Affection

Chapter Three

A.N.: It’s been what? nearly a ear? Hahaha I’ve been working on this thing slowly but surely with all sorts of interruptions in between (I.e. Naruto), a few job swaps in between and then we realize this nugget of gold: I can use my USB drive at work. So I’m uploading this story back and forth to work on it during my eight hour grave shift as night audit J hopefully we actually get somewhere this time.

The sun was setting in a myriad of colors that lit up the landscape of the tiny islands, it was a sight that went fairly un-noticed as two boys lumbered into their shared apartment.

“What a day!” Sora sighed, flopping gracelessly onto the couch. He wiggled until his head met the other end of the sofa, his feet just barely dangling off. “Who knew girls could shop so much?”

After a long tearful hour spent on the dock, in which both girls continued to sob as the ship carrying their beloveds became a dot on the horizon, Sora and Riku had coaxed them away with the promise of “we’ll do something fun, anything you want!”

Little did they know that would entail becoming pack-mules for the rest of the afternoon. They had been dragged, agonizingly slowly, from one end of the mall to the other. The only upside to the afternoon was the fact that the girls treated them to dinner afterwards.

Riku stumbled into the living room, his face pale and his eyes wide. “I so did not want to know that Selphie wore those kinds of underwear.” His left eye twitched a bit at the very thought of it.

Sora could definitely sympathize with his friend, they had spent far too long in Victoria’s Secret. If those two girls didn’t mean so very much to them there would have been no way to make them put up with all the giggling those workers did!

“Never again, not unless they’re on the deathbed,” Riku muttered darkly, flipping on the television set.

The grin he received as a reply clearly says we both know that’s not going to happen. “I’m going to take a shower,” Sora announces loudly, managing an impressive roll off the couch.

His silver haired friend grinned despite himself, it amazes him sometimes how clumsy Sora can be one minute, and how graceful he is the next. “You need one,” he replied with a straight face, “You’re starting to smell like Pluto.”

Sora stormed from the room with a feigned “hrmph.” Seconds later the water was running loudly from his bathroom.

A calm settled over the nearly empty living room. Riku flicked through the channels at a leisurely pace. He finally settled for a recent re-run of CSI.

Some fifteen minutes had gone by when Sora called out from the hallway. “Riku, we need to do laundry! I’m borrowing a pair of your pajamas!”

Remembering the disaster his room had become after the last time Sora borrowed anything of his (the boy seemed to have a penchant for throwing everything onto the floor and deciding from there), Riku jumped to his feet with a cry of “No!”

He scrambled around the corner just in time to see Sora bend over his dresser.

The brunet was clad in nothing but a towel, which seemed to be slipping down his thin hips. The over-head light cast a brilliant glow to the slighter boy’s scarred back. Riku’s eyes raked over the picture in front of him. Long since healed, it still left an impressive image of what Sora had gone through. There were marks, jagged and faded at the edges, obviously left by heartless. There were others, and here Riku felt a pang of guilt, deeper and more sure in their intent that had most likely been left by key blades.

“You say something Riku?” Sora asked, turning to his friend with wide set blue eyes. He held a pair of pajama bottoms loosely folded over his arms and against his stomach. Riku watched him for a moment, studying the front side as he had done the back.

There were scars, not nearly as bad as his back, but they were still there and aimed closer for the heart. There was a large patch of paler skin, flaring out in an impressive starburst shape; reaching up past Sora’s collarbone and down just beyond his sternum and almost all the way across to his right shoulder.

It made sense now, Riku thought numbly, why Sora would always wear a shirt swimming. To anyone on the outside (the others) none of those marks would make sense, too many questions and not enough answers…

Sora’s brow furrowed in concern, Riku had been staring at him for a long minute. In a moment of self-consciousness, Sora crossed his arms over is exposed chest. “Riku?”

Riku snapped out of his memories, blinking several times to clear his head. Sora was impossible close, leaning forward on the balls of his feet, staring intently at Riku.

The silver-haired teen blinked, taking a shuffling step backwards. “No mess?” He asked dazedly.

One of Sora’s eyebrows raised, his lips pursing. “I know where you keep your pajamas. No mess this time.” Then he was brushing past Riku, sauntering out of the room, presumably to dress.

It took several deep breaths for Riku to calm himself. You can’t do this, he berated himself, you can’t keep blaming yourself for things that happened so long ago. Sora’s fine, you’re fine, it’s okay. Still, he couldn’t help but feel they were in for a long night.

By the time Riku returned to the living room, Sora was sprawled across the couch (fully dressed), flipping the channels. He settled, at last, upon the opening credits to the 30 Minute Meal with Rachel Ray program.

Riku scoffed, leaned over the couch, and snatched the remote back. He flicked quickly back to his CSI, settling comfortably in his chair.

Sora was sitting up now, scowling darkly in Riku’s direction. “I was watching that.” he growled lowly.

“And now we’re watching this!” Riku replied cheerfully, turning the volume up a few notches. He smiled happily, pretending not to notice Sora’s mini-fit in his peripheral.

“I hate CSI!” Sora cried, lunging suddenly, knocking Riku’s recliner over. He rolled off quickly, springing to his feet and hitting the return button. Rachel Ray once again occupied the screen, and now it was Sora smirking in triumph.

“And Rachel Ray’s voice makes me want to bash my head into a hall!” Riku declared.

His blue eyed friend looked very unconcerned, “just remember we don’t have accident insurance.”

The fight was on. Riku pounced again, using his momentum to carry him clear over the couch, the remote safely clutched in his hands. He jabbed the return button, cackling maniacally before tearing off for a safer distance.

Sora’s responding squawk encouraged Riku to put an extra push behind his crazed escape. He paused in the kitchen, the island counter safely between him and Sora. He was breathing hard, his eyes twinkling brightly, it had been too long since they had a game.

He scanned the living room anxiously, had Sora even moved yet? All was still save for the television screen, where John Grisham was currently babbling about some-such-thing-or-another. Riku tensed, something was very wrong here.

Then, it hit him. Literally. Sora was clinging to his back, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, one arm hooked around his neck, the other flailing wildly for the remote. It became a wild dance to try and balance them both and keep the remote from the grabby smaller hands. They stumbled, suddenly, through the opened back door (which Riku later found out Sora managed to ambush him from) and they were spinning wildly across soft grass that gave way to softer sand.

Riku lost his balance then, they tumbled in a tangle of limbs to the ground, the prized remote lost among the tussle. They laid in the warm sand for countless minutes, laughing breathlessly. Sora lay sprawled across Riku, pulling himself up onto his elbows, his blue eyes sparking happily.

“I win!” he chirped. In his left hand he wiggled the remote ostentatiously.

His silver haired companion sighed in defeat, “I suppose you do.”

Both returned to the house, feeling lighter than they had in weeks. One was resigned to play nice for the rest of the night, the other ecstatic he had won one over his friend.

They settled back into the living room, just as the ending credits were rolling. Sora groaned, smacking himself in forehead. “You have to be kidding me!” He sighed theatrically, flopping over sideways on the couch, “all that work and it’s over?”

It took everything Riku had not to laugh at Sora in that moment. He offered, instead to let the younger boy pick the programs for the rest of the night.

Some hour past midnight, Riku finally realized Sora was asleep on the couch; snoring softly and bundled around a throw pillow. He moved deftly, first flicking off the t.v., casting the room in complete darkness for a moment. It took a long minute for his eyes to adjust, then he moved on to his next task; finding a blanket for his friend. It would probably be safer to let him sleep where he lie then try to move him to his bed (Riku had tried this once, and managed to give Sora a mild concussion by running him into the doorframe).

The following morning brought a rather unpleasant surprise for Riku; a sick Sora. The younger boy was strangely pale, complaining of a stomach cramp. Several times throughout the day Sora had rushed to the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. “If I could just puke,” he said, speaking into the porcelain basin, “I think I’d feel better.”

Kairi and Selphie were both avoiding the house, it seemed they were allergic to sick people or some such nonsense; and so it fell on Riku’s shoulders to care for his best friend.

This would probably have been a simplier task if Sora would actually listen to him and would quit trying to get things himself. After chasing the boy out of the kitchen for the third time, Riku was strongly tempted to restrain him to the bed. “If you don’t rest, you’ll get a fever and then what are we suppose to do?” he hadn’t meant to snap, but he had never been very good at dealing with illnesses.

Riku would be the first to admit he was no culinary genius like Sora (he had a feeling his friend’s love for cooking came from too many nights attempting to eat what Donald or Goofy had to offer), and in the house, the kitchen was by far his less comfortable place to be; Sora had it organized in a way only the brunet could understand.

So instead of even pretending he knew what he was doing (which is something he’d occasionally attempt if Sora wasn’t home); he grabbed a can of pre-made chicken noodle soup and set to the dutiful task of warming it in the microwave.

“Is that canned soup?!” Sora yelled from his bedroom, a note of indignation strong in his voice. “I didn’t even know we owned canned soup. This..this is blasphemous!” He continued ranting for several minutes, making Riku question just how sick he really was.

But just as the soup beeped, merrily informing him it was done the other room became oddly quiet. Concerned, Riku carried the piping bowl of soup with him to Sora’s bedroom.

The bed was empty, the blankets thrown haphazardly on the floor. The bathroom door was cracked open, and heavy breathing could be heard from the other side of the frame. “Sora?” Riku called carefully, sitting the tray down on the bedside table. Receiving no answer, he carefully prodded the bathroom door open with his toe.

There Sora sat, hunched over the toilet bowl; body rocking slightly with each dry heave. “Everything hurts so bad Riku,” he whimpered piteously, laying his head in the crook of his arm.

Brimming with concern for his friend, Riku assisted him back to bed, the slighter form felt clammy against Riku’s side but he bit his tongue from sounding like a worried mother.

“Just try to eat some soup and get some rest,” Riku said with a tight smile, “you’ll feel better in the morning, you’ll see.”

Only when morning finally came, Riku realized how very wrong he had been. Sora had developed a fever, one that spiked dangerously high several times throughout the day. Other than waking occasionally to complain about the heat, or a sudden pain that bothered him, the brunet stayed in a heavy slumber.

Riku, for his part, stayed by his best friend’s side constantly, dabbing at Sora’s brow with a cool rag occasionally. And leaving only to retrieve a fresh bowl of soup. “Come on Sora,” Riku whispered sleepily, “you’re stronger than this.”

Then he too succumbed to the veil of sleep.