Potato chips.

He couldn't help but think that that was what it was. That was what it reminded him of.

Rustling crisply, crackling together as he crunched on them by the heap with his worn sneakers, he rubbed his hands together, blowing flimsy streams of thickened steam onto them to keep them warm. The air was glacial, bristling with frost. He exhaled smoothly through his nose, took steps forward onto the road, jamming his bare, white hands into the shallow pockets of his thin jacket. It wasn't even winter yet.

The sky was a depressing shadow, clouds dense and blocking out the sun, air still and temperature far too cold for the season. A thin blanket of gloom veiled the evening. It wasn't even winter yet. It shouldn't be this cold. Spirits were low – bad weather tends to do that to people – and he merely tilted his head back, pausing mid-step to let out a quiet, disheartened sigh, eyes gazing upwards but not really focusing on anything at all, a wispy trail of smoky white leaving his lips and dissipating in the air.

The golden rust of autumn had arrived not a week ago, sketching in the colours of bullion into the withered leaves that had begun to dangle capriciously from thick, arid branches. The day after, a solid mistral had billowed through the area, sweeping the dried leaves from their dead twigs and sent them floating down, like a rain of ephemeral gold onto the dry, dusty ground.

He hadn't really an affinity for autumn.

It was like most seasons that plagued his end of the hemisphere; it had its share of pros and cons. For one, he absolutely abhorred the way the leaves would get stuck in his hair and the catches of his clothes and would never – never – clear up no matter how much they were batted or scratched at. For another, the manic change in temperature and weather drove him crazy: one minute, it was nice and warm, the next minute, it became cold enough to freeze his balls off.

But he supposed that he didn't mind the clean feeling he experienced whenever autumn arrived. It felt like there was less smoke, less fumes clouding the air in autumn. Less cars on the streets. Wore an extra layer of clothes. Mellowed down to keep warm. Met nicer people who had done so to be warmer, too.

One particular reason that he didn't mind autumn so much was one that would probably shock the people who knew him into a coma. A wry grin tugged at his lips at the mere thought, mirth flickering fleetingly in his clear eyes. It was an eccentric reason to be sure, but like most things in the world, anything that made little or no sense was all the logic needed in the world, even if a little difficult to comprehend.

Sounds. He loved the sounds of autumn. Sure, he enjoyed the solace of solitude and peace for the most part, but he felt like he could take a long stroll through the golden, rustling streets and close his eyes, listening to nothing else but the sounds around him. He heard the gentle whistle of a cool breeze. He heard the high-pitched chirruping of a squirrel or two, squabbling over some dry nuts in a bird feeder. He heard the soft hooting of an owl, cooing quietly from a branch in a dense thicket of bare trees. He heard the childish sobs of a little girl who had had her pigtails pulled by her brother. He heard the merry crackle of leaves crunching beneath his feet.

They reminded him of potato chips.

He lowered his head, lips twisted into a small frown as he stared at the ground, kicking a few of the leaves with a foot. More rustling. Somewhere, a crow was cawing. He glanced upwards, noticing the only black, darkened smudge of anything in cloudy grey skies and the golden streets flapping precariously, a few loose, wet feathers floating downwards and mingling with the maple leaves.

Raking a hand briefly through his jagged brown bangs, Leon walked down the road, burying his hands in his pockets, slouched over. There was a slight jingle that accompanied his every step, his keys and cell phone tumbling together in the loose pocket of his jacket. His fingers brushed the cold, metallic plate on the phone briefly, and he felt the clean feeling that had fogged his thoughts immediately drain him, an execessively sober sentiment weighing him down heavily.

Leon sighed again, expression darkened by a degree, never wavering in his step. He quickened his pace, slouching over a little more and kept his gaze downcast.

A phone call.

That's what had sparked all of this.

Leon was in another part of town. Some remote place he hadn't stepped foot in for years, but even then, he had only entered the area because he had taken a wrong turning on the way back to the city centre. Looked like a nice neighbourhood. Very moderate. A little run-down, even. Middle-income families probably lived here. Maybe people even poorer. Nothing like the slums. Nothing like uptown, either; nothing like where the snobbish, rich shits who lived indolently off someone else's sweat and blood resided.

He didn't know what he was doing in that place.

'Walking', a bored, vaguely amused voice had responded rather drowsily. Leon ignored that voice, had stopped and stared at the ground, kicking up the fallen leaves once again. Thinking. Wondering.

And then, as his fingers brushed against the cool plastic case of his cellular phone, as he listened to the lively rustle beneath his feet and the swaying brambles of the nearby trees, Leon pushed away his doubts and continued walking.

It had been years since they last spoke.

Bad terms, he recalled. They had parted on very bad terms. Things had been inexplicably sour between them, and they had exchanged some regrettable words before swearing the other out of their lives. Hot-headedness. The arrogance of youth made your mouth two steps faster than your mind. Leon had regretted the fight immensely, but by then, they had both gone down their separate paths and he never did find the chance to meet the other once again.

Or so he thought.

Surprise. He had been very surprised when he received that phone call. How did you get this number, he had asked, astonishment evident in his tone. There had been a soft chuckle on the other end, that ghost of a smile on the other person undoubtedly present as an amused response of Leon having never changed his phone number caused the brunet to choke a little on the coffee he had been drinking when he answered the call. Warmth had rushed to his cheeks. The only person who knew how to make him blush. Still good at it.

Leon halted, bending over to tie his shoelaces. He swatted away a stray leaf that was feathering down, eyes trained on his hands as he blew a few loose strands out of his face, appreciating the warm gust of air that had driven away the cold from his nose, though only temporarily.

He got up on his feet soon after and continued to shuffle down the street, passing a handful of little girls and teenage boys who were making their way home as the sun began to sink in the sky. They were happy, lively. Carefree. Still innocent.

Nostalgia stirred inside him as Leon recalled memories of when the two of them used to race each other to school, wreak havoc for the school bullies and a few particular teachers. He remembered when they had been forced to join the school play as the lead characters. They had completely – purposely – recited comically wrong lines on the night of the show, all with straight faces. They had still followed their given cues faithfully, but it was safe to say that their later-unconscious drama teacher (who, much later, rather shakily received many congratulations from the attentive and thoroughly entertained audience) wasn't expecting Sir Loire to announce his wish to ban all trousers in the kingdom in favour of the pantyhose.

Leon supposed that watching the strained expressions on the rest of the cast was one of the most sordidly amusing factors of proclaiming his eternal love to hip hop instead of professing his desire to apologise to the princess – again, with an unabashedly straight face. They had shared a discreet grin onstage, later quickly assisting each other in their escape as they laughed about their prank together in Leon's car, sharing some soda from a single can, congratulating one another on a splendid performance.

A bitter smile upturned his lips, his brows knitting together ruefully.

They had been so close. So close. What had they been fighting about? What had caused them to lose touch for 7 years? Leon remembered feeling so hateful whenever he spoke or thought of his lost friend. Felt like his best friend had become the worst devil on the planet. Cruel. Conniving. Treacherous. Leon couldn't even remember what they had fought about.

Why?

A tall building loomed above him, the dirtied, red bricks visible underneath the cheap layer of cracking paint. Leon gazed at the dark windows, expression grim, disposition weary. He let out one puff of air, gathering his thoughts and slouching low, trudging stiffly into the apartment.

Lots of stairs. Not enough to tire him out. Three flights. Four. Fifth one. Corridor down the left. Saw a flickering hall light down the other way, casting shadows that fleeted every second or so. He pressed his fingers to his cell phone, spotting a white door with rusty brass numbers on it.

507.

Walked to it almost hesitantly. He could run. He could run right now. He didn't have to see. . . no, he couldn't run. He had to patch things up. He didn't have to see someone he had lost. He needed to apologise. He had to walk in and rekindle their friendship. Had to confide his true feelings. Palms were sweaty, lump knotting in his throat. Scared to. He was scared to. He was instigating the past. Things would worsen. They've both changed. They've both changed drastically. Things would worsen. They would never find forgiveness. He didn't have to do this.

Leon raised a hand to ring the bell.

Waited. He didn't have to wait very long; the sound of muffled footfalls was heard from beyond the door, shuffling across the carpeted floor. The doorknob jiggled a bit. Light, metallic chinking – the chain was sliding out of its place – followed by the uneven creaking of loose door hinges.

No turning back. He could still run. No he couldn't. This was it.

The door was pulled back, revealing a scrawny, willowy figure clad in loose khaki pants and a white turtleneck sweater. Timidly, Leon raised his gaze from the fuzzy socks the man before him wore, raking them upwards across the faded fabric of his trousers to the faint gravy stains visible on the loose folds of the sweater, eyes gliding upwards – resting uncertainly on that smooth chin – before his gaze traced the gentle curves of that face.

Leon licked his lips unconsciously.

"Leon." A nod, golden spikes bouncing with the movement of the head. "It's been a while." A small smile curled upwards, hesitant and almost shy, as though it wasn't even there.

"7 years," the brunet blurted out a little edgily, unable to stop himself. Unable to keep from being blunt.

The smile was wiped off just like that.

"Do you want to come in?" Cloud mumbled, gaze trained on the floor, door opening a little wider. Leon grimaced a little, rubbing the bridge of his nose momentarily before letting out a gentle huff of air. It was time to redeem himself.

"You look different," he attempted a little awkwardly, trying to keep his tone light.

Cloud chanced a glance upwards, eyeing Leon a little uncertainly before flashing him a small, tired smile.

"Come in," he replied instead, stepping aside so that the brunet could enter.

With a dumb nod, Leon wiped his feet on the mat before ducking his head under the low doorframe and murmuring barely audible thanks, stepping into the home. The door was shut firmly behind him.

Leon's gaze swept through the dark apartment briefly, taking in the dirty dishes piled high in the sink and the two or so articles of clothing strewn messily on the dusty, carpeted floor. None of the lights were on in the home, and the darkening evening sky caused streaks of violent orange light to stream in through the windows. Books were opened, lying page-side down on the cluttered coffee table.

It wasn't very warm. Maybe a touch warmer than the chilly autumn outside, but still he felt a little cold. Cloud had already returned to the kitchenette, positioned behind the sink as he rolled up his sleeves. The tap was turned on. Leon didn't bother taking off his jacket, stood still in the middle of the room and eyed everything quietly, the sound of running water not quite resonating through the unlit room.

The light chinking of china and porcelain followed, Cloud placing them neatly in the plastic rack to his left as he continually washed the plates with silent diligence. He was wearing a pair of latex gloves. A little resigned, though he wasn't quite sure why, Leon approached the blond, leaning backwards against the counter behind Cloud, hands still jammed in the pocket of his jacket as he gazed at the other man's small back.

The clock hanging on the wall ticked loudly, seconds flowing into stretched out minutes as they remained where they were; Cloud washing the dishes and Leon leaning against the counter, waiting. Leon was a patient man. The impulsiveness of youth had long ago ebbed away during those 7 long years of separation.

"I got back only yesterday, I apologise for the mess," Cloud's soft voice gently invaded his thoughts. Leon remained silent. The blond man paused, glancing back briefly at his visitor though his long, unkempt bangs obscured his eyes. A smile ghosted across his lips.

"You grew your hair out. Didn't think you had it in you, Mister Student Council President."

There it was again. Heat rushed to his cheeks and Leon frowned, averting his gaze smoothly as he heard that soft chuckle of Cloud's, the smaller man returning to his dishes.

"That was a long time ago," he mumbled in reply, eyes trained on the blond's calloused hands as he turned the tap off and pulled off the gloves.

"Would you like something warm to drink?" Cloud asked politely, turning to face Leon. He leaned back against the sink, copying the brunet's pose, a flicker of a smile visible as he realized that he was sinking back into old habits. Leon hadn't replied. Silence on his behalf usually was a positive answer. Cloud turned around and fished for some mugs in a cabinet overhead.

"You look different," Leon offered instead, repeating what he had mentioned earlier.

"Really?" Cloud murmured a little distractedly. "How so?" He didn't wait for a response, right arm unfurling and gesturing towards a couch in front of the coffee table. Leon followed obediently, gaze lingering a moment longer on Cloud's impoverished form before he walked quietly to the living room, sitting down. The blond set a spoon down in the sink. Two mugs in hand. Walked towards his guest, passing a steaming yellow mug to Leon.

Leon sipped his drink quietly, eyes downcast. He could feel Cloud's fleeting smile on him, the blond taking a seat some distance away on the same couch.

Expertly, he stole a glance of this man; a former shadow of the exuberant burst of life Leon had once known. Cloud was silent, quietly setting things in place on the coffee table with one hand, shortly blowing on his drink with both a little while after.

Thin. Thin was what first came to mind. Scrawny. Bony. Underweight. Malnourished. Cloud had lost a lot of weight, his small frame hunched up and slouched over, as though he hadn't enough energy to sit up straight. His sweater seemed a little too loose, even if Cloud favoured slightly baggy clothes, face a little sunken – pale, in fact. He once sported a healthy tan, now he was as white as a ghost.

Just as well. They both were mere ghosts now. Shadows.

His eyes barely grazed the gentle droop of Cloud's nose before he found himself locked in the blond's smouldering gaze.

Damn. He hadn't expected to get caught staring.

"7 years, huh?" Cloud murmured, the edges of his lips curling upwards enigmatically. He nodded a little, lowering his lips to the mouth of his mug to sip on his drink. Leon looked down almost sheepishly.

The silence that stretched between them was familiar, to say the least. A little awkward, a little uncomfortable, but companionable, nevertheless. Leon still didn't bother speaking, instead tentatively downing the hot drink Cloud had given him to shelter from the cold. He paused mid-gulp, choking a little as he set slightly surprised eyes on the blond.

"You remembered."

Cloud smiled grimly.

"I don't think I could ever forget."

Red was threatening to stain his complexion once again, Leon dropping his gaze to Cloud's chest.

". . . a drink isn't something you usually remember," he mumbled, fingering the mug in his hands. Cloud's smile widened by a miniscule margin, but he said nothing in return.

"7 years," Cloud muttered once again. "It feels much longer," he looked up at Leon, eyes conveying exhaustion, that bitter smile whispering across his lips once again. "You've grown a lot."

Leon looked at the smaller man carefully; voice calm, words steady.

". . . why did you call me here?"

The reply wasn't immediate. He didn't expect Cloud to answer right away. So when Cloud turned his head and gazed solemnly at the ripples in his mug of tea, Leon wasn't surprised at all.

"What. . ." Cloud began slowly. "What did we fight about?"

The brunet pressed his lips together in a firm line, eyeing the man before him in contemplative silence.

"7 years. . . is a long time. I'm just wondering," Cloud paused, wetting his dry lips, "I'm just wondering. . . what was it that we fought about. . . that made us lose touch for nearly a decade? I don't. . . I can't remember anymore."

Leon opened his mouth to respond, but nothing seemed to sound right and the words simply died on his lips, so he closed it. And opened it again, this time inhaling a shaky breath. The words wouldn't come. He closed his mouth.

"I was angry at you," Cloud said quietly. "You said something, and I was angry at you."

Leon felt a touch of anger flare up inside his chest. His jaw tightened, gaze narrowing into a glower as he trained his eyes on the blond.

"Did you call me here to accuse me?" he demanded harshly, voice cold, expression icy. "I won't allow you to insult me like this. I shouldn't have come. This is stupid of me." Leon moved to stand, setting the mug down on the table firmly.

"I liked you," Cloud replied a little absentmindedly, a finger lightly tracing the mouth of the mug he held, his gaze faraway.

Leon froze at that.

"I liked you," Cloud repeated, calmly raising his gaze and looking up at the brunet. "I liked you a lot."

"Why are you doing this?" Leon pleaded quietly, anger melting away, eyes reflecting his desperation.

"What did you say then?" Cloud insisted instead, gazing into Leon's stormy eyes almost searchingly. "Why did we fight?"

Leon grew quiet, withdrawing. He returned Cloud's gaze with his own steady one, unsure. Hesitant. Uncertain. Doubtful.

"You," he began uneasily. "You shouted at me. I brought up Seifer and Sephiroth and you-" Leon halted, catching himself in time. His gaze became transparent, hazy; eyes developing a thin film as they glazed over.

That's right. It was a week before graduation. They had been in the storeroom of the auditorium, looking for a box containing stage décor. Just the two of them; Cloud on his knees, shoving aside old coils of wire and dusty props, Leon behind him, leaning against the wall beside the door frame. Conversation had been light. Easy. And Leon had been so unnerved then, realized that he had wanted to know so badly.

And he had brought it up almost nonchalantly, trying his best to ignore the uncomfortable look Cloud had sent him.

The clock on the wall chimed, signifying another hour coming to pass. Cloud looked up at Leon quietly, expression kept, still nursing his tea.

". . . I blew up on you," Leon murmured incredulously after a long instance of silence, eyes widened by a degree as realization dawned on him. He glanced at Cloud, regret washing over his face. "It was me. . ." he mumbled, the words garbled on his tongue. He swallowed, clenching his fists, expression growing solemn, resigned.

"It was me."

Cloud lowered his lashes, exhaling smoothly through his nose as he set his mug down on the table before him. He stared at his hands that were folded on his lap for a moment or two, letting out a quiet sigh before turning to look at the brunet, gaze a little weary.

"Why did you bring them up?" he asked quietly.

At this, Leon refused to answer. He looked away, breath hitching, fingers digging into the heel of his palm.

". . . I was angry. You were going on and on about them, I was wondering then. . ." Cloud licked his lips, exhaling again. "I wonder, did you like me then?"

Leon didn't answer.

". . . I liked you," Cloud said, tone even. "I wondered why you were as angry as you were – it was then when I felt a little. . ." he paused, chuckling softly. "Hope. I thought I had a chance. Thought that something would work out between us. And then you said tha-"

"I'm sorry."

His response had been abrupt, curt. Leon couldn't listen to Cloud anymore. He didn't need the past. He didn't need anymore regret.

"Are you happy now? With your life?" Cloud asked instead, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. Leon hesitated, eyes sweeping along the ground before they dared go higher, but even then, he had paused. Glanced. Paused. Glanced upwards. Caught sight of Cloud's relaxed face.

". . . I," Leon began, but the words left him. He didn't know what to say.

"I've been wondering if you managed to become the person you wanted to be," Cloud's voice was steady, his smile widening faintly. "You had so many dreams; I was envious of your confidence. I suppose I just wondered. . ." Cloud's gaze dropped a little. "I wonder if one of us managed to achieve his dreams. Managed to live his life the way he had decided for himself."

Leon was silent. Contemplative. A little bolstered.

". . . not quite. I. . . I never passed the physical examination for an astronaut. I ended up being an. . ." A brief smile flickered across Leon's lips. "I work at the observatory."

"That's close enough," Cloud chuckled. Leon's smile grew at the sound.

Cloud patted the cushion beside him lightly. "Sit," he said, a small grin on his face. Rather awkwardly, Leon trudged towards him, lowering himself and leaning back against the downy couch.

It was strange, but he felt a little. . . lighter. Freer.

. . . Redeemed.

"Cid whisked me away to the north and I was handling motorbikes for quite sometime," Cloud said quietly, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Didn't have the funds to enter college, and I lost my eligibility for a scholarship, so I was working in the junkshop for a long time."

"Yeah?" Leon asked, gaze on Cloud, twining his slender fingers together. "What do you do now?"

"You'll laugh," Cloud replied, eyeing Leon almost reproachfully. The brunet shrugged in response.

"I'm a librarian now."

There was a short pause.

"You're right," Leon snorted, sniggering quietly. "I am laughing."

Cloud grunted in response, expression half-annoyed, half-amused. After a while, Leon's chortles subsided, and the brunet was looking at Cloud a little fondly.

"What happened to being the national swimmer?"

Cloud was quiet for a moment, but he eventually replied, though his tone held distinct uncertainty.

"I had an. . . an injury a while back."

"I see."

Leon was smart enough to know when a topic was best avoided. Taboo. Cloud valued his limbs, his underwater clout. He had been the state representative, constantly winning every competition he had participated in, constantly overcoming the odds and obstacles posed by the teachers and schoolmates who were skeptical of his success.

Cloud noticed Leon's silence. Thoughtful and quiet, as usual. He couldn't help the small smile gracing his face.

"Didn't we used to hang out under the tree by the pool and argue about how to get back at our math teacher?" the blond wondered aloud, grin apparent on his face. Leon smirked in return.

"Why was it again. . . oh right. Ansem completely humiliated us in front of the entire school on our very first day," Leon commented lightly, his grin achieving a mischievous quality.

"We never let him live it down, did we?" Cloud responded slyly.

"Not for the three years we were there, we didn't," Leon replied darkly.

"I especially liked his reaction when he found that popped ink bomb in his desk drawer," Cloud mentioned airily, making a slight show of being thoughtful. Leon snorted, reaching over for his tea.

"Speaking of reactions. . ." Cloud glanced over at the brunet, a hazy image surfacing in his mind.

"Fare thee well, good Sire, for the morrow ends with a feast fit for the Keybladers. Tie thy shoelaces and buckle thy jockstraps tight, for tonight, we party until sobriety is but a distant hidden Mickey," Cloud said steadily, carefully, as though trying to remember accurately a memory so far away.

"Aye, for merry weather, light sabres and proton tazers are better suited for monks of the janitorial than Jedis of the enterprise," Leon countered with a small smile on his face. "I remember that. Senior year, wasn't it?"

Cloud nodded, grinning. "Old Man Merlin fainted in the middle of the play. Sora broke his bladder keeping in all that laughter."

"Good memories," Leon remarked, chuckling softly.

"They really are," Cloud replied with a quiet laugh.

After a while, the laughter receded and they were left with the companionable sounds of the ticking wall clock and both their steady breathing that filled the room, Leon unable to suppress the wispy smile that had tugged at his lips. Cloud returned to his tea, sipping it smoothly now that it had cooled down. It was like old times again, this measure of comfort and casualness. As though they were hanging out in the brunet's car, watching the sun set together as they shared a soda.

"I wonder. . ." Leon began softly, breaking the silence. Cloud paused, giving him a sideway glance. ". . . I wonder why it – this – took 7 years."

The silence stretched out between them once again, Cloud shifting – almost uncomfortably so – in his seat, lips twisted into a frown, brows knitted tightly together as he stared dully into his mug. He was silent; Leon could tell that the blond was choosing his words carefully.

"I looked for you, you know?" Leon continued steadily. Cloud mumbled something quietly. The brunet pressed on. "You never showed up for our class reunion. It was a weekend programme, I'm sure you received the invite."

"I wasn't feeling too well."

"Yuffie spent half the day trying to find you."

"My name wasn't in the register, she didn't have to."

"Aerith was busy making calls and asking other people for you."

"I'm sure Tifa received my note."

"I looked for you."

Cloud's response died on his lips and he closed his mouth, eyes resting silently on Leon. The brunet's expression had taken a more strained edge, a harrowing mix of disappointment, bitterness and earnestness reflected in his stormy eyes. He looked like he was bursting with questions and things to tell Cloud, raring to update the other man on his life in his absence, to let everything out, but there were far too many emotions swirling inside him that everything tangled up in his throat, chest constricting. Words simply could not express his feelings.

". . . I still have it, you know?" Cloud said in his implausibly soft voice.

Leon didn't respond.

"I don't think you remember it at all, though." Cloud's blue eyes slid downwards almost sheepishly to the carpet, curtaining the delicate pattern twisted across it before he leaned back in his seat and turned his entire body to face Leon. His lips quirked upwards.

"It's one of my most treasured possessions. Something you gave me."

Leon looked squarely into Cloud's eyes, expression weary. What was Cloud trying to say? The blond had a very expectant look, and, resigned, the other man exhaled with a slight huff.

"What did I give you that you treasure so much?" Leon humoured him, though he hadn't meant for his tone to be as derisive as it had. The taller man winced internally, gazing at the completely serene expression on his host.

"A rock."

Leon blinked.

"A rock," he echoed dumbly, expression bland.

"A rock," Cloud nodded.

He fell silent, waiting for Cloud to expand. His friend merely retained that somewhat triumphant and smug look. Leon's lips puckered up slightly in a derisive almost-pout. Cloud didn't budge.

". . . I don't remember giving you a rock," he finally conceded. "And I don't how it relates to our previous conversation," Leon quipped quickly, expression a little disgruntled. Cloud's expression softened at that.

"You picked it off the ground while we stumbled back somewhat tipsily to camp. 9th grade. Seifer managed to smuggle in some beer and got everyone to try some," Cloud started, ending with a chuckle. Leon merely rolled his eyes, the scenario vaguely familiar.

"We may grow fat, go bald, or lose a limb or two, but no matter what. . ." Cloud trailed off delicately, a questioning look stuck on Leon's face.

"I'll make sure a chocobo won't sniff your butt?" Leon offered not so helpfully.

Cloud snorted abruptly, a hand slapped over his mouth, shoulders shaking with mirth. Leon paused a moment before a wide smile crept on him, blossoming into a full-fledged grin when the blond clutched his sides, doubling over in sniggers.

"That's what I said the first time round, didn't I?" Leon asked, grin widening by a margin as Cloud choked, nodding desperately. "I was pretty damn smashed then," he added, laughing a little. Eventually, both of them calmed down, and Cloud raised his gaze, acknowledging the other man with a crooked grin.

"I'll stand by you. I'll be there to lean on you. I'll support you when you need me to," Leon finished, a simple smile gracing his face.

"Scout's honour," Cloud added, expression mockingly coy, hand over his heart. Leon nudged him weakly, smile widening once again.

"We swore our brotherhood on that rock, you know," Cloud managed with a straight face, smile faint on his lips as Leon chuckled.

". . . it's still with me. I carry it wherever I go – pretty nifty. So. . ." Cloud paused, smiling softly at the brunet. "Technically, since we're sworn brothers, fights have to be resolved, right?" He paused again, exhaling smoothly. Cloud dropped his gaze to Leon's lap.

"It was. . . different without you."

Leon looked at Cloud quietly, studiously; gaze serious, smile still present, but not quite there. It seemed like years before he finally opened his mouth to speak, the words hanging at the tip of his tongue, slowly stringing together.

". . . I never wanted to leave. On Graduation, I. . ."

"Maybe. . ." Leon interjected softly, eyes half lidded, gaze tender on the blond. "Maybe we can go somewhere. Do something. . ." He paused, saying the words almost carefully. His tone was hopeful. "Together."

Cloud hesitated, glancing up at Leon.

"I know where you live. Maybe I can pick you up. . . we can go out. Have dinner. Go to our spot. We could. . ." By then, a faint shade of pink had already begun to colour Leon's fair cheeks, chest tightening a little anxiously. He didn't care. Cloud saw it, but took no notice. Instead, Cloud slowly lifted his hand and let it rest on Leon's on the man's lap, squeezing it affectionately.

Lacing their fingers together, Leon squeezed back. Cloud's faint smile widened.

". . . that would be nice," he murmured quietly, gaze timidly downcast. "If we have the time," Cloud added, voice so quiet that it barely carried over the faint sounds of accelerating cars that resonated softly through the apartment.

At that, Leon unexpectedly broke into a wide grin, slumping slightly in relief. Brought his other hand on top of Cloud's and clasped it firmly. For a moment, it felt like Cloud had jolted in surprise – a twitch, something. But Cloud was still calm. He had just imagined it.

"We have all the time in the world," he replied quietly, leaning forward by a small degree. His gaze slid downwards, smile still there. Faint, but there. "You haven't seen the lake for the past few years, right? Remember that old tree we used to climb in? It's huge now. That old ice cream vendor still works there, we can go stop by and visit him. Sometimes," Leon paused, grinning at the blond. "Sometimes he sees me and asks for you. Said he'd treat you."

Cloud looked at Leon, gaze softened and a smile ghosting across his lips again.

He didn't respond.

"That bookstore we always ended up going to when we skived off classes? It's still there on 5th. Aerith works there now, I'm sure she'd be happy to see you again."

"Leon," Cloud said softly, interrupting politely.

Leon grew silent, looking Cloud in the eye. He leaned back, retrieving his hands and folding them on his lap, listening attentively. Cloud's expression had unknowingly been that of graveness, but upon looking at Leon's almost apprehensive face, the blond let out a half-chuckle.

"You seem cold. Let me make you more tea."

The brunet smiled warmly, a little hesitant at first, but the smile didn't waver.

"I'd like that, thank you."

Cloud gracefully excused himself to the kitchen, Leon listening quietly as the smaller man fumbled around the cabinets. Glanced at the clock. Drummed his fingers on his knee. Felt a little uncomfortable. Felt cold.

He got up, walking lightly to the kitchenette, catching Cloud's eye. The blond gave him a brief smile, approaching him quietly. He set down a pot of boiled water on the counter. They stood face-to-face, a little space between them.

Cloud grabbed Leon's wrist, turning his palm upwards and deftly setting something into Leon's hand.

"Our rock."

Leon snorted.

Cloud retreated once again, Leon bringing the smooth stone up to inspect it a little more thoroughly. There were scratches on it, almost as though someone had tried to stick a knife in it. He brushed his fingertips along the broken surface, tracing the lines that cut across and formed jagged letters. Their little vow. Leon noticed a postscript in considerably neater hand. A little clearer. A little faded.

'Still owes me a new camera.'

Chuckling softly, Leon set the rock down on the counter. That's right. He had somehow destroyed Cloud's delicate SLR sometime in the past. Perhaps sometime in sophomore or senior year. Leon had promised to buy a new one for him, and had actually managed to pool enough money to cover the cost of purchasing a slightly better version of the model Cloud had owned.

Too bad they had had that fight the day after Leon bought that camera.

The brunet set the rock down gently on the counter. He'd have to bring the camera when he returned tomorrow. He recalled, after their fight, he was half-tempted to smash the thing. Burn it. Break it. Crush it. Destroy it completely.

But he didn't.

He didn't have the heart to.

Instead, he had packed it firmly into a box and placed it in the drawer of one of his cabinets, beside his moneybox, waiting. Simply waiting.

"Leon," Cloud called again. Leon looked up, smiling at him.

The blond paused momentarily, lashes hooding his eyes. His licked his lips before allowing them to flutter shut, opening them and gazing at Leon with hazy eyes, expression mild.

"You never let me answer your question. Why I called you here."

Leon took a step towards him, quirking a brow as his gaze softened on the blond.

"You don't have to, Cloud. It's fi-"

Cloud shook his head, eyes trained steadily on the floor. Leon grew silent, waiting. Like he always did. Cloud inhaled smoothly before raising his eyes to meet the brunet's.

This scene was far too familiar.

"Hey, Leon," Cloud gave him a small, rare grin. Expression almost sheepish. Eyes a little dull. "After school. . . you're going to go off," he paused, "By yourself. To be an astronaut, right?"

Leon nodded.

"I'm just thinking. . . We'll both probably, well, there might be a time when we won't see each other again. Think about it; you want to be an astronaut and I want to be a swimmer. I just. . . You know, I hope you'll be fine on your own."

"Why?"

"Ah, no. It's just," Cloud turned away, biting down on his lower lip. He remained silent.

"You know," Leon said instead, eyeing Cloud. "I wouldn't worry too much about the future. If someday we both leave. . . then we have to make the best of what we have right here, right now." He looked hard at Cloud, eyes probing and observant. "But no matter what, we'll work it through. Right?"

Hesitantly, Cloud nodded a little, a smile flickering on his lips.

"Now why do you ask?"

". . . it's nothing. It's just that. . .".

"I'm dying."

Leon froze.

The corners of his upturned lips dissolved, smile melting away with disbelief as the brunet stared at Cloud. Stared. Time slowed to a halt, body growing cold, senses freezing over and becoming numb. He hadn't heard right. He couldn't have heard right. His palms were sweaty, face growing a little pale. The smaller man looked into Leon's wide eyes steadily, expression calm, disposition cool, voice clear.

"I'm dying, Leon," Cloud repeated, soft blue gaze sliding downwards.

There was no response.

Cloud closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

"I have cancer. Geostigma."

Leon felt like he had just been slapped.

Slapped by a hand wearing sharp, brass knuckles. Slapped whilst simultaneously being dumped with a bucketful of ice. His eyes were burning, his throat was tight. He couldn't breathe – chest was constricted badly. He had clenched his fists hard enough to draw a little blood – his nails had dug into the skin and caused angry red welts to surface – knuckles completely white, entire body trembling by a little, involuntarily.

The words echoed ominously in his head.

Dying. Cancer. Geostigma.

"H-h-h-how. . . Wh-wh-wh-" How much longer do you have left? When did you find out? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? How long have you had it?

Why tell me only now

The words refused to come, spilling out instead in incoherent stutters as they tangled up in his throat, Leon's voice cracking as he grew afraid. Afraid that tears might actually fall. He hadn't felt as much emotion in his entire life as he did then. But most prominently of all, he could only feel two things overwhelming him with such magnitude that it was all that he could recognize. Fear. Fondness. Mingling together like a bitter tonic.

But Cloud knew. Cloud always knew.

Leon regretted having shared such a close bond with the blond then.

"I won't be able to celebrate Christmas."

Leon couldn't feel anymore.

Cloud spoke so calmly of his demise. He was so certain of his death. It was as though he did not fear dying, as though he was just talking about the weather. Cloud was dying. Cloud was dying, yet Leon was the one feeling the fear and desolation plague him and drown him, drag him down an endless ocean of regret. Cloud. Cloud was dying.

Cloud had cancer. Cloud had Geostigma.

Cloud was 25.

He couldn't be. . . He just. . . He was so young. . . He had his entire life to live and. . .

"No," Leon breathed, eyes burning. "No." He staggered backwards, suddenly feeling a little faint, eyes going out of focus. His fingers found the edge of the counter, grasping onto it to keep himself steady.

"No."

Cloud let out a smooth breath, exhaling through his nose as his gaze grew downcast. He was still completely cool, his eyes trained on his own folded hands.

"My arm was infected a long time before they discovered the vaccine. It's spread to the rest of my body," he explained quietly, glancing upwards. "I'm beyond healing."

"But," Leon began desolately, words refusing to come. He forced himself to speak, say something coherent. Everything simply tumbled out before he could help himself.

"That means you've had it for years. You couldn't have. . ."

"About 4 or 5 years," Cloud replied solemnly, eyes grazing to the side and resting on the rock.

"But. . ."

"Where Cid and I were, up north, I was in and out of hospitals a lot," he explained, voice still quiet. "It's in the critical stages; I've been losing a lot of weight in a short period of time. My eyesight is starting to give. My hair's starting to grow pale. Sometimes, my arm shakes and I can't control it at all for hours on end. When it gets really bad. . ." he trailed off meaningfully, eyes raking upwards and gazing straight into Leon's.

"Please, no. . ."

"It's disgusting," Cloud replied, tone a little harsh. ". . . I'm disgusting. The pus is black. The pain is. . . unimaginable. My arm became swollen and it's. . . it's somewhat paralyzed. I can't touch anything or. . ."

"Please," Leon pleaded. "Please, no. I can't. . . Why? Cloud, why? You. . . I just. . . You and I just. . ."

"I wanted to heal," Cloud responded timidly. "I realized how stupid I was a year or so after I left town, but. . . I wanted to heal before I saw you again. I didn't want you to. . . to see." He flinched slightly.

"I. . . I've never had money. You know that," Cloud said bitterly.

"Cloud," Leon whispered, eyes hazy. "Cloud, you couldn't have thought that I. . ."

"It's disgusting, Leon. I'm disgusting. You don't. . . I knew you wouldn't judge me, but I. . ." Cloud bit his lower lip, wavering for the first time, meeting Leon's tender gaze. "I couldn't see you like. . . this."

"You kept away for 5 years because you. . . Cloud, why? I. . ."

"I've run out of money. Don't have enough painkillers to last the month. I can't afford hospital bills. I can't pay the rent. This is all I have." Cloud's expression softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Here and now."

Leon took a shaky step towards the blond, hand raising slightly, reaching out for him. His fingers brushed Cloud's forearm. Cloud shook his head and withdrew.

"I can't touch anything. . . it hurts."

"Please," Leon choked, brows furrowing, completely beseeching. "I need to know. . . I need to feel. . . You, I. . . Please. . ."

Hesitantly, Cloud looked into Leon's eyes. He took a tentative step forward, fingers curling in the hem of the brunet's shirt, closing in the space between them. He pressed his body gently against Leon's, allowing a little warmth to be shared between them. He rested his chin on Leon's shoulder, closing his eyes and bringing both arms up slowly, pulling Leon a touch closer.

Leon lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut, leaning against Cloud's cheek as a few stray blond strands tickled his skin. He inhaled slowly, remembering everything he could feel and hear and smell at that exact moment. Cloud was so soft. . . so fragile. He wanted to lock his fingers behind Cloud's back, but he knew that he couldn't. He didn't want to hurt the blond. He buried his face in the crook of Cloud's neck, letting out a stuttered breath.

"Please don't leave me," he heard himself whisper, voice cracking slightly.

"I wish I never did," Cloud replied, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Cloud allowed his fingers to creep up and to thread themselves in Leon's shaggy hair, pulling him a little closer. He felt a little pressure on his left arm, causing immense heat and sharp spikes to sear through him. His breath hitched and he grimaced a little, but otherwise remained still. He didn't want anything more. Here and now.

". . . we could. . . we could still save you," Leon said, finding a shaky pillar of strength to lean against. "My father's company is working on some new technology to heal Geostigma. You could get treated for free. We can. . .we can save you. You can live."

Cloud remained silent, eyes opening slowly, lashes still low.

"You'll be well enough to come down to the lake with me. We could go swimming again, like we used to. You know Yuffie? She's taken in a kid called Denzel. They go down there every weekend. You'd. . . .You'd love the kid, Cloud. I know you love kids."

". . . that sounds good," Cloud replied quietly.

"And. . . And Aerith. She's taken care of Sora for some time now. Sora graduated college, you know? They'd want to meet you. They'd want to see you again. Sora's working now. He's a doctor, can you believe it? He's a doctor."

Leon bit his lip, clawing at that little glimmer of hope as his heart shrank.

"I would love to meet them again," Cloud said softly, breathing his answer in a manner almost tired.

"I can bring you back to our old school. The teachers. . . they ask for you. They wonder how you've managed. Merlin misses you. Old Man Merlin misses you, Cloud. They want to know all about you and what you've been doing. . ." Leon trailed off, vision blurring rapidly. He felt exhausted. Oh so exhausted.

". . . I want to do all that. I want to go to all those places," Cloud murmured reassuringly. "Please don't be sad. Don't be angry. Don't be empty. We have a little more time. I want to spend what time I have left with you. I want to make it up to you; all the crazy shit I've done." Cloud tightened his grasp slightly, letting out a quiet chuckle.

"I'm here. I'm here now, Leon," he whispered.

"Please. . . don't leave me," Leon replied, throat tight.

". . . I'm here, Leon. I'm here now."

It was still where he remembered storing it.

Still packed firmly in its original box, Leon allowed his slender fingers to trace the slightly dusty edges before taking it in both hands and hefting it out of the cabinet in his storeroom. A miniscule cloud of dust was disturbed in the process, but he ignored it and simply flicked the light switch off on the way out.

Night had already fallen. The sun had set a long time ago.

Leon's apartment was neat, as usual. A little disorganized, but otherwise relatively tidy. In typical Leon fashion, only books had been strewn around as there was no room to accommodate them. A little cold. The heater he used wasn't top-notch, but one could only make do with so much considering the salary he received from working in the observatory.

Ignoring the mess of papers that had gathered at the foot of his coffee table, Leon sank onto the floor. He opened the box tentatively, pulling out the wadded bubble wrap and polystyrene that protected a delicate piece of black equipment.

He had almost forgotten what it looked like.

Leon hadn't bothered even a glance at it for the past few years. It had been kept very well, and it was a sturdy, classical model. It could still be used. The brunet could recall clearly how much of his allowance he had sacrificed to buy the Leica. This was a working antique – it would probably bring him lots of cash if he were to sell it. 7 years is a long time.

He dusted the camera, checking its lenses and the settings. He tested out the flashgun and wiped the colour filters. It was a rather small SLR, nothing amazing to boast about, but it was a fine piece of machinery.

Leon didn't even remember how to use a manual camera properly. He wondered why he even bothered but ignored that little bit of selfishness, that little bit of childishness, instead peering over to the side to refer to the yellowed handbook.

Cloud loved photography.

He remembered how hard Cloud had worked in Cid's junk shop in order to get his hands on that Leica. How the old man got such a flashy piece of equipment, no one really knew, but Cloud had eyed it and he had immediately set his mind on owning it. He was a natural behind the lens; perspective forever intriguing, lighting soft, subject breathtaking.

Cloud always said that he wouldn't take a photograph of anything unless it was worth taking. He had completely polished his photography to pristine perfection, mastering it and turning it into an art form. He hadn't owned a satisfying camera that could accommodate his photographic ventures. He hadn't had enough money.

But that was before the Leica came along.

Once he had his hands on the camera, Leon could remember with a faint smile how he would spot a messy spike or two sticking out from the bottom corner of their classroom window. Cloud would sneak around the school, snapping whatever he thought was worth snapping. Flowers, birds, taps, walking teachers, stray cats, trees, shadows, books, smoke and the flowing rush of water were among the subjects he eventually had developed.

They were all beautiful.

Cloud had this tendency to jog down the hallways, camera dangling from around his neck. He trotted along silently, eyes wandering wildly and raking in everything within his line of sight. When they were together, Cloud would somehow be a little more talkative. Almost as though owning the camera made his burdens lighter. He laughed a little more. Joked a little more.

Leon remembered once catching Cloud snapping a photo of him. He remembered wanting to see it, told Cloud that he wanted a copy. The blond had sheepishly mentioned that it wouldn't turn out too well but Leon had countered with Cloud's own principle. Cloud wouldn't photograph anything unless it was worth taking. Obviously, the blond teenager thought that Leon was worth taking a picture of. He wanted a copy. Cloud had flushed at that. That was the first time Leon managed a blush out of his friend. . .

With a startled jolt, Leon whipped his head up. He groaned softly as light rushed into the room, blinding him momentarily. Without bothering to pause in order to allow his eyes to adjust to the light, he crawled across the floor heavily, approaching the ringing source of his pain.

He kicked something lightly as he did so, causing it to slide along the parquet floor. He forced an eye open. It was the camera.

Sighing heavily, Leon flipped himself over, leaning against a nearby wall. He pulled the cradle of the phone down, holding it loosely in one hand and took the receiver off its hook, wedging it between his ear and shoulder as Leon brought his legs up. Resting his elbows on his raised knees he slouched over, listening quietly to the voice on the other end.

This voice was melodious and rich. . . who was it again, the person introduced. . . oh, Tifa. It was Tifa. Odd, Tifa never called. Leon wasn't even bothering to pay enough attention, his mind elsewhere, eyes absentmindedly straying to the camera lying on the cold, wooden floor.

Something happened. Tifa wouldn't bother calling him otherwise. It didn't matter anyways. Leon felt cold. No, Leon was at that moment unfeeling, numb. He couldn't possibly be cold. He slumped over, pressing his ear against the earpiece, nodding and grunting noncommittally now and again to indicate that he was listening.

What was she saying? Nothing was making sense. Tifa's sweet voice was low and a little hoarse, her words a hazy swirl in Leon's mind as his face grew timid and expressionless. Whatever she was saying, he couldn't begin to comprehend. He only remembered a bit here and there, but otherwise. . .

Nothing.

Leon's head was pounding. He needed a drink. Some painkillers. He wanted to see Cloud. He needed a bit of fresh air – seeing Cloud wasn't too bad an idea. He could bring the camera along and they could go to the lake. Take a few pictures. Give it to its rightful owner. Leon could do that. It was cold, he needed a shower. Did he take the laundry out of the wash? Hopefully. He wouldn't want to meet up with Cloud in the same clothes as the day before-

"I'm sorry, Leon. It's just. . . I'll be right over, okay? I. . . I found something. There was a note. I can't. . . not over the phone. Just, just don't go anywhere. I'll be right over, okay?"

The line went dead. Leon didn't move. The receiver was still wedged between his ear and shoulder. He was still cold. He was still staring at the camera on the floor.

Slowly, gradually, he let the receiver drop to the ground with an unceremonious clang. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. Hours. He didn't move. That slow ache inside his stomach clawed at him gradually, causing something icy to fill up inside him slowly. Rising inside his chest. Constricting his throat. Making him go cold.

There was a doorbell that rang somewhere. He didn't know where. Felt his body move. Shuffled along, not really looking at anything. Not looking anywhere. Not knowing where to go. Fingers grasping the rough, paint-cracked corners of the walls. Stumbling across the cold, hard parquet floors. Sweaty palm grasping an icy knob. Jiggling it slightly. Twisting it. Pulling the door back.

He stared at the sweet woman before him, her white face sombre and grave. He noticed faintly that she looked a little ill, pale. The black that she wore must have brought out that sickly look on her. Maybe it was the completely hollow look in her eyes. Maybe it was that exhausted demeanour she carried herself with. Her lips were dry and chapped. Her hair seemed limp and oily, almost matted.

Like Leon – like Cloud – Tifa must have lost that path she had once dreamed of walking down.

Life must have been hard on her, too.

As before, Leon could only stare at her dully, almost as though she was invisible and he was simply looking through her and at the wall on the far end. An arm up against the doorframe, he leaned his entire weight against it, gaze glassy and expression an empty mask of indifference. He didn't bother nodding, didn't bother exchanging frivolous formalities or greetings.

She spoke. Again. Eyes unreadable. Face sunken. A little like Cloud, Leon wondered if she had Geostigma as well. Of course she didn't. That was rather stupid. Leon wondered if Tifa had seen Cloud lately. He really wanted to see Cloud. He needed to see Cloud. Once she was gone, he could finally go out. Redeem himself. Keep Cloud alive.

Tifa was eyeing him tiredly. When had she stopped speaking? Leon didn't notice. Her words. . . this time, he managed to understand them faintly, but he didn't bother trying to listen as she looked at his sorry state with her saintly sympathy. He missed her a little, Leon realized. They hadn't met for quite some time. Cloud would probably want to see Tifa.

She stopped talking again. Lowering her head, she simply took his hands in her own and clasped them around something cold, her ghostly touch lingering as she brought them up to her face and pressed her lips against the back of his palm. Leon felt beads of hot, wet tears staining his hands.

When had he closed the door?

Tifa was gone. She must have gone a while ago because the sun was high in the sky, extremely bright. It was a little warm – it had to be scorching outside on the sidewalk. He looked at everything in a very dazed manner. Nothing came into focus. He heard the steady crunching of. . . of something, fading away slowly. Something sharp and crisp.

Like potato chips.

Tilting his head backwards, he leaned back against the door. He had somehow managed to slide down to the ground, hand clasped tightly around whatever Tifa had given him. His eyes strayed. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and bounced of a clear shard of glass. His eyes were on the camera again.

Slowly, he found that his breathing had quickened. Inhaled shakily, bringing his head down and his hands up, pupils dilating at the object in his hands.

"No matter what, we'll work it through. Right?"

"They forced us into a bloody play. I think compensation is in order."

"You took a picture of me. You think I'm worth looking at."

"There might be a time when we won't see each other again."

". . . I heard that Seifer likes you. In a more than friendly way. Sephiroth looks at you, too."

". . . Why bring them up?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about the future. If someday we both leave. . . then we have to make the best of what we have right here, right now."

"You and I. . . we're. . . different."

"But no matter what, we'll work it through. Right?"

"I hope you'll be fine on your own.".'I'm sorry. I wish we had time.'

Tears flowed smoothly down his cheeks, chest tight, body resonating with words that suddenly pierced through him with the intensity of molten lava. Those words had been freshly etched onto the rock. Not as a postscript. They were more prominent than the faded vow that Leon had chiselled in himself all those years ago. His tears dripped down onto the rock, wetting his fingers.

He let out a choked sob, bringing the stone up and pressing the cool, smooth surface against his scarred forehead, hiccupping slightly. Leon inhaled shakily, shoulders shaking in bereavement, grasping desperately onto the rock until his fingertips were white. He rocked back and forth, crying softly, biting down his lower lip to keep from sobbing outright.

Those parting words. . . Cloud. . . he had known, he. . . he. . .

Leon wept.