'm ashamed. The only reason I'd even noticed was because I was so taken with that random man that it was like I soaked in every detail. For one minute, I was the sponge, afraid to miss anything. Of course I'd seen that those guy's pants were covered in dirt and pine sap—staring at his ass had shown me the lack of both.
"Not really," I say after his look grows expectant. Apparently I'm supposed to treasure this compliment that he's thrown my way. And then, to focus the attention on my brother and ease my discomfort and guilt, "It's just that my brain isn't the size of a pea, that's all."
We spend the rest of the evening quarreling, even as we finally find a man to saddle up my tree to my truck bed. I would say it reminds me of old times, except for now we've got some underlying edge to all of it. God damn, when… when did we grow to hate each other this much?
I miss Roxas.
I want my brother back.
And it's so, so impossible right now for that to happen.
Can't I just go back in time and be ten again? We can dress the same way, act the same way, talk the same way. Aggravate our parents the same way. The parents that I haven't spoken to in five years. Maybe if I'm nice to him—maybe if I just tell him what I really feel—maybe then… maybe then he'll come to my funeral.
"We haven't spoken to each other in months, Sora."
I know. I know that.
"When's the last time you called Mom and Dad, eh?"
Stop, please just stop.
"But now you just go and call me out of the blue."
Shut up. Shut up!
"I really don't get you."
I don't get myself, either, shouldn't that be obvious?
"This isn't going to make everything better—talking to me."
I know… I know…
"Sora, say something. I hate it when you go quiet like that. It drives me crazy, you know that?"
I offer him a smile and park the car as we pull into his driveway. "I'm sorry."
He rolls his eyes and sighs. He rests his temple against the window of the truck, crossing his arms, his expression dark and brooding. Ah, well. So it's his turn at it, is it? Be my guest, Rox. You're probably better at sorting through your thoughts than I am.
I look at his profile in the semi-dark—the floodlight to his garage has come on at our arrival and is providing some light so that we can at least see what the hell we're doing. Or he can, when he ambles out of my truck. Still, it's enough to see his profile in, and I feel my smile growing faint. Why does it have to be like this, huh? Why are you better than me? What did I do to lose the both of you? No, don't answer that. I already know. I know I suck.
But I'm trying to be better.
"I've gotta go," he abruptly announces and jerks open the latch to the passenger door. Hopping down from the truck, he turns after a pause, his eyes seeking out mine in the shadows. I'm not smiling this time. Neither is he.
"You know you can tell me anything, Rox." I keep my voice as quiet as possible but still on the audible range. "Like how we used to."
Something flickers through his eyes. Something unsure, something afraid.
He closes my door without another word, and I don't leave until I see him enter the door of his house and pass out of my line of sight.
My cheeks are wet.
I just don't care anymore.
-o-o-
I hear Riku's keys in the front doorway jingling as he makes his way inside our house. I hesitate, turning my head in that direction, before I resume my ornament decoration. He bustles around for a few minutes. He's probably taking off his coat, his scarf, his gloves. Shifting through today's mail. I'm content to listen to all the familiar noises that I never really take pleasure in until tonight, and I hang my next ornament on the tree.
The tree's already in its watering can and it's lit up. I like to work with the glow of the lights on my face as I spend my time deliberating over which ornament I'd like to place up next. In the background, I have my iPod stereo set to shuffle through my playlist. No Christmas tunes or anything like that except for the occasional one. In fact, I'm using the same playlist that I like to sit down and write my manuscripts to. It's comforting music, albeit on the depressing side.
Riku enters the room. He pauses in the doorway. His hands come up to rest against the sides of the entranceway as he looks at me. "What are you doing?"
What does it look like?
I save the scathing remark for another day even though my irritation has just gotten piqued. "Putting up our tree."
His expression shifts into one of surprise.
"What? I told you I would."
He gives me a short laugh, more like a, "Heh," and steps down into the den with me. His long, slender fingers are working at loosening his tie, and he eyes me as he brushes past me. "You need to start packing tomorrow to get ready for our trip. We have to leave in the evening, remember?"
Stepping on my tippy toes to reach a high branch for the ornament, I smile. "I know."
Riku's route comes up short at that. I can almost feel him considering what he's about to say before he turns to face me. "Sora," he says. "Why did you buy all of this stuff when we're not going to be here to enjoy it?"
I pick up a new box of ornaments. "You didn't mention this earlier this morning."
He sighs in frustration and buries his fingers in his hair. His other fist settles on his hip, and he's casting his eyes listlessly about the room. "Because I honestly thought you weren't serious about getting all of this stuff," he informs me at last. "That it was just going to be something else you said you were going to do, and then you wind up not doing it." He shrugs. Simple, Sora. Simple. Two plus two equals four.
I set my teeth. He's being fair, I reason. The question comes out, anyway, like poison, "What is that supposed to mean?"
He fixes me with a long look. "You know what I mean."
"Riku…" I lower my head and purse my lips. "I don't want to fight."
"For once," Riku mutters.
Wow, Riku, want to attack me some more here? C'mon, just lay it on me, why don't you?
Steeling myself against the answer I know I'll get, I lift my head to find him already watching me. Intently. "Do you really want me to go on that trip with you to visit your parents?"
He's gotten quiet, but the intensity in his eyes doesn't leave. He's trying to tell me something that I already know without having to say it out loud. Fucking coward. "My parents are expecting you to be there, Sora."
I raise my chin. "But what about you?"
"Ha." And then it's out. "I honestly don't care either way."
Wetting my lips and holding back about ten or eleven snarky remarks, I put the ornament case down. Riku's starting to walk to the back of the house where the upstairs staircase is, but I stop him by wrapping my arms around him from behind. I don't know what I'm expecting—the hurt in my heart to die down, sure. Riku to turn me around in his arms and kiss me like he did this morning would be nice, too.
He stiffens, his body tense all over.
I know I've lost him.
Riku pulls away. "I've got to get a shower. It's getting late. We've got a big day tomorrow."
I love you, too, Riku.
I stay in the den to finish decorating the tree. I know that I'm not going to be getting to bed until it's way late, but I don't care, and I suspect that Riku doesn't, either. We're agreeing on something for once. I should be happy. I'm not.
So why am I not as mad at Riku as I was before? I know if I check Riku's phone, I'll find several text messages to Roxas's. I can really go ahead and confront the both of them about this now. I certainly hadn't before. Not talking to Roxas had made such a thing harder to do, but hey. Things are different this time around, aren't they?
But I don't want to—not yet. I can't blame Riku for the decision he's made. He thinks that I don't care about him anymore, and he's resolute in his decision that things are probably over between us. What is my happy attitude going to solve now? What difference do a few kisses out of the blue in the morning make? And I'm sure you told him just how much, Roxas.
The ache in my smile doesn't quite match the ache in my heart as I add the last ornament to the tree.