#turnupswrites

He didn't feel like cooking up a nice, homemade meal anymore. He scooped the chopped vegetables into a bowl, and put them back in the fridge. They'd have a couple of TV dinners, or takeout, instead.

Bones came in, not long later, to catch his show on the ridiculously large TV Ash had brought. He always did, even though they were both meant to stay outside. It was their secret, between Eiji and Bones.

"You ain’t making dinner?" Bones asked, as he clambered over the back of the sofa to collapse into a heap on the too-firm cushions.

"Not tonight," Eiji replied. He picked up the book on the side, as though he'd been reading instead, but Bones wasn't even looking. He was already helping himself to the remote, and flicking through the channels.

Eiji watched him, for a moment. He thumbed through the pages of the book. His voice came out much smaller than he wanted it to: "The boss'...girlfriend?"

"Huh?" Bones craned his neck to look at him. "You heard that?"

Bones' voice carried; Eiji heard most things he said, though it was mostly him and Kong chatting about nothing. "It's just – I'm not – it's not—"

"It ain't about girls or boys," Bones said. "A girlfriend's the one who keeps house for you. Who you come back to after trouble."

Eiji still didn't think that was the right word. But maybe this was some new American slang he didn't understand. "Oh."

"It's a good thing." Bones smiled, showing his sharp canines. "And being Ash's girlfriend? Gives you a hell of a reputation."

Because Ash had a hell of a reputation. Because Ash was a gang leader, and he had the respect of most other gangs around New York. Did they all know him as that? As the Lynx's girlfriend?

"I'm not Ash's," Eiji said, because his stomach hadn't just squirmed, it had somersaulted, at that thought. He did not want to be just the Lynx’s property.

Bones tilted his head to one side, frowning. "That ain’t bad, either. I'm Ash's. Kong's Ash's. We're all Ash's."

It was as simple as that to him. He followed Ash, so he was Ash's. And Eiji supposed he could try and deny it, but he did the same thing. Stubbornly stuck at Ash's side until he'd stopped telling Eiji to go back to Japan. Didn’t have any plans to leave him, any time soon.

He was Ash's, he realised, through and through.

"Right." His voice was distant, but he didn't think Bones heard anyway; his show had started and that always hypnotised him. Eiji took his book to his bedroom, heart thumping. It was something, he realised, that he'd known for a while. He'd known it, but he'd only just realised it, and it felt overwhelming. Just how much he was Ash’s.

He sat on the end of the bed, and wondered what Ash was doing right now. Gang business. Dangerous business. And Eiji was the one he came home to – who he’d chosen to come home to. They didn’t have to live together, alone, here, but Ash had chosen that, and Eiji hadn’t argued. This was Ash’s safehouse, and that Eiji's job was to be there, when he came home.

His mind didn't settle to read. He flicked on the radio, and shifted restlessly, waiting. Thinking about fights and guns and gangs and realising he didn’t know much about how it worked at all.

Ash called from a payphone, to say he was on his way back. Eiji called for takeout. It arrived minutes before Ash himself, and he had to sacrifice a handful of fries to Bones and Kong when they saw the delivery boy. They clapped Eiji on the back as they said goodbye, then stopped to debrief with Ash in the hall. Eiji couldn't keep up with their conversation; their words were too fast, and their accents too heavy. He leant against the doorframe, and watched Ash's expression; that tense, serious expression he had around the gang. His eyes glinted green, his jaw set.

It relaxed, when he met Eiji at the door. Softened. His hands found Eiji's hips, and he brought him close for a hug. Eiji's arms went around his neck automatically and he pressed closer. Smelt of sweat, cigarettes and smoke. It was unpleasant, but it was Ash's.

He pulled away, ghosting his lips over Eiji's cheek. "Honey, I'm home."

It was a joke. It had started as a joke and because of Ash kissing him in jail. He still teased that they were together, like that. Every time it made Eiji duck his chin, and laugh, cheeks warming. Americans were too free with being intimate.

Ash was too free with being intimate.

He stepped away, not seeming to realise Eiji hadn't responded, and saw the paper bags sat on the table.

Eiji leant his back against the door to close it. "Sorry, I—"

"It's alright." Ash looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I'm not going to beat you with my belt for not having a roast on the table after my day at the office."

It was another joke, but Eiji didn't laugh. He could see why the boys thought what they did. Ash noticed. Tilted his head to one side; his hair fell with the movement, gold in the artificial light. "Seriously, don't worry."

Eiji bit his lip. He wondered how to tell Ash about what Bones had said – wondered if Ash knew – if Ash called him that, himself. Wondered if he’d see it as another joke, and Eiji didn't know if he wanted it to be. Didn't know how he could even word it.

Ash stepped forward, again. His hand grazed Eiji's arm; brushed his hair behind his ear. It was genuine, and he looked up.

"What's up?"

Eiji tangled his fingers in Ash's. Took a deep breath. "The boss' girlfriend."

Ash frowned. "Huh?"

Eiji looked at their joint fingers. Ash's looked like the colour of ivory, against his. How was it that this boy could spend a summer outside in New York, and not tan at all?

"That's what they call me," he said. "The boss' girlfriend."

"Ah." Ash paused, for half a second. "Right."

"I don't hate it," Eiji continued. His voice came out much smaller than before. "At least, I don't think I do. It's – the food will go cold."

Ash let him get away with that. "Right."

But he didn't drop his hand, as he crossed to the table. Not until Eiji had to step around to the other side, and he absolutely had to. His fingers fell away, slowly. Then he was pouncing on the bags and pulling out the burgers and fries, smiling like a child.

"No weird Japanese dish tonight?"

"Sometimes I think you really are just an uncultured American," Eiji replied, and for a moment, it was just like normal. He unpacked his food. Caught Ash glancing up, smiling at him. A soft smile that made his heart squeeze.

But Ash saw through him. "This is because of what Bones said."

Eiji nodded. He helped himself to fries, chewing slowly. Ash ate like he hadn't in a week; like he was barely tasting any of it. Eiji picked at his own food, steadily.

When Ash finally came up for air, he said, "It’s not your cooking. Just – this food is predictable, you know?"

"Predictable?"

"You know exactly how it's going to taste, because it's come out the machine that way."

"I don't think it's all made by machines."

"It's – safe." Ash met Eiji's eyes, his were shards of emerald, then away again. Back to his food. But there had been something in that gaze; something vulnerable. It was the same kind of vulnerable he'd seen at Cape Cod; that glimpse of Aslan Jade.

It felt like a peace offering. Ash had offered up that, about himself, because Eiji had mentioned the girlfriend thing. Probably looked vulnerable too.

Ash was weird about food. He'd noticed that. Noticed that sometimes he ‘d eat like he hadn’t in a week, or didn't eat at all, or would only pick at his food. That the other boys would eat three or four hot dogs back to back, and Ash would find a subtle way to toss the rest of his out. Eiji didn't press about it. He’d do his best to push Ash towards eating more healthily.

He continued steadily through his own meal. For once, Ash finished long before him.

"I'll tell them to knock it off," Ash said. "I've half a mind to bash them."

"You...didn't say that, then?"

That there was this thing between them. The same thing as in jail; in that road trip across America; in Ash lying in his lap in the middle of the night. They were joint by this thing. They weren’t just friends; they were something more.

"No, I didn't." Ash's mouth twisted. "They're idiots."

"They aren't," though Eiji's protest was half-hearted.

Ash raised an eyebrow, unbelieving, and Eiji had to look away, biting his cheek in case he started laughing. He liked Bones and Kong, but he understood why they were often stationed outside his safe apartment building, where nothing happened, as opposed to the real work Ash had done today.

The work Ash had done today. The work that left him smelling like gunpowder. When Ash was like this, domestic and teasing, it was hard to equate him with the feared gang leader – whose reputation Eiji had by association.

He gathered the trash from their meals together, and threw them away. At least he didn't have to wash up tonight – and that was another part of playing house, wasn't it?

When he looked back, he saw Ash examining the back of his hand. Even from where Eiji stood, he could see the knuckles were red, starting to turn purple and blue.

"You've been fighting," Eiji said, automatically getting the first aid kit from under the sink. It was replenished nearly weekly.

"It’s nothing," Ash replied. He left his chair untucked, and flopped onto the sofa. He went over the arm, lying lengthways, and Eiji wondered if any of these boys were capable of sitting normally.

He crossed over, with a bag of peas. How many times, he wondered, could you refreeze peas before they were no longer safe to eat?

Eiji tossed them to Ash. He caught them without looking, and pressed them against his hand. Eiji perched on the arm of the sofa. Ash's hair flopped over his face, but he saw him wince at the ice.

"Bones..." Eiji swallowed. "Bones didn't make it sound like a bad thing."

Ash didn't answer, immediately. "That right?"

"He said – a girlfriend – is who you come home to, after a long day at war," Eiji said.

Ash smiled. A slow, unconscious smile that sent a rush of warmth through him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ash sat, properly, his back against the arm of the sofa, his knees drawn up. He nodded to the empty space. Eiji slipped onto it, aware of his elbow knocking against Ash's knee. The touch tingled.

"And Bones didn't say what you did after a long day at war?"

Eiji's cheeks felt hot, at the suggestion. "I don't think he knows about that kind of thing."

Which made Ash chuckle. His knee bumped Eiji again, and he but his lip. It felt mean to laugh at Bones, but it was easier than this thing, and he loved making Ash laugh like that. He chanced a glance at Ash from under his bangs, only to see him watching Eiji closely. It sent that wave of heat down his neck.

"And – do you?" Ash's voice was soft; soft enough Eiji suspected he could pretend not to have heard, if he wanted.

"I..." He traced the gain of the sofa with one finger. "I have an idea, or two."

"Yeah?” Ash sat up further, leaning forward. “Care to share?"

He'd turned to Ash, and he wasn't sure when he had. But now his face was only inches away.

"You mean – demonstrate?"

Ash smiled – smirked – and Eiji's stomach twisted. "Only if you want to."

Eiji wanted to. He wanted to, but then it wouldn’t be a joke, anymore. Things would change. Still, he didn’t wouldn’t back down. Ash had that effect on him; made him want to rise to the glint in his eye.

He leant forward – didn’t let himself hesitate – and pressed their lips together. He felt Ash’s part, like he was surprised Eiji actually did it, before he kissed back. He moved slowly, as if he was savouring it, one hand sliding into Eiji’s hair. The bag of frozen peas fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Eiji shifted, so he was securely between Ash’s legs, hands on his knees to steady himself, as he kissed him back. Only pulled away when he felt lightheaded, and not far enough to see Ash clearly.

“That okay?” Ash whispered.

“If that’s – if that’s okay with you?” Eiji replied.

Ash pulled away. Eiji let him, though he was still very aware of how close they were; how he was pressed between Ash’s legs. His lips tingling. Ash raised a hand, brushing Eiji’s bangs from his eyes. His fingers trailed over his cheekbone, green eyes examining him. Eiji stared back, heart pounding. There was everything, and nothing, to say. Ash made a noise, then stopped. Tucked Eiji’s hair behind his ear.

“I like coming home to you,” he murmured.

Eiji felt heat rush through him, like he’d just sunk into a warm bath. His hands had moved, he didn’t know when, to Ash’s shoulders. “I like you coming home.”

Because Ash had been fighting, and he may only have come home with bruised knuckles today, but he could easily come home much worse. Eiji kissed him again, pressing their foreheads together.

“Please come home, Ash.”

Ash took a breath that Eiji felt against him, pressing his hands against the small of his back. Pressed him closer, until they were inches apart. He nodded, his hair falling over his eyes. It hid his expression. He pressed his mouth against Eiji's cheek. Properly, this time, lashes brushing his skin.

Eiji held Ash back. Felt his spine, his shoulder blades, and Ash's mouth moved to his temple. Kissed there, too, and then tugged him down so he could rest his chin on Eiji's head. He let him, falling ungracefully against Ash's chest, their legs tangled on the sofa. It wasn’t quite big enough, for this. They were very close. Closer than ever before, and this time, it was serious.

He didn't want to pull away. Listened to the steady beat of Ash's heart under his ear. His fingers reached up to curl a blonde strand around his finger.

"I'll try my best," Ash murmured.

"I'll hold you to that." And he felt Ash's chuckle as a rumble. He shifted, to look at him, their faces so close that Ash's eyes were a sea of green. "I promise, Ash Lynx."

"Well—" Ash kissed him. Long, slow and savouring and Eiji felt as though he was melting. "Then I can't let you down."

His voice was soft, like a purr. He pressed kisses to the corner of Eiji's mouth, trailing down his jaw. Eiji twisted Ash's hair in his fingers. This was earnest – so earnest and reverent, that it made his chest ache.\

He kissed Ash back. Kissed his temple; his cheekbone; the hollow of his jaw, and felt Ash's breath catch under him. He drew him even tighter against him, so there wasn't even room for that. They lay on the sofa, hearts beating against each other.

His eyes half-closed, and he didn't mind the smell of sweat and gunpowder. It was Ash's smell. This felt right, Eiji thought. Thought perhaps he was Ash's boy, after all, because this felt like where he belonged.

*

"So, who started it?"

Ash leant against the bar, and did his best glower at Alex. Made sure to sweep said glower over the guys standing around, so they all knew he was bothered by something. Bones ducked behind Kong; maybe he guessed what was up. Eiji, though, was in the thick of it, being taught how to play pool.

Alex smiled, but he looked tense, too. "Started what?"

Ash tilted his head and raised his eyebrow. "Started calling Eiji the boss’ girlfriend?"

Alex's grin stiffened. He swigged from his beer bottle, either buying for time or building up his courage. Ash didn't relent his stare.

"Ain't it right?" Alex eventually asked.

Ash huffed, taking a drink himself. His was an excuse to look over at Eiji. He was concentrating hard, lining up a shot, his brows together. He was biting his lip, and it made Ash's stomach twinge. Adorable.

"I never said that," he said; it came out much too defensive.

Alex shifted. Glanced across at him, and Ash stayed scowling. It was half the job of being the boss – he had to be imposing – had to have his respect and reputation. That was how you survived in New York. That was what Ash loved about New York.

Alex leant across, looking straight ahead, probably watching Eiji too, as he said, "You didn't have to."

Ash's stomach twisted. He watched Eiji as he took the shot. A ball fell into the pocket. The boys cheered him like he'd won the game, clapping his shoulders. Eiji laughed, the low lighting casting a halo on his hair. He looked like he was glowing, from the inside out. Those dark eyes found Ash's.

He looked away. "That obvious, huh?"

Alex half-laughed, like he wasn't sure if he'd get hit, if he did. "Yeah, boss, that obvious."

That was bad. Ash finished the bottle, and lined it up on the bar alongside the others. Beer wasn't his drink of choice, but it was what they drunk here, so he did too. At least it filled him up.

"It ain't him," Alex continued. Conversationally. "It's you. The way you look at him."

"Well, shit," Ash said it on reflex, like he'd dropped a glass or missed a shot. Like it was an accident. It was an accident. Being around Eiji was making him soft. He knew that, knew it particularly when they were alone together, but he hadn't realised it seeped through to everywhere.

He glanced up just in time to meet Eiji's eyes again; stood at the side of the table, with his pool-cue held like a staff in front of him. He smiled.

"I gotta smoke," Ash said. Snapped. Headed through the back of the bar. Stalked through, so that Bones leapt back out of his way. The lynx on the warpath.

He tried not to think about how that would seem to Eiji; for him to storm away just after being smiled at. But he needed space. Needed air. Needed to slam the door to the tiny courtyard and fumble for a cigarette in his pocket. He lit it with fumbling fingers, and leant against the brick wall.

Said courtyard was a square of cobblestone, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings, a hodgepodge of brick and stone, fire escapes twisting around them like ivy. Just a patch of sky at the top, and the light pollution of the city meant no stars or moonlight got through. It cast everything yellow.

Ash took a deep drag, and let it out slowly. The smoke drifted into the night air in a gray ribbon. His muscles relaxed, his mind numbed.

Alex pushed open the door. He leant against the frame, and watched Ash. He didn't look away from the patch of night, but held out the cigarette pack. Alex took it, and pulled out his own. Handed it back, and kept his palm out for the lighter.

Ash didn’t give it to him. He stepped forward, holding the lighter up to where Alex held the cigarette between his teeth. It was a challenge; to see if you flinched, at the flame so close to your mouth. If you trusted the person with the lighter.

Alex didn't flinch. His blue eyes held Ash's. The blue of new jeans.

Ash leant back against the wall.

Alex blew out smoke. "You know we don't mind, yeah?"

"It's not you." Ash held the cigarette between his fingers, and focused on the warmth of it. "It's – if you can tell, anyone can."

"Not anyone." Alex leant next to him, just as he did at the bar. There was no shaking him, and Ash thought he loved him for that. "But we can. Because you're different with him. You didn't beat him to a pulp for waking you up – things like that. We knows you, is all."

"And other people know me." Ash tapped the end of his cigarette, sending a miniature meteor shower to the flagstones. "Golzine knows me."

So if Alex and the boys – if Bones – could tell, Dino Golzine definitely could. Every time Ash went out with Eiji, he was parading his Achilles heel. If he was Achilles, he thought, as he took another drag, Eiji was Patroclus.

There was that painting. Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus. An image flashed in his mind of Eiji, that pale – that dead – and his chest ached.

Alex didn't press for those details; respected Ash's privacy when it came to his past with Golzine – even those visits before all this Banana Fish business that were much too recent for his liking. Just why had it taken him so long to get out of there – completely?

Ash's smoke blew out shakily.

"We'll protect him," Alex said. "We won't let anything happen to him."

It already had. Ash had been there, in California, and he'd not been able to do that. Eiji had been taken, right under his nose. If Ash Lynx couldn't protect him, then what hope did anyone else have?

Now everyone knew he had a weak spot.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah." Alex paused. Smoke came out his nose, as he laughed. "'Cos he's your girl."

Ash punched his shoulder. Enough to smart, but not to bruise. He took the final drag of his cigarette, and crushed it under his converse, as he headed back inside. Didn't correct Alex.

Came face to face with Eiji, once he was back inside the bar. Eiji, dithering with a bottle in his hand, and looking concerned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, when Ash was close enough.

The dim lights made his eyelashes spidery shadows on his cheeks. Caught in his dark eyes, and if Ash looked long enough, he could map galaxies in them. There was something about Eiji Okumura. He was unreasonably kind and thoughtful and if Ash was feeling philosophical about it, he would say something about his innocence – that boy had never seen a gun. But it was that stupid stubbornness Ash felt drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

If they were alone, he’d kiss him. He didn’t think that was possible, even if the boys knew, because he didn’t think Eiji would want that.

Instead, he smiled. Flung his arm around Eiji's shoulders, and steered him towards the bar. Eiji let him. It didn't matter if anyone saw, Ash thought, because all the boys knew anyway. The knew, and they'd protect Eiji.

"Everything's fine," Ash said. Aware that he stunk of cigarettes, but Eiji didn't pull away. If anything, he leant into him slightly. "Just peachy."

He didn't think Eiji believed him. He didn't quite believe himself. He felt itchy, ready for an attack, like a guard dog. Eiji was in danger, because of him. Because it was obvious how Ash felt about him.

But the gang would protect him. Ash would protect him.

Just as one of those shadow creatures was leaping towards him, long fingers outstretched ––– and he knew this was it – it was cut in two. By a weapon.

A key.

The key had a wielder. Sora had fallen; he lay on the floor of the castle, and now he looked up to see a boy over him. He was tall; built like a hero, with silver hair like starlight. His eyes caught the low candlelight of the castle hallway, sparking somewhere between green and blue.

"C'mon, Sora - I thought you had more fight than that," he said. Smiled, just like a hero.

He still sat on the floor. Staring at this saviour. This saviour, who looked at him, as though he was expecting a reaction. There was something, he thought – he knew – but he couldn't remember. It was like he'd forgotten his lines for a play.

The boy frowned a little. Still offered his hand to help him up. Sora took it; he was tugged up effortlessly.

"Thank you," he said.

The boy stared a moment longer. His fingers fell through Sora's, and it was only when they were gone that he realised he'd been holding them for longer than he should.

"Sora," he said again, but this time he was fizzy around the edges. The image was starting to fade. Sora was already becoming aware of the pillow below him; that his sheets were tangled. He burrowed into them, trying to hold onto the dream for a little longer.

It was no use. He was awake, and staring at the golden morning light filtering through his curtains. He could hear Strelitzia making coffee in the kitchen.

Sora rolled onto his back, pushing his hair from his face. He could still conjure up the boy in his mind – those piercing eyes. The part of his lips. The comparison to an angel was too easy.

And yet, he thought of him like that. Dream Boy had saved him.

But Dream Boy was just a dream.

So he pulled himself up, and started the day.

*

Sora didn't dream of the boy for a few days. He went to college, and to his part time job and half forgot about that dream. Only thought about it in flashes, when something reminded him of the castle.

But the nightmare returned, quickly. The dark shadows. The glowing eyes. The sharp claws reaching for him. The coldness.

As always, Sora ran. Through the castle; it felt like a maze, like he was running in circles. Through the same library, the same entrance hall – he'd climb stairs and find himself on platforms just above it, monsters on his heel, grasping at the railing. They had gaping mouths, leaking shadowy wisps.

Suddenly, the monsters were the ones being chased, instead. Attacked. Sora pressed behind a nearby pillar and watched. It was the Dream Boy again. The same silver hair and green-blue eyes. Same weapon. The same elegant way of fighting, sweeping and sharp.

He defeated the monsters.

Sora stepped out from behind the pillar, still half-mesmerised.

"Where's your keyblade?" Dream Boy asked.

"I don't have one," Sora said.

The boy laughed. It sounded harsh, forced. Then that frown returned, like Sora had said something the wrong thing. He stepped forward.

"Of course you do,” Dream Boy said. “Your keyblade is stronger than mine. It always has been."

His voice was warm, Sora thought. It made him think of sandy beaches, rolling waves. He wanted to listen to that voice more. Though he didn't know how to answer. He just shook his head. His mind had come up with keyblades and monsters.

"It is," Dream Boy continued. He was much closer now. He tapped the side of his fist against Sora's chest, lightly. "It's in your heart."

Sora blinked at him. His eyes flashed in the torchlight of the castle like opals. The shadows played over his cheekbones and jaw. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale; like he woke sleeping maidens with a kiss.

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

The boy opened his mouth, but was fading again. Already. The castle details blurred into each other. The more Sora tried to hold onto it, the quicker it slipped away.

He woke up, again. Earlier than his alarm. He buried his head under the pillow in frustration. It was bizarre. He knew dreams could recur, but he didn't know they could develop like this. That characters could come in and have conversations like that, which followed on from each other. Didn't realise that conversations could feel like that in dreams.

Didn't realise his heart would still be racing at Dream Boy's touch.

Not touch. Because it was a dream.

It hadn’t really happened.

*

Work and college were tedious – even more so than usual. The days seemed to pass so slowly, because Sora was waiting to sleep. Went to bed earlier and earlier in the hopes of catching that recurring dream again. He never usually wanted to; was usually too wary of the nightmares to try and sleep.

They came again, just like he thought they would. The monsters and the darkness seeped into the castle. Sora didn't run this time. He held his ground. Waited for the Dream Boy to appear again.

A monster came towards him. A towering knight, with no face, shadows dancing off its armour. It brandished a huge shield, with a lion’s face embedded into it. A moving face. Its great jaws opened and closed, eyes flashing. It lunged at Sora.

He dived to one side. Rolled to his feet, feeling weightless.

Dream Boy had said he had a weapon, too. Had said it was in his heart.

He tried to concentrate. Tried to reach down inside himself and conjure it.

The shield roared. Lunged again. Sora leapt backwards.

The eyes flashed amber. A ball of curling flame came from between its teeth.

Sora abandoned the weapon effort. He dove again, laying on the ground as the flame passed over him. It was a realistic dream; he felt the warmth of the flames on his back.

Heard a shout, from above him. He looked up from his arms to see Dream Boy fighting against the knight. Countered the shield, stepping inside to hit against the knight. When it lunged at him, he skidded on the marble floor, catching himself on the floor, and attacked it from the back.

He defeated it. It dissolved into shadow.

The boy stood in the entrance hall of the castle. (Sora wasn't sure how he knew it was the entrance hall, but he did.) The candlelight cast a halo on his silver hair.

"I couldn't do it," Sora said. "I tried."

Dream Boy offered his hand again. "Then keep trying."

Sora let himself be pulled up, again. "If I keep having this dream, then, sure."

"Dream." Dream Boy tilted his head to one side, his hair shifting. It seemed a familiar movement. "Of course. You're sleeping."

A very weird dream. But dreams were weird; Sora's seemed particularly so.

"If you're going to keep showing up," Sora said. "I better give you a name."

"I have a name," Dream Boy said, with a smile. A nice smile, but a sad one. "It's Riku."

"Riku," Sora echoed. It seemed right. Correct. Something that he knew, just as much as he knew this was an entrance hall.

"That's right." He stepped closer, and Sora realised Riku still held his hand. He hadn't let it go, and Sora didn’t either. It was a reassuring weight. "And I'm a Dream Eater."

"Dream Eater." It sounded just as familiar. Sora looked up at Riku. He was taller than him, by a good couple of inches. "More like nightmare eater."

"Something like that." Riku examined Sora's face, as though he was trying to memorise it. They were close. He could see the fan shaped shadows Riku's eyelashes cast on his cheeks.

"You'll fight my nightmares," Sora murmured.

"I'll help you fight them," Riku said. "You can."

Sora opened his mouth to argue. He was distracted by Riku's hand raising, as though he was going to touch Sora's cheek. His fingertips grazed his hair.

His heart felt warm.

He opened his eyes. Awake, though his heart was still racing. They'd stood so close; Riku's voice had been so soft.

Sora pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was ridiculous. It was just a dream. Dream Boy – Riku – wasn't real. Just a figment of Sora's imagination. The whole thing was just a recurring dream. It was already taking over his life. If he didn't nip it in the bud now, he never would.

"You've been distracted lately," Strelitzia said, when he emerged from his room for coffee.

Sora sat at the kitchen bar, and took the coffee. Even though the dreams were so real, he felt like he slept better after them. Since Riku started appearing. Maybe it was knowing the monsters were defeated.

He looked at Strelitzia. She was combing out her bedtime plaits.

"You know you can have the same dream more than once?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Have you ever had it so that your dream...continues?" Sora pressed. "Like, you pick up where you left off."

Strelitzia considered him, her fingers still combing her auburn hair. Then she shook her head, slowly. "I've never had it continue."

Which made something in Sora's mind catch. "You have the same dream over and over?"

Strelitzia didn’t answer him immediately. She stared at something over his head, out of the window, and her eyes seemed distant.

An alarm blared out between them. Sora's phone, with a reminder that he had work. In less than an hour. He had to get moving if he was going to make it on time. He downed the coffee and hurried to get his stuff together.

It was only when he was rushing out the door that he realised Strelitzia hadn't answered his question.

*

So, Sora kept dreaming. Tediously got through each day and closed his eyes thinking of Riku. Ready to see him again.

He did. There were always monsters. He always tried to reach inside himself and find his own keyblade. It never worked. Riku always saved him.

"I used to win when we fought," Riku said. He sat on the steps in the entrance hall.

Sora sat next to him. The castle still seemed eerily quiet; eerily empty; eerily familiar.

"We've never fight," Sora said.

"We used to. All the time." Riku looked at him with those opal eyes. "It started out as fun – playfighting – but it changed. Became competitive."

"Oh." Sora didn't remember that, from any other dream. It bothered him, even if it was a dream, and didn’t matter at all. The way Riku frowned at him bothered him. "Right."

Riku's fingers knocked his. He didn't look down. He'd read that somewhere, that counting fingers in a dream made you wake up, and he wanted to avoid that as much as possible.

"You have problems with your memory a lot," Riku continued. Softly.

"I don't."

Riku raised an eyebrow. Sora had a flash of memory, of Riku making that face, with a smirk. It made his heart stutter, again.

"Where were you born?"

"In the city," Sora replied.

"What city?"

"You know, the city." Where he'd always lived. But now he thought about it, he couldn't remember any details. The more he tried, the more it slipped away. He knew the name of the city he lived in, but couldn’t now. He figured it was just because he was dreaming. This dream was its own world.

World. It had the same twinge of familiarity.

"I don't," Riku said.

"Well, that's because you're a dream eater." It came out as a snap. Sora didn't mean it to.  "You're not real."

"Sora—"

He was already waking up. He stared at the bedsheets, and was surprised that he felt bad about snapping at Riku. As if Riku wouldn't appear in his dreams again the next night, and save him again.

He didn't want to argue. Still felt muddled, though, especially about the question he was asked. He was born here, in the city. He knew that. But even now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember any details. Not the house he grew up in, or his parents. Not clearly. They were just – things in the background.

Sora sat up. His hair fell in his eyes. He shook it, his head pounding, like he was hungover. Why couldn't he remember anything?

Why did Riku feel more real than his actual life?

*

Riku was the key to finding Sora.

 When the Hollow Bastion crew found this out, after his talk with the Fairy Godmother, they said it was obvious. Of course. After what happened with Riku's Mark of Mastery Exam, of course he'd be the key to finding Sora.

Then, Riku wondered, why had they all pushed so hard for Kairi to be the one to do it?

Kairi hadn't had any results, though. He supposed he understood why they pivoted to him, because of that. They were desperate for a lead, and he was one.

King Mickey was the one who encouraged him. "You've found each other over and over again. You'll find Sora again now."

And if King Mickey believed that Riku could do it, then he believed he could. It buoyed him, even if he still knew nothing about being a Dream Eater. It had happened by accident, and he hadn't even been aware of what he had done.

How could he do something if he didn't know how?

It was Ienzo who helped. Ienzo who suggested hypnotism to help him connect with Sora. It helped him to relax into those powers; he was lulled into a drowsy sleep.

And it worked. He found him. Back in the Hollow Bastion castle. Surrounded by Heartless.

Riku knew what to do, then. He knew how to fight. But the more he fought, the harder it was to maintain the connection. It was harder to maintain. Hard to get his voice to work, when what he wanted to do was run and hug Sora. Either that, or fall at his feet and burst into tears, just like Sora did at the World that Never was.

It was too much to do, each time. Fighting back the Heartless drained his energy too much.

But he was getting stronger. He could talk for longer, after they’d reunited.

And he’d found that Sora didn’t remember anything. Again. Riku shouldn't have been surprised. In fact, it only hurt distantly. Of course, Sora didn't remember who he was or where he came from. At least Riku's own memories were in tact this time.

At least he hadn't been replaced, this time.

He was under now. The same way Kairi would lay back in the bed at the Hollow Bastion restoration committee. With Ienzo's soft voice hypnotising him to sleep, concentrating on Sora's face. The light of his eyes and the curve of his smile. The way he laughed.

The way he looked at Riku in his own creation of Hollow Bastion; like he was a hero.

Riku arrived. He fought the heartless. He stood with Sora at the balcony overlooking the entrance hall. The balcony he'd threatened Sora on.

"This place is called Hollow Bastion," Riku said. He didn't know how much Sora remembered, outside of the dreams. Wasn't sure how much he could say, unless it triggered a meltdown, and ruined everything. He felt like he had to tread slowly. "It used to be a grand castle, with a town beneath it."

Sora watched him with large, shining eyes. Like sapphires. He looked at Riku differently in dreams, as though Riku had never hurt him. like he was a knight in shining armour. It was selfish of him to like that.

"What happened?"

"It fell to the darkness," Riku said. "The scientist working inside of the castle invited the darkness in. It became this place. It became Hollow."

Sora looked around. Riku didn't. He couldn't stand to. He hated this place; hated being there when he was awake; hated remembering what had happened there. "It feels sad here."

Their hands were very close on the railing. Sora's inched closer to Riku's. They had touched here, they could touch, and he wanted to touch Sora again so much. But this felt different. An unnecessary touch, just because he wanted to. It was indulgent. Taking advantage of Sora thinking of him like this.

He pulled his hand away.

"You've been here before," Riku said.

"I know." And for a moment, his heart leapt. But then Sora continued, "I dream about this place all the time."

Riku took a breath that hurt his chest. He stayed silent, as Sora murmured, "It's weird. I don't usually remember my dreams. I never used to. But I remember all these ones - that are all the same."

"Not quite the same," Riku said.

"No, but – in the same place."  Sora paused. "With the same person."

"Sora—" He wondered about saying it, then. About explaining the dreams were Sora's memories, that Riku was from his memory.

"It's so strange, I never normally have nightmares, either," Sora continued. Riku swallowed. "But those monsters, they keep returning. I don't watch horror movies, though if I did, I've never seen monsters like that before."

"They're called Heartless," Riku said it before he could stop himself.

He forced himself to look at Sora's big, blue eyes once again, but they were already beginning to fade. The whole dream was beginning to drift away, as much as Riku tried to hold onto it.

He woke at the foot of the real Hollow Bastion. With Ienzo over him, asking how it went, asking how he felt.

Riku felt completely drained. He lay back, exhausted, as though he hadn't slept at all. He felt Kairi hold an elixir to his lips, and he managed to drink it. Managed to sit up, after, feeling the rush of energy.

"How is he?" she asked.

Riku didn't really know. He seemed alright; he didn’t remember anything, and he couldn’t tell them anything about how to help him, but he was whole and well. He supposed he didn't even know if it really was Sora he was connecting to. Wasn't sure what the rules were for being a Dream Eater. But then, neither did anyone else.

So he smiled and said, "He's alright."

"Does he remember anything?"

Riku shook his head. His hair fell in his eyes, and he fumbled to brush it back. His nails grazed his skin.

Kairi's hand took his. It was warm, like Sora's, but it wasn't the same. Didn't have the calluses from the keyblade; from whittling.

“You’re trying so hard, Riku,” she said. “Thank you.”

She said it earnestly. She meant it. But it also sounded as though she was thanking him for doing it because she wasn’t; as though he was only doing it for Kairi’s benefit, and not for himself. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t an unselfish act; he was doing this – diving into nightmares again and again – because he wanted Sora back too. Because it had taken so long for them to be together, and he couldn’t bare losing him again now.

Not when it had taken so long for him to understood how his feelings. They’d all said it without using those exact words, but he knew it, in his heart.

Riku loved Sora.

She wasn't his partner romantically. Claire knew that. And thank God. She didn't think she'd be able to cope if her brother started dating this woman.

Because Jill Valentine was hot. The gold sequined tube top showed just how big her arms - her shoulders - were, whilst the skinny jeans showed her thighs were just as strong. A gold chain sparkled along her collarbone.  

She smiled at Claire - a kind, dashing smile that made her eyes sparkle like crystals and made Claire's heart pound.

"It's so good to finally meet you." Jill held out a hand. "Chris talks about you all the time."

It took Claire a moment to jerk her body back into action and take it. "Thanks. You too."

That barely made sense, but Jill was still smiling like it didn't matter.

"I think you guys will get on great," Chris said.

Claire nodded. Her hair twitched over her shoulders; she'd left it loose and wavy for the party. Couldn't help looking at Jill's asymmetric haircut and how good it looked on her.

"Sure," Jill said.

Someone called Chris from the other side of the room. He instantly became a teenager again, shouting and whooping as he went to meet them. Claire wanted to roll her eyes, but that was Chris, and she loved him.

But now she was left alone with Jill Valentine, and her heart had not stopped racing.

Claire sipped from her glass of mulled wine. It was her second glass, and she thought she’d need at least two more.

Jill raised an eyebrow. "Are you old enough to drink?"

She was still smiling enough that Claire felt safe enough to ask, "Would you arrest me?"

Jill paused - sipped from her own glass - then shook her head. "It's not worth baiting Chris' wrath."

Claire laughed. Much too shrilly. She choked on another mouthful. "He said it was okay. I think he thinks if I drink here, I won't at college."

Jill swirled the dark liquid around her glass, finally taking that piercing gaze off Claire. (Though, God, she wanted it back right away.) "That's very naïve of him."

Claire added, hastily. "Not that I'd ever drink underage normally."

"Of course not." Jill clearly didn't believe her, but clearly found it amusing.

Claire leant against the closest desk. Glanced down to see Jill was wearing Doc Martins and her stomach squeezed.

"So, you enjoy being STARs?" Claire asked. It was a stupid question, and she felt her face grow warm.

"I do," Jill leant her hip against the opposite desk. "It's more varied than regular police work, and I feel like I'm really making a difference."

"That's good." It was another stupid thing to say.

"You don't want to go into the force?"

"Not me, I'm afraid." Claire could cope with Chris on the force, with Chris on the STARs team, but she couldn't say she was a fan of the police in general. "I'm too much trouble."

"Ah." Jill folded her arms and Claire forced herself to keep her eyes on her face. But God, her biceps, and the way her forearms pressed her boobs together. They were a good pair of boobs. "Chris told me you had a bike. Speeding tickets?"

Lots of speeding tickets. Because Claire liked to go fast. Going fast was terrifying; exhilarating; made her feel alive. What was the point of the bike, if she didn't drive fast?

"Only one or two," she lied. Took another sip of wine and it gave her the courage to smile.

Jill laughed, and shook her head. Like she found it charming. Good, Claire thought. She wanted Jill to think she was charming. She really wanted this woman to like her.

"Do you at least wear your helmet?"

"Of course." That's was true.

"Good." Jill's gaze flicked up and down Claire, and her heart stuttered again. "Can't have you ruining your pretty face."

Heart bloomed over said pretty face. Claire looked down, brushing her hair from her eyes. Desperately searching for something to say and coming up completely blank.

"Sorry." Jill's expression softened. She shifted off her desk to lean against Claire, her voice dropping. "Was that too forward? I don't normally drink."

"It's fine." Claire's squeak said it was the contrary. She cleared her throat and took another sip. "I've just never been flirted with by a..."

"Police officer?"

"Something like that." And Claire actually laughed. She brushed her hair off her hot cheeks. "Someone like you."

They looked at each other. The noise continued around them, Mariah Carey on loop underneath it all. That seemed very distant. There was just Jill and her bright eyes and warm smile.

Claire's heart raced.

Jill glanced over her shoulder. Claire did too, and saw Chris was still in deep conversation with another officer. He was in the thick of a lot of slapping shoulders and raucous laughter.

"Shall I give you a tour of the station?"

The station was a bizarre building. Still had all the old shapes and features of the museum and the inside felt like an illogical maze. A tour would actually be interesting and cool, but that wasn't what Jill was suggesting. What Jill was suggesting made Claire's stomach perform a somersault. She liked the idea of it.

"That would be lovely, officer Valentine."

She saw it then. That Jill bit her lip, and flicked her gaze down Claire once more. She shook her head slightly, rolling her eyes, but it was in play.

"Come on, you." And she put a hand on Claire's elbow, as she stepped out of the hollow of the desks. She felt a zap of electric, even through the leather jacket.

Their shoulders brushed as they made their way through the party. Claire downed the rest of her wine, and left it by the door they were headed through, away from the main hall. It had gone entirely to her head; she felt pleasantly light, and fuzzy, as she followed Jill through the NYPD. Jill was talking, explaining the rooms and their history, but it was hard to concentrate. They nursed more drinks, as they went, and it made Claire feel confident, and cool.

They brushed each other, as they turned a corner, and Claire felt her cheeks warm again. Jill saw. Smiled.

"Come on," she took Claire's elbow, and she followed as eagerly as a puppy. Down another corridor and into a small room by the staircase. Jill opened the door, and peered in. The lights were switched off here.

She held the door open for Claire, and switched the light on.

"The dark room is in the back," Jill explained. The rest looked like a normal break room. "I don't think anyone will be here. Or look in here."

"Oh." Claire felt a flurry of nervous butterflies in her stomach. She was attracted to Jill. Now she was thinking about what acting on that would mean, and that felt different. Scary. "Good."

Jill looked over her shoulder, and smiled. Sympathetically. "Are you alright?"

Claire nodded, and smiled. Was suddenly very aware that a few snogs in nightclubs, a few fumbled attempts in her dorm room, paled in comparison to making out with a hot cop. A hot cope who worked with her brother.

Jill brushed her hair from her face, tilting her head to one side. "Have you...done this before?"

"Yeah." Claire's voice came out and octave higher than usual. She leant against the lockers and tried to seem nonchalant. "Just – this is...you're my brother's friend."

"Right." Jill stepped closer. "Is that an excuse?"

Kind of. Claire bit her lip. "More of a stalling technique."

"I won't be offended if you change your mind." And didn't Jill sound terribly reasonable when she said it? Only slightly like she was teasing. "I understand. You're Chris' little sister."

Jill stepped back towards the door. Claire caught her arm reflexively. This woman knew how to push her buttons.

"I'm not just Chris' little sister," she said.

Jill turned. She looked Claire up and down, slowly, and she felt a rush of heat to accompany it. It chased away the nerves. Solidified that she wanted this. She leant closer. Jill's hands went to her waist, fingers spread, and the touch sent shivers through her. She leant into it. It was easy to drop her gaze from Jill's piercing eyes to her mouth. Easy to let her lean closer, and kiss Claire.

Her eyes closed. She kissed Jill back, catching her elbows to steady herself. Kept kissing Jill Valentine, letting herself be guided backwards, until her back hit the lockers.

Jill took Claire's bottom lip between her teeth and her mouth fell open. A soft sound escaped her. She pressed her back against the lockers; Jill's body was flush with her own.

Jill nipped again, before she pressed her tongue into Claire's mouth. She moaned in earnest, and heard a satisfied sound from Jill. Got the courage to run her hand through Jill's hair, taking a handful.

When Jill pulled away, Claire was breathless. She felt flushed, her heart in her mouth.

"Alright?" Jill asked. She brushed a curl free from Claire's face.

Claire nodded. Kissed Jill again and felt fingers tighten on her hips. She missed Jill's mouth, followed a trail down her jaw. Heard a soft sigh when she kissed the side of her neck. It made her breath catch. Made her press her teeth into the spot.

Jill's hands shifted. Followed the curve of Claire's hips, to her ass, her fingers squeezing. She lifted Claire easily – which was good, because doing so made Claire feel weak at the knees anyway. She wrapped her legs around Jill, feeling the ridge of the lockers press into her back.

Her mouth dropped. She ran her tongue over Jill’s collarbone, and she made a soft sound in response. She felt alive; electric.

“Damn it, girl,” Jill whispered, her mouth just under Claire’s ear. She felt the rumble of her voice against her skin. “And you say you haven’t done this before.”

“I have,” Claire paused. She pulled away, still trying to catch her breath. “Enough.”

Jill chuckled. She brushed Claire’s hair back again, balancing her on one thigh. “I see that.”

She felt a jump of arousal. Tightened her legs around Jill, tracing her fingers up her arm; up to that bicep she’d admired so much.

“What about you?” she murmured, as Jill caught her chin, and traced her thumb over Claire’s bottom lip. “Do you do this often?”

“Not in the RPD.” Jill kissed where her thumb had been. Kissed just under Claire’s ear and a soft sound escaped her. “But I enjoy a good date.”

Claire was sure Jill got plenty of them. She tilted her head away, to allow Jill full access to her neck. She sucked a sharp love bite and an accompanying moan from Claire. She felt the smile against her skin; felt Jill’s fingers through the skirt of her dress. It had hiked up, and one of Jill’s hands pushed it higher, her palm against her skin.

“Sure – you do,” Claire murmured. She still carded her hand through Jill’s hair. “Officer.”

“Officer Valentine,” Jill said.

Claire hadn’t realised she had a thing for that, until this very moment. She repeated, breathily, “Officer Valentine.”

Their foreheads bumped together, as Jill kissed her again, open mouthed. She tried in vain to press back against Jill’s tongue. Jill’s hands pushed her dress higher, Claire pressed even closer, her tits pressing against Jill’s.

“And Miss Redfield,” Jill continued, her lips grazing Claire’s. “I think you’ve been speeding.”

Her stomach jumped. She tried to smile coquettishly, but she didn’t know if it worked. “Can we not come to an agreement, Officer Valentine?”

Jill broke character; she laughed, brightly. Kissed Claire’s check and murmured, “Come here, you.”

She turned with Claire, effortlessly carrying her to the wooden table. Claire looped her arms around Jill’s neck, trying not to giggle like a silly teenager. She knew she was blushing like one. She perched on the edge, the tips of her sneakers on the floor.

“So…” She let her hands trail, fingers nudging the sequin outline of Jill’s tube top. There was a freckle, just underneath. “What are you going to do with me, ma’am?”

“I think…” Jill’s hands dipped underneath Claire’s dress, pushing it up to her hips. It made the faint hair on her thighs that she couldn’t be bothered to shave stand on end. “I’m going to have to caution you.”

Claire tried to hide her giggle by ducking her chin. She didn’t think she was entirely successful, because she sent Jill off too. Their foreheads nudged again, and Claire got the courage to kiss her again.

Jill’s fingers touched the line of her underwear. Claire’s breath caught, and Jill paused, as though she was going to pull away. Claire caught her wrist, wanted to say to continue, but she didn’t have the voice. She let Jill dip her fingers further, to feel that she was damp through her underwear.

“Here,” Jill repeated, in a murmur, hooking her fingers in her underwear, and tugging them down. They fell, down to Claire’s sneakers. She felt another jump in her stomach. Closed her eyes as Jill’s palm traced up her thigh again. Gently. Gently traced her finger over Claire’s core, and she swallowed down most of a whine.

Claire clutched Jill’s shoulders as she repeated the movement, as her thumb pressed over her clitoris. Her fingers moved with practise and skill, sending spikes of pleasure in her wake. She tilted her head back, hair falling over her shoulders.

Jill knelt down, nudging Claire’s legs further apart. She kissed the inside of Claire’s thigh, tongue peeking out, tracing a line that made her shiver.

“Alright, Miss Redfield?” Claire murmured. She looked up, from between Claire’s legs, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Those intense blue eyes focused on her, a strand of her hair out of place.

Claire nodded. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, but she was half-desperate with need now.  The still rational part of her mind managed to come up with, “I’m learning my lesson.”

Jill laughed, again, pressing her cheek to Claire’s thigh. She wanted to memorise that moment, with that soft smile, looking at her like she was shining.

“Good,” Jill murmured. “Take a breath.”

Claire forced a long breath. Forced herself to relax. Felt Jill’s tongue against her, moving slowly. She felt a rush of heat, a rush of desire, and hooked her legs around Jill’s back. Jill steadied herself with her hands on Claire’s thighs, twitching at the noises she made.

Perhaps she should be embarrassed. But they were far enough from the party, and Jill seemed more than happy to know the effect she was having on Claire.

“Good girl,” Jill murmured against her, and Claire whimpered. Jill continued moving. Divided her attention between her entrance and her clit, and she felt herself coming undone. Her heart pounded in her ears and she couldn’t catch her breath. This was good – this was really good, with Jill’s nails tracing down her skin.

She climaxed. Caught Jill’s hair and wrist to steady herself through the wave of hot pleasure, crying out. Felt Jill smile against the skin of her thigh. She kissed her softly – stood back up to kiss Claire’s cheek and neck and she fell into the touch. Wrapped her arm around Jill’s neck to keep her close. Her forehead was damp with sweat.

Jill brushed her hair back. Claire kissed her, biting her lip and feeling Jill chuckle.

“Fuck,” Claire whispered. Her head was against Jill’s collarbone, just against her breasts, the sequins scratching her cheek. “You’re awesome.”

Jill chuckled. “Well, thank you.”

“I might never speed again,” she lied, and got another laugh. Another kiss. She looked up at Jill, pleasantly buzzed and high on adrenaline, catching hold of her belt loops. "You've got great methods, officer."

Jill twisted Claire’s hair around her palm, smirking. “I don’t think I quite believe you.”

Claire giggled, stomach jumping, her temple bumping against Jill’s chest. She stayed there, as her fingers fumbled on the button of Jill’s skinny jeans. She paused, then, tracing the lace of her underwear. Aware she was being watched, still a little shaky. She pressed further, and felt Jill’s hips arc into the touch.

“Fuck,” she breathed, as Claire moved her fingers. They were slick, already. Jill clutched her closer, moving with her fingers. “Yes, there. Like that.”

Claire followed her instructions. It was something, it seemed, she was only good at when it was Jill Valentine giving them. When Jill Valentine’s breath was warm on her neck, heavy in her ear, and she was murmuring that Claire was a, “Good girl. Yes. Fuck.”

It made her feel like she’d been zapped with electric – like they’d plugged Raccoon City’s giant Christmas tree into her. Turned her on all over again, and Jill seemed to know, because slipped her hand under Claire’s dress again. Had her crying out in orgasm at the same time as Jill.

Claire rested against her, struggling to catch her breath. Held Jill’s waist, and listened to the pounding of her heart; could hear Jill’s racing under her ear too.

“You’re amazing,” she murmured. Felt lightheaded and delirious.

Jill chuckled. She pressed a kiss to Claire’s temple. “You’re not bad yourself, Redfield.”

Which sent another jolt of joy through Claire. They pulled away, brushing hair from each other’s faces; Claire felt her cheeks warm under Jill’s gaze. She hadn’t expected it to be so soft and warm just from one evening.

There was a shout from the hallway. Chris’ voice.

“Shit,” Claire hissed.

“It’s alright.” Jill murmured. “Don’t panic.”

Claire was. She fumbled to find her underwear, bumping against the table. Jill steadied her as she tugged it back up. Slipped her dress back onto her shoulder, as Claire sorted her skirts.

“You go out first,” Jill said, “I’ll meet you out there.”

Claire nodded. Chris’ voice was louder now, and calling specifically for her. She paused, before she left, to kiss Jill and gush a “Thank you.” Which felt so absurd she blushed again. Luckily, Jill just laughed, and kissed her cheek, tapping her arse lightly.

“See you around, Miss Redfield.”

Claire turned back, grinning. “Bye, officer Valentine.”

She left the break room feeling like she was glowing, even if she still had lamb’s legs. It made her feel like a real adult, having a tryst at a Christmas Party.

Chris stood by the stairs, looking lost and a little afraid. She knew she should probably feel guilty, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be. She flashed Chris a smile.

“What were you doing in there?” he asked.

Claire shrugged, as nonchalantly as she could. “Oh, just, you know, exploring.”

“Well, there’s a lot of stuff you shouldn’t be getting into,” Chris said, starting down the corridor. “C’mon.”

Leon examined him, his jaw set. Riku hadn’t known what to make of him, at first. He had been Sora’s friend. Older and stronger and wiser, and it made Riku feel like a fumbling fourteen-year-old again. Made him flustered whenever this attractive man spoke to him like he was in any way an equal.

“You’ve been at this for a month,” Leon said, levelly. “Has anything changed, yet?”

No, not really. At least now Sora remembered his dreams, and the stories Riku told in them, but he didn’t remember who he really was. Didn’t remember the keyblade or the heartless. Didn’t think any of it was real.

“No, but—”

“Then you can take a break. Recharge.” Leon used his mentor voice. It was a demand.

Riku raised an eyebrow. “I’m no good to Sora dead?”

“Exactly.”

Riku didn’t have the confidence to glower at Leon, but he could scowl at his stew. His teeth still felt uncomfortable. Maybe if he took a break, he’d lose what little progress he’d made.

He poked at a potato in the stew with his spoon. Riku couldn’t. Not now that he knew how to talk to Sora again; knew how to see him again.

“Leon’s right,” Aerith murmured. “If you want to continue, then you need to keep your strength up.”

Riku could feel Leon watching him, too. He put the spoon down.

“I’m the only one,” he said. “It’s just me. I can do this – I’ve done things like this before. When Sora was asleep, I was the one who remembered him.”

He saw Leon wince at that, and felt a twinge of both satisfaction and guilt. He knew it was a sore spot. He half expected to be yelled at like a naughty child.

Leon didn’t. His lips tightened, then he sighed, brushing his hair from his face. It highlighted the scar across his face, the puckering of his skin around it.

“Let’s step outside for a minute, huh?”

Leon didn’t wait for an answer; he pushed his stew away, and headed outside. There was the creak of the door opening, but not the sound of it closing. He was waiting for Riku, who looked to Aerith. Her eyes were soft, like caramel, as she nodded.

“I’ll keep the food warm,” she murmured.

Riku pushed himself up from the table, and tried earnestly not to stomp his boots as he made his way to over to the door. Leon leant against it, arms folded. He didn’t acknowledge Riku, not until they were stood on the porch, and the door was finally closed. Leon rested his elbows on the rail, looking out over the square. The remains of Radiant Garden. Kairi’s home. Not Riku’s, or Sora’s.

Sora didn’t dream of Destiny Islands; he dreamt of here.

“I understand how you feel,” Leon said, slowly. “You’ve been through a lot. Both of you. It understand how deeply you feel for each other.”

Riku felt his cheeks start to warm. He stood back, shifting his weight, like he really was in trouble. Because that was a secret, and he’d hoped he could hide it better. Because he knew him loving Sora wasn’t the way the story was supposed to go.

“It’s…” he murmured. “Complicated.”

Leon turned. His eyes were solemn. They caught the reflection of one of the streetlights, catching a star in them.

“Riku,” he said. “I understand.”

It felt like being hit with a jolt of lightning. He got what Leon meant; that Leon was like him. And it suddenly made sense, he realised, how Leon was around Cloud – he’d drop in infrequently and the air around them was always charged. That should have been comforting. It was terrifying; that anyone could guess it about Riku. He stared back at Leon, his mouth dry.

“Am I that obvious?” he whispered.

Leon’s mouth twitched. He took a step forward, and Riku had to dig his heels into the wood to stop himself from running like a coward. Maybe he hadn’t changed that much at all.

“Only when it comes to Sora,” Leon said; put a hand on Riku’s shoulder, and he wasn’t sure if it was to reassure him or stop him from fleeing. “And only to people who understand.”

Riku opened his mouth. Found he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again. He hadn’t expected it from Leon; hadn’t expected it to be such a quiet, accepting moment. But then, he’d only ever envisioned a nightmare.

He swallowed, still trying to come up with an explanation. But Leon understood.

He relaxed; his body gave up resisting; he relaxed into Leon’s touch. His forehead bumped Leon’s shoulder. It was comforting that Leon was taller, broader, than him. Riku didn’t have to be the strong one.

“I know, kid,” Leon murmured from somewhere above him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Riku finally managed to murmur. “He’s not…”

The same. Here.

Leon’s fingers squeezed. “Are you sure?”

No. Riku wasn’t. Not entirely. Because in his dreams, Sora looked at him differently. It wasn’t just admiration. But perhaps he was only seeing what he wanted to see. Perhaps it was only because it was a dream.

Or perhaps Leon was right.

Riku didn’t reply.

“I know,” Leon repeated. “But you’ve got to take care of yourself, too. You won’t be able to help at all if you burn yourself out completely.”

Like Riku was a candle, or a star. Now, though, he understood it. If he did keep on like this, he’d find himself completely stuck – not to mention the other things.

So he agreed to take a rest.

But that didn’t stop him thinking about Sora.

*

Sora hadn’t seen Riku in a few days.

It left him feeling listless; itchy. He couldn’t settle to anything for longer than ten minutes without checking the clock. Time seemed to pass so slowly, especially at work. Reality was boring. Reality didn’t have a mysterious, beautiful boy, who insisted Sora was special; instead, it had disgruntled customers and coffee and the same five acoustic covers on repeat. It had Strelitza telling him to find something to do – sleeping so much wasn’t healthy.

Sora supposed he should have more drive. But whenever he thought of changing jobs, or changing his major to something he was more interested in. None of it felt right.

Riku had told him he was special.

Sora wanted to believe him, though he wasn't sure how that could be, when he didn't seem to have a talent. It was nice to have Riku look at him like that; easy to touch him, as though he had known him for years.

Easier, he supposed, to touch a dream, than it was a real person. Not that they were queuing up in reality. The only person who looked at him twice was that boy with the white hair that came into the coffee shop, but Sora was sure that was because he always seemed to mess up his order.

When he finally saw Riku again, he looked different. Brighter. Stronger. He handled the heartless with ease. Sora was becoming used to them now. They didn't feel as terrifying as the first few times he'd dreamt them. But he knew, instinctively, he could not let himself get caught. Something bad would happen. Very bad. Even if it was just a dream.

Riku fought them. They dissolved back into black mist, and he reached out a hand to help Sora up. He was pressed against one of the bookshelves, back in the library.

"You're back," Sora said. He didn’t let go. Riku's fingers twitched, as though he was going to pull away. He didn’t.

"I am," Riku replied. "Sorry. They made me take a break."

"They?"

"Leon?" Riku asked like Sora should know that name. "Aerith? Yuffie?"

The names shouldn't mean anything. He didn't know anyone with those names; He didn't even think those names had come up at work. And yet there was a twinge in the back of his mind, as though they were familiar.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Riku's green-blue eyes lingered over his features, before he finally slipped his hand free.

"It's fine," Riku said. Though he turned away, like it wasn’t.

Sora followed him, ducking to catch his expression. He saw Riku's lips twitch, as he turned more fully away. Sora followed, round and it was almost like dancing. Was worth almost tripping over his own shoes because Riku was laughing, now, and it was a lovely laugh. He really wanted to hear that laugh more.

"What have you been doing?" Riku asked. He caught Sora's shoulders, and stopping him still.

"Working," Sora replied. Riku's thumbs brushed the side of his neck, and even in the dream, he felt sparks.

"You?" Riku raised an eyebrow. It made Sora realise that even his eyelashes were silver. "Working? The whole day?"

"What's funny about that?"

Riku shook his head, and his hair shifted with the movement. The low lamps of the library made it look like starlight. Made him seem beautiful, when he was smiling like that. "Normally, you're goofing off."

"Well, I said I was working." Sora couldn't help smiling. "I didn't say I was working hard."

Because that was true. Sora did goof off, whenever the opportunity presented itself. He could go into automatic, could serve customers, but otherwise he was always looking for ways to avoid work. Wandering the shop floor with a cloth never failed to kill time.

Riku's fingers tightened. "Same as always."

Sora opened his mouth to reply – to snap back – but stopped at the look on Riku's face. It was soft. Fond. His thumbs twitched again, and Sora bit his lip. Riku's opal eyes stuck there.

Heat bloomed across his cheeks; he could feel that, even in his dreams. He let go of his lip. Slowly eased himself a little closer, reaching up on his tiptoes. It felt easy – too easy. Not really following what came before, but he didn't think too much of it – dreams didn't make sense. If Riku was looking at him like that, and Sora wanted to kiss him because of it, he would.

Sora steadied his hands on Riku's biceps – gently, as though he was a deer that would scare away – and was close enough to see the moment his breath hitched.

When they were inches apart, Riku turned his face away. He steadied Sora's shoulders again.

"I'll show you more of the castle."

When he'd first started to appear here, he'd have loved that. Would have been excited to see more of this place, because it was magical and mysterious. Now, he just wanted to talk; to be with Riku. He followed him through the library and up the stairs. There was a huge room with cross-crossing platforms – he assumed this was the inside of one of the towers. They crossed over with magic he didn't understand and didn’t care to. It made sense, here.

They emerged on another balcony, overlooking the little town and the rest of the castle. It was dusk, this time. Clouds were strung like a pearl necklace across the lilac and mauve sky.

Riku stayed silent. Sora traced his fingers over the marble balcony, his stomach roiling. It shouldn't bother him, that Riku turned away from the kiss. But it did. It hurt to be rejected by a figment of imagination.

Maybe it was because he felt closer to his dream figment than anyone else in his life.

"Do you…" Sora paused. "Have another story?"

"A bedtime story, to give you sweet dreams?" Riku's voice was still soft. He let his hair fall forward, and cover his face.

"Yes."

There was another long pause. Riku's shoulders moved with a heavy breath.

"There were two boys," he began. "They were best friends. They lived on an island, and spent their days exploring it together. One night, they snuck out whilst there was a meteor shower. One of the boys got scared – he thought one of them would hit the island. The other boy made a promise to him, that day. That if one came raining down, he would hit it back. That he'd protect him, no matter what."

He felt a familiar arche in his chest - in his heart. He pressed his palm over it, to feel it racing. Sora looked out, over the sky. A few stars had appeared, which shouldn't be possible, he knew, if the sun hadn't properly set.

"And - did he?"

"He tried his best," Riku replied.

Sora stepped closer. It had been easy, before, to touch Riku, but now he hesitated. Had to push himself to touch his fingers to his shoulder, and he saw Riku jump.

Still didn't look round.

"I think he did."

Riku shook his head, again, though this time he caught Sora's eye as he did. He took another long, slow breath.

"If you knew everything, you wouldn't say that," he said. Seemed to be leaning closer.

Sora met him. There was a warm breeze in the air, the twilight painting Riku's hair with rose and purple. He hesitated, as he raised his hand, not quite having the courage to touch Riku's cheek.

"I don't believe I would."

"You should, then."

Sora's fingers landed. He saw the tiniest flinch, as though Riku wasn't used to touch. He leant into it, a moment later, half-frowning, like he was going to argue more.

He traced his thumb over Riku's bottom lip.

"I believe," he murmured. "You're a very good dream eater, Riku."

He felt Riku's huff against his skin. But he didn’t pull away. His fingers grazed Sora's hips, and he leant shamelessly into the touch. Arched himself against Riku, losing himself in those deep, green-blue eyes. Shifted his thumb away to make room for his own lips.

Riku's grazed his.

And then the dream fell away. The bricks drifted away from each other, merging into the swirling sky.

Sora opened his eyes to his own room.

His lips still tingled.

*

"How is he?"

Riku pretended to still be dealing with his mouthful of sea salt ice cream. He sat on the steps of the courtyard with Kairi, not really wanting to answer that question. How was Sora?

Sora had nearly kissed him. Twice.

And Riku had nearly let him.

His cheeks burnt. He swallowed the ice cream, and it hurt his throat and stayed as a frozen shard in his chest.

"The same," he replied. "I'm not sure I'm making any progress."

"You're staying in the dreams for longer," Kairi replied. She examined the rest of her ice cream, in the dying light. "That's good. And you actually managed to find him."

Riku had found him, when Kairi couldn't. He still felt guilty about that.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Kairi's large, blue eyes flicked to him. "Finding him?"

That Kairi's bond wasn't strong enough with Sora's for her to. That Riku was Sora's dream eater. That Riku wanted to kiss Sora. It would be easy, when Sora didn't remember him, and he thought he was a hero. Like he used to. When Sora knew the stories Riku told him were of them, and asked for more. Hadn't asked about the princess again.

"That I haven't got him back yet," Riku said, instead.

"Do you know where he is?"

"He just calls it the city."

Kairi tilted her popsicle stick to one side. The blue lump slid to the end. She smiled, slightly. "Can't imagine Sora in a city."

"Apparently, he has a job."

That made her snort with laughter. The rest of the popsicle slid to the pavement, but Kairi was leaning against Riku's shoulder, laughing in earnest. He couldn't help chuckling too.

When the laughs subsided, Kairi stayed against him, her hair shielding her face.

"You'll find him, Riku," she murmured. "I believe in you."

Riku rested his head on top of hers. He watched the popsicle melt into the pavement cracks, leaving a slurry of blue goo. His own was starting to run down his fingers. He left it on the side.

Currently, all he wanted to do was be with Sora again, like that.

Which made him an awful friend.

"Thanks," he replied. Ran his tongue over the end of one canine. It felt like they were getting bigger. Sharper, after that dream. He was sure it was only because he was concentrating on them.

He went home early. Helped Aerith cook dinner and avoided Leon's questions about how he was feeling. He didn't want to talk about Sora. He hadn't wanted to talk about these feelings before, and even though Leon understood, he still didn’t want to be laid so bare.

He'd never been very good at articulating his feelings for Sora.

He slept, half dreaming of blue eyes looking up at him like he was a hero. He woke. Made his way to the laboratory, and acted like he was eager to contact Sora again.

As though he didn't feel nervous about having to face him again, after that.

It was too easy to slip into Sora's dreams. By now it was second nature.

Yet, this time, it was different. There were no heartless. He found Sora wandering the large, empty corridors of Hollow Bastion alone. He looked like a lost prince. Riku tried to keep his distance. That was safer. Make sure Sora was alright. Defeat his nightmares. He trailed him as he crossed balconies, re-entering the castle.

Turning the corner into that corridor—

Riku's stomach twisted. He followed.

Sora had disappeared.

He ran into the room, searching almost frantically. Sora couldn't disappear. Not in his own dream. Not without everything fading away. Would that mean Riku was trapped here?

"Boo!"

It made him start. Made him spin, summoning his keyblade, ready to fight.

Sora stood in front of him, hands on his hips. Looking amused; looking so like Sora that Riku’s chest hurt.

He caught his breath. Lowered his keyblade, forcing himself to breath out. To relax. "You made me jump."

"That was the point." Sora grinned. Uncaringly. Of course he was. "You were tailing me."

Riku saw now. Saw that Sora had ducked behind the door the moment he was inside to make it seem like he had disappeared. He wanted to be mad. He couldn't help his lips twitching, because that was what he’d always do. Because this felt normal.

"I was – making sure you were alright."

"You couldn't do that from right next to me?" Sora asked. He ducked his head, his hair falling forward. The shadows played over his skin; made him seem like a fairy.

Riku turned away. His cheeks felt warm. Remembered that almost kiss. Remembered the warm sun on the balcony, the feeling of Sora pressed against him, the way his eyes had closed, dark lashes fluttering, lips parted. A prince.

He didn't reply.

Was aware of Sora stepping closer, still watching him.

"I didn't think Dream Eaters got embarrassed," he said.

Because Sora didn't believe he was real. For him, this was a string of strange dreams and it didn't matter, to Sora, if they kissed.

It didn't matter.

And when they did eventually find Sora in reality, he might not remember any of this. It wouldn't be the first time. Dreams were fickle things. And if he did—

Riku would cross that bridge when he came to it. His heart pounded; he could feel it in his fingertips; as he realised he was free here. It was just them, and their memories.

"They don't," he murmured, his cheeks still warm.

Sora stepped closer, in front of him, and Riku held his breath. Looked up, slowly, through strands of silver. Sora's finger brushed that hair out of the way. Tucked it behind Riku's ear, and stayed, lingering there.

Riku's hands found Sora's hips. He held them, gently as he stepped closer. He'd grown, a lot, but he still had to reach onto tiptoes to get close to Riku's mouth.

He felt Sora's warm breath.

Had one last moment of panic, before Sora's lips pressed against his. Before Sora kissed him. His mouth was soft; gentle; just moving against his own for a long moment. His hands brushed Riku's chest.

He caught his breath. Kept his eyes closed for a moment, before he opened them to see Sora smiling. His eyes shone.

"I should scare you more often," Sora murmured.

Riku found himself smiling back. "You scare me plenty."

Sora leant against him one hand against the back of Riku's neck. His fingers ran through the hair at the nape.

"Now you know why."

He wondered if that was why Sora was the way he was, in reality.  That he was outlandish and ridiculous just to get a reaction – to get Riku to notice him.

As if he'd ever stopped looking.

It felt like a blow to the chest. He held Sora against him, and kept staring. Drunk in every part of him like it would be the last time they saw each other.

Sora smiled back, toying with Riku's hair. But his gaze became unfocused. Eventually, he took in the room around them.

"What is this place?"

It was a long chamber, with three huge, glass cylinders either side. It was a chamber Riku recognised - that he hadn't wanted to bring Sora to.

"This place," Riku said. "Was built to hold princesses."

"To capture them?"

Riku’s stomach twisted. “This castle is a dark place.”

It was impulse – it was selfish – to reach for Sora’s hand. But he did, taking a step backwards.

“We should go.”

He didn’t want Sora to go any further. Didn’t want him to learn anymore. Not whilst he looked at Riku like that; smiled at Riku like that.

Sora didn’t turn back immediately. He lingered, taking in the chamber; the old bricks and the rising steps.

“It feels familiar,” he murmured.

Riku’s fingers tightened. He didn’t mean them to, but they did. He didn’t want Sora here, knowing this, remembering any of that.

Sora did look back then, blinking like he’d just woken up. “It makes me feel sad.”

“Let’s go.”

Sora allowed himself to be led from the room like a lamb. He pressed closer to Riku, their arms nudging. It sent a wash of warmth through him. It was an odd jolt to realise their hands were still intertwined.

He didn’t pull away. Maybe, if he didn’t move them, Sora wouldn’t notice.

Instead, Sora reached up, and pressed another faint kiss against Riku’s lips. It took the breath from him; and Sora’s laugh after made his heart skip a beat.

This boy was going to destroy him.

“I didn’t know Dream Eaters could be shocked, either.”

Riku managed to reply. “We have a full range of emotions.”

Which made Sora laugh again. He tugged their joint hands, no doubt wanting to explore more of the castle.

It was stunning. All white marble flagstones, with a matching, intricate fence. All of it glowed amber and rose in the twilight. The castle was high enough that it seemed level with the horizon. The soft clouds were painted by the setting sun, stained saffron and gold.

Sora felt like he was flying. When he stepped up to the marble fence, he discovered the castle really was high in the sky, more courtyards spanning below, all the way to a town in the very distance, practically hidden. Of course, the castle was in the sky. It only made sense.

“Be careful,” Riku had said, as though Sora would topple over the edge – as though it would hurt him, anyway. He had laughed, and Riku rolled his eyes, like he expected that. Like he knew Sora.

He looked beautiful in this light too, with a halo twined in his silver hair. The evening made his eyes look dark, more like moss than opal; his pale skin like the marble around them.

He joined Sora at the rail, though he didn’t seem to see any of the splendour, and Sora had asked for a story. Riku paused. He wore fingerless gloves, Sora noticed, because he fiddled with the edge of one now. Ran his fingers underneath.

“Once upon a time,” Riku started. His eyes flickered to Sora’s face, and away. “There was a princess, who lived in this castle. She didn’t have any parents any longer, but she did have a grandmother who loved her dearly. The princess was very pure of heart. Then, one day, the darkness came.”

Riku paused, like he was thinking.

“The grandmother made the princess flee to safety – they were after the light inside her, after all – and the princess had no clue where she was going. She washed up on the shore of an island. She made friends there, and grew to like it just as much as the castle. It became her home.”

“But it wasn’t her home,” Sora said. “Didn’t she ever make it back to the castle?”

Riku paused, again. It was one of those long silences, where his eyes lingered over Sora’s features, as though he had a lot more to say – as though Sora should know the answer. Eventually, he settled on, “She did.”

“And did she meet her grandmother again?”

“No.” Riku turned away again. The wind lifted his hair, and it obscured his features. Sora leant over the railing to catch them; to see Riku frowning like he was in pain. He often made that expression. “When she returned, everything had changed.”

“Well, did she take the throne?”

“She wasn’t that kind of princess.”

“What do you mean?”

Riku finally looked at him, then. Just for a moment, and in it, he looked tremendously sad. It was in his eyes. The way he bit his lip. Then he turned further away. “It’s – complicated.”

“How?”

Sora leant further across. Couldn’t stand Riku turning away from him like that – wanted – needed – him to look at him. Needed him to tell him more – tell him everything – to not hold back.

His hand slipped on the marble. He numbly felt his chest hit the rail, and then he was toppling over. He flailed—

Someone grabbed his hand, just as his body swung all the way over. He hung, suspended, clutching the wrist that had saved him. Riku. Riku, holding him tightly, catching hold of the railing himself. Sora looked up at him, feeling his heart racing. Not at the danger – there wasn’t any, here. His heart raced from the expression on Riku’s face.

“I told you to be careful,” Riku said. He slipped, slightly, bracing himself against the railing to stop Sora dragging him over too.

“I’ll be fine!” Sora called back. “It’s only a dream!”

“Sora!”

Riku was losing his grip, and Sora was loosening his. He’d wanted to stay longer. Wanted to talk to Riku longer, but he could feel the dream fading; sensed that he couldn’t let Riku fall. That it would ruin this.

So he let go. Started falling—

And woke with a start. He woke with a hand outstretched above him. It ached. When he drew it back down, it prickled with pins and needles.

Sora sat, kicking his blankets away; they’d tangled up in his legs; brushing his hair from his face. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Riku’s face. Panicked, wide eyed, calling for him.

His heart still raced. He still remembered how easily they’d held hands, and it made his cheeks warm. Which was ridiculous. It was ridiculous that he’d dreamt up a crush, and kind of sad he was apparently lonely enough to. And now he dreamt about Riku most nights. It felt like he did know him, now, even if he was only a figment of his imagination.

Sora sighed into his palms. They were wonderful, vivid dreams, but he had to remember that was all they were.

Then he pulled his hands away from his face, and saw the mark on his wrist. Already fading, but unmistakable. A red mark, just where Riku had grabbed him. He told Strelitza about it at breakfast. The mark had faded completely, but he knew it had been there.

“Maybe you did it yourself,” she said. “You said that you were reaching out, maybe you also grabbed yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Sora replied. “Otherwise, I’d have woke up like that.”

She shrugged, helplessly. “Then, maybe you slept on it. I’m not sure, but I think you could just be seeing a coincidence where there is none.”

“Well…” He wanted to argue more, to say that he’d felt Riku’s hand. Couldn’t dream up someone like that. It wouldn’t help his case. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy to be obsessing over dreams so much,” she continued. “You’ve got to come back to reality.”

Reality was boring. A mundane job that paid just enough for him to afford rent and food every month and a degree a didn’t have any passion for? It was an endless, unescapable cycle. Sora would rather take the dreams. The beautiful castle and the beautiful boy who didn’t think twice about saving him. Who saved him, every time, and still looked at him like Sora was the amazing one.

Sora was painfully normal.

“I’d better get going,” he said, as a way to avoid further conversation. To avoid reality a little longer, and daydream on his way to work.

Yet, and he couldn’t explain why, there was something in those dreams – something that felt more real than his apartment and his job.

*

“Here.”

Riku pressed the handle of his keyblade into Sora’s palm. His fingers felt heavy, like they didn’t want to take it.

Sora tried to shake his head. “It’s yours.”

“Just hold it a moment.” Riku waited, then closed Sora’s fingers around it himself. He kept his hands over the top. Sora could feel his nails against his skin. He looked up, into those teal eyes. They stared back, intently. A strand of silver hung over his nose.

Sora did. Slowly, Riku draw his hands away, letting him take the full weight of the keyblade. He almost dropped it. It was heavier than it looked, like it was made of solid metal. He supposed Riku had the advantage of those biceps; he was clearly strong.

He pulled the keyblade back up, his body taking on a fighting stance. Another weird dream quirk, that he knew how to do that, that it felt familiar and easy.

The weight in his hand disappeared.

He watched the keyblade reappear in Riku’s. He caught it, effortlessly; held it effortlessly.

“Now you remember how it feels to hold one,” Riku said. “Try summoning yours.”

Sora tried. He held out his hand and concentrated. There was a flicker of something in his chest, he thought. But it didn’t work. Nothing appeared.

“I can’t,” he said. Smiled, ruefully. “I’m not like you, Riku.”

Riku’s green eyes stared at him, for a long moment, before they went back to his keyblade. He loosened his fingers, and the weapon disappeared. “No, you’re not like me.”

“I’m just – normal.” Normal job, normal apartment, normal life. There was nothing remarkable about Sora.

"No.” Riku stepped forward. “You’re wrong about that.”

Sora opened his mouth to argue, but stopped short when Riku’s hand pressed against his chest. His fingers were splayed, and it felt like he would leave a handprint there.

“Your heart, Sora,” Riku said. His voice was low and passionate. “It’s special.”

Sora’s heart was racing like a rabbit’s. He stared, fighting for something to say. It was a dream, a small voice in his head persisted. It was a dream telling him he was special.

“And you’re a better fighter than me,” Riku continued, and it seemed he was half in his own dream. “It took me a long time to see it.”

They were close. Their faces and chests were close, and Riku’s hand was still over his heart. Sora covered it with his, tentatively.

“What do you mean?” he whispered.

Riku blinked. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

He tried to pull away. Sora tightened his grip. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s only because you don’t remember.”

“I want to.” And Sora meant it. He wanted his mind to unlock this dream. It was all in his head, he just needed to create more of it.

Riku gently tugged his hand free. His hair hung, to hide his face. “I can’t.”

“You can tell me.” He was asking his own subconscious to create this fantasy for him, but it had before.

“Maybe.” As though Riku didn’t want to – couldn’t – tell him. Maybe he couldn’t. “But I can’t make you remember."

Sora wasn't sure how any of it worked. He wondered if maybe Riku could make him remember, just by telling him. After all, he’d never remembered his dreams at all until Riku appeared in them. There were the one which felt familiar.

"I suppose not."

"But I can protect you," Riku continued.

Sora felt his cheeks warm. Pressed back against the bookshelf. "You're very good at it."

It made that expression cross Riku's face again. He turned away, and wandering to the closest shelf. He trailed his fingers across the top of the books. It shifted dust into the air, like a flurry of butterflies.

"Not always," he murmured.

"When didn't you?"

Riku shook his head, slowly, as though he could see through Sora’s ploy of trying to get Riku to tell him more. Or to just stay. He wanted to stay. He stepped forward, looking at the books too. Just when he thought he could read the titles, they slipped and merged into each other.  The more he tried to concentrate - the more he thought he'd done this before - the more the dream tried started to slip away.

He woke up to the sound of rain pattering against the window. Sora took his duvet with him to the window, pushing the curtains to watch the drops run down the glass. It was still dark outside, the streetlights distorted in the rain. If anything, they were getting more vivid. He saw Riku almost every night now, and he remembered most of it. Remembered the castle - Hollow Bastion - and the story Riku told about it.

Remembered thinking there was more to that story, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sora felt vaguely ridiculous doing it whilst awake, but he held his hand out, like he did in the dream, trying to find that hitch in his chest that he felt before.

Nothing happened. Of course.

Maybe Strelitza was right.

He needed to reconnect with reality.

*

Riku woke to the taste of blood.

Ienzo, as always, helped him out of the bed, and as always, Riku felt as though he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d go back to the room Leon was letting him stay in and hide under the covers until the smell of Aerith’s cooking pulled him downstairs. It was exhausting, reaching out in his dreams.

As usual, Kairi was waiting at the side of the bed. She jumped up and caught his hand. And as usual, asked, “How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Riku murmured. There was blood on his tongue. He swallowed it, and tried not to open his mouth too much, in case she saw. “He still doesn’t remember.”

He didn’t dare tell them Sora couldn’t wield a keyblade, currently. He didn’t want them to know; didn’t want it to get back to Yen Sid. Sora was important to them because of his keyblade. Without that, he worried Yen Sid would tell them to stop the search; that it wasn’t worth it.

“He will,” Kairi murmured. “I know he will, eventually.”

Riku smiled, close-mouthed. It felt strange. Something was wrong. He was getting tired of the same conversations; the same reassurances. Nothing seemed to be changed. At least, it didn’t seem to be changing Sora.

He escaped back to his room downtown as quickly as he could. When he looked in the mirror over the desk, he saw just how exhausted he was. His skin was as pale as his hair, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He could still taste the blood. Riku took a shaking breath –

Then opened his mouth.

His canines had grown. Not by much, but they had. They’d sharpened to a point, enough to cut the inside of his mouth.

Fear twinged in his gut. This was different. This was because of how often he was diving into Sora’s dreams. From fighting those heartless. From eating his nightmares. He knew that he should tell someone. Not Kairi – she would only worry, and stress that she couldn’t be of any help. Ienzo, though, probably. He might even be able to tell him what was happening.

But he might also tell Riku to stop. And he couldn’t – wouldn’t – do that.

So he kept it to himself. Ate carefully, but even when he spoke, no one seemed to notice the change in his teeth. As long as it didn’t noticeable, he would be alright.

He wondered just how worse it could get.

He returned to Sora’s dream. To the nightmare Hollow Bastion. He fought the heartless, and pretended he didn’t notice Sora’s longing stares. The way his deep, blue eyes drunk in every part of Riku; how he looked at Riku like he was a hero. Stood close to him; let their hands graze at every opportunity. It made him feel like he’d been hit with thundara; like he was electric. And yet, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve those gazes, and he couldn’t take advantage of all this.

They sat on one of the many balconies of Hollow Bastion again, looking out over the setting sun, and Sora’s shoulder nudged his.

“Will you tell me another story?” he asked, softly. Like he used to, when they were small. When they were small and still on the island and Sora thought Riku was the best person in the world.

Riku wasn’t much of a storyteller. Hadn’t been, even then. If he told Sora any stories, they were meant to scare him. Tales about the kraken and other sea monsters, about the ghosts living in that hollow tree.

He didn’t want to scare him now.

“Once upon a time,” he said, because that was how all stories started. “There were two boys who lived on an island. They were best friends. Until one grew jealous of the other, not because he was a better fighter, but because he had a better heart. A good, honest heart. So, because that boy was a better fighter, he turned on his friend. He made a deal with a witch to get more power. He took his friend’s weapon away, leaving him to fight the monsters by himself.”

His hand was on the cool marble. He felt Sora’s little finger nudge his. Riku knew he should probably pull away. He couldn’t bring himself to. His stomach was roiled with guilt and a self-hatred he thought he’d conquered. It was a dream.

“Does this one have a happier ending?” Sora whispered.

Riku nodded. Almost smiled. “I said his friend had a better heart than the boy did. That was true. He confronted the boy, and with the strength of his friendship, won his weapon back. He – brought the boy back from the darkness he had fallen into. He saved him.”

“And then what?” Sora pressed. He was so close that Riku felt his breath on his cheek. “Did they live happily ever after?”

Riku thought about that. He ran his tongue over his newly sharp teeth. “For a time.” He paused. Thought about the fact he would be waking up and not knowing where Sora was at all. That after fighting so hard for each other, they were apart again. “I’m starting to think that ever after doesn’t happen. Trouble crops up.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sora replied. “My life doesn’t have much trouble at all.”

Sora didn’t even know he was trapped in unreality, whatever that meant. Didn’t know that he was in more trouble than he’d ever been.

“Well—” Riku took a breath. “You have a lot of bad dreams.”

It made Sora laugh. A bright, happy sound. He leant against Riku to steady himself, and Riku twitched his shoulder to try and push him off. Sora stayed, stubborn as usual, against him.

Riku, despite his better judgement, let him. Sora was warm, and he missed this. Missed him. Missed the fluttery feeling contact between them gave him.

This was Riku’s dream too, he told himself. He could indulge a little. No one would know. Sora might not even remember this dreams, when he returned; it wouldn’t be the first adventure he completely forgot. Then it could be Riku’s secret.

“But I have you,” Sora murmured. “You’ll keep me safe, Riku.”

Riku’s stomach twisted. His arm moved by itself; now that he’d decided not to pull away, it was easier; he put it around Sora’s shoulders, and tugged him closer. Sora’s head fell onto his shoulder. It felt natural. Easy.

“I will,” Riku said. “I promise, Sora.”

Sora’s fingers traced over Riku’s, finding the shape of them, before he took his hand properly. It had been a while, since they’d done that. Riku had tried to minimise their physical contact, since the feelings were only getting harder and harder to push down. Since touching Sora made his heart race and his stomach flutter, and he knew he loved him, and also knew he couldn’t act on it. Sora saw him as a friend. Sora loved Kairi. Because he was a prince, and she was a princess.

But this was his dream too. He could allow himself this, in a dream. When Sora needed to be held, and he was there. When he was warm, and the sun was kissing their skin.

He sat with Sora, looking over the dream version of Hollow Bastion and Radiant Garden.

Luis leant back against the rocky wall. His arms were folded which meant, short of Leon tossing him over his shoulder, they would not be moving again in a hurry. If he wanted to save Ashley, he had to have this conversation. Luis looked smug; head titled to one side, smirking, those dark eyes looking Leon up and down. It made his stomach twist, and his cheeks prickle with heat. He hated that. Hated that he would care about what this man – this man who was untrustworthy and a stranger – thought about him.

He adjusted his shirt, tucking it in. "Does it matter?"

Luis shrugged. "I just did not see you as – that kind of guy."

He huffed his hair from his face. Tried to seem unbothered. Failed. It was always like this with the tattoo. "I'm not."

"And yet—" Luis waved a hand in the general direction of his midriff. Paused, waiting for a reply. When he didn’t get one, he tilted his head. Dark curls fell to his shoulder. "It suits you nicely.”

"Shut up," Leon snapped. "And get moving."

Though he didn't want to go first. Didn't want to expose his back to Luis again; that would be dangerous. So, he glowered until the man finally pushed off from the wall. Forcefully casual. He even whistled, under his breath, as he headed further into the tunnels.

Leon followed. His back burnt. He could still feel those hands on him. Thought about what it would feel like to feel that again. Maybe lying down; Luis above him; murmuring into his ear about how nicely it suited him.

He pushed the thought from his mind. This wasn’t the time.

The whistling was like a needling in his ear. Grating. It made his finger twitch on his handgun. It was more annoying than Luis' general chatter. And he knew what it was; it was Luis way of trying to break him; to get him to talk about the tattoo. It was working.

Eventually, he snapped, "I was still in training, alright?"

The whistling stopped. Replaced by a slow, wide smirk. "Alright?”

He didn’t want to look at Luis. He wouldn’t look at Luis. But he also knew the whistling would continue until he explained more.

"My squad - in special forces - all wanted to get tattoos together," he said. "Like – group bonding. Like, a rite of passage."

"I see, I see." Though Luis' eyebrows were still raised. "And you chose..."

"Somewhere always hidden." It wasn't enough, but it was true. He hadn't been quite stupid enough to get a silly tattoo somewhere he couldn't easily hide. Those dark eyes still watched him. "I was drunk. It seemed funny at the time."

Luis nodded. His dark curls fell forward to hide his face, and he pressed his hand to his mouth. A moment later, Leon realised why. He was laughing.

Leon pushed his shoulder. Hard enough to send him against the wall. Luis still laughed, bouncing off it like it was nothing.

"I am sorry," though he didn't sound it. He was still grinning at Luis.

Leon rolled his eyes. He felt uncomfortably warm. It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't matter because he barely knew this man and he wouldn't want to see this man after this mission.

Would this mission ever end? He continued down the corridor, trying to listen for any bugs. Any monsters. In fact, he'd welcome a good gunfight right now, if it stopped this conversation.

“No, it’s a good joke,” he said. Snapped. They were up against a corner, and he pressed his back against it. Checked his sniper, to look around the corner with. “The pretty boy with the girly tattoo.”

He looked through the scope, instead of at Luis. Saw a blur of heat and took the shot, hearing the familiar cry of a bug.

“At the time, I thought I was in on the joke.”

He guessed he had been, until they were sober. And everyone else had guns or flags, which were equally stupid and embarrassing, but they weren’t quite as embarrassing as Leon’s.

He lowered the rifle, flicking his hair from his eyes again.

“I am sorry,” Luis repeated, and this time, he sounded like he understood. Leon wouldn’t look at him. It was another joke to him.

Leon shrugged. He continued walking; it felt like the tattoo was burning.

Their hips nudged together. Leon twitched away.

He felt fingers graze the small of his back again. Turned to snap at Luis, only to find him looking at him softly. His eyes were heavy-lidded; dark irises glinting in the low light.

"If I were you, I would not be shy," he said. His voice was low. Completely inappropriate for roaming underneath a plaga-infected castle. "It is – how you say – sexy?"

Bastard. He was a bastard, because Leon knew for a fact Luis knew that word just fine, and knew the implication. He'd said it to get a reaction from him.

"Shut up," he said, again, but it didn't have the same bite.

Because Luis was an attractive man. He could admit that. Objectively. He was very attractive and there were certainly worse men to have been chained to. Because deep down, he was already thinking about if they could meet again, after the mission. Hopefully still on the same side, but didn't think he would mind fighting Luis like he did Ada.

(Dammit, his love life was awful. How did he end up like this? He blamed Raccoon City. Everything came back to Raccoon City.)

Because Luis was being very obvious that he was attracted to Leon, and the tattoo only seemed to increase that. It made him feel unnecessarily flustered.

Luis shrugged. "I am just being truthful."

"Oh, so that's what you choose to be truthful about?" It was easy to slip into unbothered.

They had to pause, to dispose of a few bugs. It was strange, how easily they’d fallen into working with each other. Leon kicked a corpse to one side, reloading his handgun. Focused on the familiar movement of that, and not that his pulse was racing. Not that his mind was racing about what Luis would like to do with him.

"I have never lied," Luis said. "I simply operate on a need-to-know basis."

Leon almost laughed. He managed to stop it before it turned into more than a chuckle. Hated that too - that this guy could make him laugh, even when he shouldn't. They could pause here, in this alcove, and reload.

"And you think I need to know you think my tramp stamp is sexy?" Leon asked.

"Oh." Luis grinned at him, and it was like a sunbeam. "Si. Definitely."

It stirred his stomach. He looked Luis up and down, and watched his dark eyes twinkle in response; in genuine interest. Because if the tattoo wasn't secret, it was a joke at his expense; that he even agreed to it.

Now, someone found it sexy. And he liked that.

He was really flirting over the corpse of a bug monster.

"Well maybe when we get out of here, we can continue that conversation." It felt like a surrender. But he was choosing that, choosing to turn his back on Luis as they continued, and knew it was an invitation.

An invitation that was taken. He was there, immediately, his hands tugging Leon’s hips back to him. His thumb pressing over Leon's spine; the centre of the tattoo. "I like the sound of that, amor."

His breath caught involuntarily.

He didn’t move. Didn’t stop Luis from tugging his shirt up again, and let his fingers press over the tattoo, edging round to his hips. His touch was light, and that made it even more unbearable. Made it an effort not to make any embarrassing sounds.

Maybe he didn’t mind surrendering to this man.

He caught Luis' wrists, gently. Felt warm breath against his ear, lips just grazing the side of his neck. His heart hadn't stopped racing since he'd gotten out the car the previous night, but it pounded more heavily now.

There was another skitter from somewhere above them. Another bug. And that made Leon remember the monsters. The plaga. Ashley.

He was flirting whilst Ashley was fighting for her life. Terrified.

"We have to go." He let go of Luis' wrists. Stepped away.

And to his credit, Luis took it in his stride. He chuckled, matching his step down the stairs and tugging out his own gun.

"Later, then."

Which seemed like another reason to make it through this.

Even if it was as embarrassing a one as that damn tattoo.

*

Leon sat at the bar alone. Whiskey on the wooden top in front of him. He was trying to pace himself with it. Had to pace himself with it, because there was every chance he'd be sat here by himself all night. Every chance this was a trap, and if it was, he needed to have his wits about him.

He'd gotten the comms message through a week ago. It was unbelievable. Luis Serra, back from the grave.

His first reaction had been livid anger. At first, he was only going to the meeting suggested to pick a fight. How dare he let Leon think him dead – how dare he have the gall to say, "Fancy another dance, Prince Charming?" Instead of explaining anything.

But the rage settled. Alright, so Luis was alive, and he'd found out Leon was too. They were both alive. That was a miracle. After everything, after Luis saving his life, he couldn’t hold Umbrella against him. He’d repented for those sins. And couldn’t Leon have just as easily fallen into a trap like that.

So here he was, waiting for that man, in a small, seedy bar downtown. It felt like he had a target on his back; like he was waiting to be shot.

He'd been there half an hour when someone settled into the stool next to him. That familiar smell of cigarettes; like he really was a ghost, and his smell was proceeding him. He glanced across to see that familiar leather jacket; a glimpse of dark curls.

"You made it." Leon spoke to the glass in front of him. He couldn’t seem too eager.

"So did you," came the reply. That familiar, uncaring lilt. "Not that I doubted you, sancho."

Leon glanced at him, properly this time; Luis looked drained, dark smudges under his eyes, his curls a little lank. Then again, Leon couldn’t say he was fully recovered, either. And he wasn’t a wanted man.

"Well, no offence, but I had my doubts about you," Leon said.

Luis laughed. Ordered a whiskey on the rocks too, and Leon was very glad there was a group at the other end of the bar. They were clearly regulars, keeping the bartender occupied. The less notice they could attract, the better.

"It was a very close thing." Luis leant an elbow on the bar, and it brought them that inch closer together. Leon was sure he could feel the heat coming from him. "Thanks to your first aid."

He'd done the best he could. His hands had been shaking, from the fight with Krauser; from the shock; from the very fact that he needed them to be still.  He'd done what he could, with what he had. He’d thought it wouldn’t be enough.

"Well, you saved me," he said. Evenly. Took a swig. It seemed safer to, now, especially now it wasn't a trap.

"Oh, you would have been fine." Luis smiled at him, and it made a warmth settle in Leon's stomach. Those eyes were the same; like black coffee. "Surely, you were, no?"

"Eventually." Though he had been hung from the side of a cliff. And, because Luis was chuckling warmly, he pressed on, "How'd you get out of the castle?"

"Can I not keep a secret? Seem more mysterious?"

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Was it Ada?"

"If it was?"

He'd seen those emails. He knew they were working together. At the time, he hadn't even felt betrayed. It had explained everything; it had seemed inevitable. Only hurt as much as poking an old bruise. Luis' answer confirmed his theory.

Leon nodded.

There was a pause. They both took another sip. This thing sat between them. The thing from the tunnels. The flirting. That Leon had said they’d continue from there. This was the offer, returning.

"The senorita?"

"Home safe. You knew that."

"Por sorpuesto. What I do not know is if you still see her?"

She'd asked Leon to work for her. He thought about that, and how he'd known he couldn't. It would be like keeping a wolf for a pet. Still, "We said we'd meet, every month, for lunch."

Because he liked Ashley. She was sweet girl and she'd been through hell with very minimal complaining. Because he'd enjoyed spending time with her even when there was the imminent threat of death, so it would probably be even better when they weren't about to be killed.

"Ah, very sweet." And it seemed to answer Luis question. There was nothing there. She was a little sister to him.

Leon thought about saying that she'd like to see Luis too. She probably would. But they weren't here to talk about Ashley. He took another swig, and waited for Luis to get to the point.

"So, you learn your first aid skills before or after the..." He waved his hand to Leon's midriff. He couldn't help glancing down the bar, as if the men down there would know what they were talking about.

"You're not funny," Leon said. Paused. "The...happened just a few weeks into training."

"You were the black sheep, eh?"

"The kid who just graduated from the police academy dropped into the special forces by the president himself?” Leon swilled the amber liquid around the glass. “I fit right in."

Luis chuckled. His shoulder nudged Leon's, and he found himself nudging back. He still felt that spark. That hadn't changed. Luis thought he was sexy, because of that damn tattoo. And Leon still found himself attracted to him; to the smirks and glinting eyes and smell of cigarettes and leather.

"What about you?" Leon asked. Couldn't believe he was asking. He supposed he wasn't as scared of the answer now. "What about – Umbrella?"

Luis did pause then, and it gave him a jolt of satisfaction to not be the one on the backfoot, for once. He took a swig of his drink, and rolled it around his mouth. "You really want to know?"

Leon knew he should say yes. It could be important in figuring out their next move; what Ada was up to. But he also didn't want to know. It was acknowledging that, by all accounts, he shouldn't have trusted Luis in the first place.

"Suppose not," Leon said. "So, why'd you ask me here?"

"You and I both know why I asked you here, sancho."

Was he really still the sancho? It seemed like Luis was only saying it to irritate him. He wouldn’t rise to it. Not this time.

Leon finished his drink. It still burnt his throat on the way down, and sounded much too loud when he put it back on the wood of the bar. He looked at how the dingy, yellow light reflected on the rim. He did know. He was the one who'd suggested it. A night together; forget Umbrella and the military; forget the Plaga and the zombies. Still, now that the proposition was in front of him, he felt – oddly self-conscious. Too aware of what Luis was here for, and what he was expecting from Leon.

Not that he would ever say any of that.

He leant his chin on his palm, instead, and raised an eyebrow at Luis. Like he was unbothered. “That all, huh?”

Luis' dark eyes sparked back at him. He still smirked, letting his gaze graze over Leon. His skin prickled at the attention. “That’s all.”

Leon raised an eyebrow in return. Looked pointedly at the glass in Luis' hand. His smirk widened. He finished the drink, tossing the golden liquid back. His Adam's apple bobbed with the motion.

Leon's stomach squeezed in answer.

He still waited. Knew that he could say no and walk out. But he didn't. The more he sat with this man, even now the tide of relief had subsided, the more that attraction – that pull – was back. The more he did want to see where this went.

Luis stood, untangling himself from the stool. He stepped past Leon, fingers just grazing the back of his shirt, as he passed. Just over where the tattoo was.

Leon followed. Like a dog, he supposed. Tried to walk casually, though his heart was pounding in anticipation. Back out of the bar, and down the street. It was a warm evening, with a light breeze.

Luis lit a smoke, as soon as he was outside, and Leon tried not to watch him too greedily. But it was captivating; the way the smoke curled from between his lips; the uncaring way he took a drag. The way car headlights made his skin bronze, when they passed.

They paused, after Luis had stubbed it out under his boot, and when they were stood in front of a small hotel. A nice enough one, not the beat-up one around the corner.

"I have a room here for the night," Luis said. "I do not suppose you would like to join me?"

"For the night?"

"Si."

Leon pretended to think about it, as if there was any question. He'd met him at the bar, and that had been the answer from the start.

He smiled. "Sure."

As if he was unbothered. Tried to seem unbothered, as he followed Luis into the hotel and up the stairs. As if he wasn't fazed by the proposition; as if he did things like this all the time, when he was more used to gunfights.

The room was nice. Clean and white and comfortable. Leon closed the door by leaning against it with his back. Watched Luis flick on the bedside lamp, and look over his shoulder to find he hadn’t moved. His hair cast shadows over his skin; a curl sat just over the curl of his jaw.

Luis smiled, a dark eyebrow twitching up. "You alright, bello?"

Leon nodded. The monsters suddenly seemed easier to deal with; his body knew how to shoot a gun. Knew how to start with that; didn’t realise he’d forgotten how to start this.

Luis chuckled, under his breath, and stepped forward. Like he could see right through him. "Plaga infested castle, and yet you're nervous of me?"

"I'm not nervous," Leon said.

Luis' hands grazed his hips, palming the shape of them, and Leon pressed into the touch. Ran his hands over Luis' wrists, taking a breath.

"Of course you're not." Luis' voice was like a purr. His hands lifted higher, just raising the hem of Leon's shirt. His fingers brushed bare skin, and Leon thought about those hands on that gun of his – pressed further forward. Hated that he paused there.

Luis chuckled, and closed the gap. Kissed him confidently – firmly – and Leon let his mouth fall open; let Luis’ tongue press against his. His hands slipped to Luis' back, his fingers splayed over his leather jacket. He could smell it, underneath the smell of his cigarettes, and it made him heady. Luis pressed closer; a leg slipping in between his, just as firmly.

His breath caught.

Luis nipped his bottom lip, as he pulled away; just a hair's breadth. "Been a minute, huh?"

He nodded. Was it really so obvious? "Don't get a lot of time for…"

Luis' leg shifted and he felt a spear of arousal. He was being teased, and he should hate that; should hate Luis' soft chuckle in response. Should hate the soft way he kissed the corner of his mouth.

"You are not beating them off with a stick?" Luis brushed Leon's hair from his face, his fingers lingering over his jaw. "Truly?"

"What about you?" Leon asked, because that was easier. Easier than thinking about how it felt impossible to get close – truly close – to anyone, after Raccoon City. His lips grazed Luis' stubble. "Don Quixote?"

Luis only chuckled again; perhaps he had the same problem. He kissed at the hollow of Leon's jaw, teeth grazing skin, and Leon pressed him closer. Buried his hand in those dark curls, and kept him there. Luis' leg shifted again, and he felt another curl of heat. It was a relief when his shirt was tugged high, just under his ribs, because he was warm. Very warm.

Luis' hands moved over his waist, his fingers pressing over where the tattoo sat. It sent sparks dancing across his skin, and he pressed down against Luis' leg. Felt, rather than heard, a moan against his neck. His fingers tightened in those dark curls, breath catching.

He let Luis peel his shirt off, if only because it gave him the chance to catch hold of Luis' leather jacket, ready to ease it off.

Luis caught his wrists before he could. Tugged it free himself, and stepped away. It left Leon pressed against the door, feeling needy for that warmth again, his heart racing. He watched Luis place the leather jacket over the chair in the room, reverently, even though Leon's own shirt was in a puddle on the floor.

"Seriously?" he asked.

Luis looked over his shoulder at him. He didn't let himself look over his body; at how he could see the shape of his chest and waist now. He raised his eyebrows. "This jacket is a work of art. She should be treated with respect, alright?"

Leon raised his eyebrows back, crossing his arms. It felt like a shield; he couldn't decide if he wanted one or not. Because he wanted this; was attracted to Luis, was already aroused. But the skin on his back was prickling, and he still felt too aware of himself.

Luis laughed. He stepped forward again, and Leon did glance down him, now. Had the satisfaction of seeing the bulge in the front of Luis' jeans, and knowing he was not alone.

"No need to be jealous," Luis murmured, tracing his fingers over Leon's arms. Just lightly enough to raise the hair there.

"I'm not jealous of a jacket." Though he still stared at said jacket. It was easier than those dancing, black coffee eyes.

Those hands untangled his arms. Gently. He let them fall. Let Luis' fingers nudge his chin back to face him, his thumb rubbing over his chin.

"Very sweet," Luis murmured, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"I'm not sweet." But his hands were catching Luis' waist again, and he was pressing away from the door. The air-con was cold on his skin.

"Si." Luis' fingers brushed his hair back again, even as he guided him across the room, walking backwards. "Not nervous and not sweet."

"Shut up."

Luis lifted his chin up, smirking. "Why don’t you make me?"

Leon tugged them flush against each other, crashing their mouths together. Heard a satisfied sound from Luis as he kissed him back; pushing his tongue against Leon's. He carded a hand through the back of Leon's hair, another feeling his bare shoulder. He was busy exploring under Luis' own shirt. His skin was warm; soft, his back arching against Leon.

He lost track. There was only Luis' mouth and tongue and heat against him. Only his hands grazing over Leon's bare skin, and his heart racing in his chest. Then Luis was tugging him down onto the bed, and they were creasing the tight, white sheets with their weight. He tugged Luis' shirt free - he wasn't so reverent about that - and pressing their bare skin together. It increased that heat, between them. Luis' arms looped around his neck; he kissed over his cheekbone. Grazed his teeth there and Leon let out a soft sound. Felt Luis smile against him.

"Shut up," he said, again.

Luis lay back on the sheets, under him, dark curls spreading across the white.  His teeth flashed when he smiled. "I did not say anything."

Which he didn't. Leon still wanted to frown at him, though. Because he looked very handsome on those sheets, and it was making his heart stutter; because it was better than being soft. He couldn’t start being soft.

"Still," Leon repeated.

Luis chuckled, his knees pressing into Leon's hips. He bit his lip.  Held out until Luis' nails dragged up his sides; it sent a spear of heat through him, and he hated that a whine came from the back of his throat.

His cheeks burnt. He kissed Luis, forcefully, so that he didn't have the chance to say anything about it. Nipped at Luis' bottom lip and felt his fingers dig into Leon's skin. Kissed over the stubble of his jaw; it scratched his nose and mouth, and he loved that feeling. That feeling made his face tingle.

"Here," Luis murmured into the soft skin of Leon's neck. His hands pushed his chest. Leon resisted, for a moment, just to show that he could. Let Luis turn him over – his back hit the sheets – and settle over him. Their hips pressed against each other and the friction of their jeans made Leon's breath hitch. Fingers traced down his chest, slowly; teasing again. "Let me take care of you, bello."

His voice was so soft, like a purr, that he gave in. That he tangled his fingers in Luis’ curls again, and let him kiss his throat and collarbones as he eased his jeans open.  Paused, just after he did, pressing a palm against the interested bulge there. Leon's hips bucked against it – he tightened his free hand in the sheets.

Luis pressed a chaste kiss against his chest. It felt like a reward. Luis was the sweet one, but he didn't have the breath to tease him about that. Could barely think when those long fingers were tugging him free of his pants. Were twisting around him artfully; well-practised. He bucked his hips into the touch on instinct, desperate for the touch.

Luis shushed him, still gentle. Thumbed over the head of his cock and Leon saw stars. Tangled his fingers in more of those dark curls. He pressed his mouth into Luis' shoulder, and felt Luis' hand tug in reaction. Firmly.

"Goddamn," Leon gasped.

 "You really are happy to see me, eh?" His hand was still moving. Not firmly enough to create real friction. Just enough to get him to want more.

"Better here - than - those tunnels," he managed to reply.

Luis laughed, and it seemed genuine. His touch paused, and that felt like torture. Leon's hips raised upwards, and he took hold of the bedframe behind him to help angle himself.

"Oh, I don't know," Luis murmured. "It had atmosphere, no?"

If Leon had any breath left, he would have laughed. But Luis' thumb rubbed over that spot again, and his breath came as a sharp hiss. He tightened his thighs against Luis' hips, hating that smile. He gritted his teeth.

"You're gunna – either have to – stop that," he managed to say. "Or - finish."

Luis stilled his hand, tilting his head to one side. "You don't think you can go twice?"

His neck felt flushed. "Been a minute."

And he just knew, from Luis' dangerous smile, he thought that was sweet. Bastard. But he did let go of him, undoing his own jeans. Leon shifted lazily, kicking the rest of his off; kicking his shoes off, even as he burned. Should still feel self-conscious, but his body had warmed up now. Now his mind felt half-drunk on this intimacy. On Luis Serra's soft, soft voice murmuring that he'd take care of him.

"The bedside drawer," Luis murmured. Kicking their clothes from the bed. Their shoes landed in a collection of thumps. Leon didn't let his gaze linger on the scar; the tight, raised rope across his chest. He turned his attention to the drawer, pulling the bottle out.

Paused.

"What was your idea of how this would go?"

Their legs were still tangled, and Leon was still throbbing with need, but it had subsided enough to think a little more clearly.

Luis' hand shifted up his side, and Leon bit his lip to stop from sighing. "You'd let me choose?"

Yes, because it was easier than saying it himself. Leon shrugged. "You saved my life."

Luis kissed him, open-mouthed. Stayed there to murmur, "You saved mine."

"Still." Still, he was aware that his back was against the sheets. Aware that Luis liked the tattoo there, and he liked that Luis liked it. Made it feel like it wasn't a mistake.

But he couldn't articulate or admit that. Absolutely not.

“I said I’d take care of you.” Luis' black coffee eyes glinted at him, in the low light of the bedside lamp. He leant closer, until his lips were just grazing the shell of Leon's ear. "I thought about watching those wings of yours take flight."

His stomach clenched, and he dug his fingers into Luis' skin. It gave him away, even if he said, "That can be arranged."

Luis saw through him. Of course he did. He chuckled, and nipped Leon's earlobe. It sent a spark through him. He dropped the bottle, breath burning his throat.

"Oh, gracias, senior," Luis murmured. He caught the bottle, flicking it open and squeezing it over his fingers. "So kind of you."

"Screw you." But Leon's hips raised, ready, his core throbbing.

Luis actually winked. "Oh, we will get to that, do not worry."

Leon opened his mouth to snap back; just as Luis slipped a finger inside him. His breath stuttered out, instead. He closed his eyes, so he didn't have to see that smug, satisfied smirk. He rode that spear of pleasure, tangling his legs around Luis', and tugging him closer by his dark curls. Nipped at Luis' shoulder as he started to move. A steady, easy pace. Taking care of him. He felt like he was going to burst.

Luis' breath was hot against his throat. His breath rumbled, as he murmured, "Hey, hey - look at me?"

A thumb traced a line under his eye. It was a huge effort. Especially because Luis was still moving; Leon's hips twitched in that rhythm, seeking more. But he did. Was rewarded with a wide smile; his teeth flashing in the low lamplight.

"That's my boy."

He tugged Luis' mouth to his own to try and disguise the whine that came out of him at that. It wasn't successful, he felt Luis' chuckle against him. Even as he pressed another finger in.

Leon felt like he was coming undone. Watched the light glinting in Luis' dark eyes; the way his curls twitched as he moved; that soft smile as he worked; as he started to unravel him. He hung on to the bedframe behind him, blood roaring in his ears. Heard his own voice whine out, "Luis…"

Luis kissed him, softly, as a response. Continued moving; curled his fingers and Leon cried into his mouth. He felt clenched; primed like a bomb.

"Luis – I need—"

"What do you need?" Luis murmured.

"Dammit." He could barely think of words; and especially the words he knew would get him what he wanted. Did want that.

“Tell me.”

"You."

And he even got the strength to meet his eye, even as he fought for breath, his chest heaving. It was like a fight, and he was losing. Fine, he’d lose, if he could get some relief. If he could get another spear of that fantastic pleasure.

Luis brushed the hair from his face. His fingers sparked, where they touched. "Dios mio, you're…"

His hand stilled. It gave Leon enough of his mind back to ask, "What?"

“Here,” Luis murmured. His hands found Leon's hips again, thumbs digging against the bones. Eased him round, and Leon obliged. He thought he'd do anything Luis told him, if he’d make him feel this good. His knees sunk into the sheets and his need felt even worse; even heavier; in this position.

A good worse, he thought, as those hands felt over his waist; his hips; his ass. He heard Luis' moan, and looked over his shoulder, through his hair. It was actually nice to see Luis look flustered; a dark blush on his throat.

"Everything you wanted?" His voice came out low; rough. Because the tattoo would be full on show, now. Luis would have a view of it, like a black flag, just between his hip bones.

Luis' fingers tightened. "Oh, and more, amore."

Leon had to let his head fall back onto the pillows, catching hold of the sheets. It was the soft way he said it; the way his fingers grazed over his thighs, getting the downy hair to stand on end.

Teasing.

"Luis."

"Si, si, patience." He had to wait for another caress, shifting his head so that he could still see Luis’ out of the corner of his eye, before he finally felt Luis pressing into him. He keened, arching into it, and heard an answering sound from Luis. He wondered how the tattoo moved with the motion. His hands steadied him, as he began moving. Much too slowly.

It was lightning. It sent a wave of heat and desire through him at every move. Leon bit the side of his hand to stop from mewling like a cat. It was just the right side of overwhelming; especially when he was already so aroused. When his own cock burnt between his legs, and he didn't think Luis would even need to touch him there.

"Hey – hey—" Luis' breath was heavy, by his ear. His curls tickled between his shoulder blades, and just that sent shivers over his back. Kept moving, his pace increasing, just a little. "Can I hear?"

Leon made a sound of protest. Squeezed his eyes shut. His teeth made a dull ache on his hand; if he wasn't careful, he would break the skin.

Luis paused. A shaky hand brushed Leon's hair back from his face; grazed his wrist. "Hey – Prince Charming?"

Maybe it was the nickname; the nickname made him feel like he was floating. He did pull his hand away then, his breath so heavy it hurt his ribcage; burnt his throat like fire. "Don't stop. Please."

Maybe Luis planned to tease him again. Surely he did. But instead he kissed at the join of his shoulder, his tongue scraping there, his teeth nipping. Leon whined, and the fingers on his wrist tightened.

It was embarrassing. It was embarrassing for Luis to hear him; it was easy to give in, when he was being so soft. When him being soft made him realise he liked this; liked Luis wanting to hear him. When his whine was answered with Luis moving twice as fast as before. When he heard Luis' answering sounds, from above him.

The embarrassment added to it.

He bucked his hips, chasing that friction and that fire, and wondered if the tattoo was flying like Luis had hoped. From the fingers pressing into the hips, he thought so. He braced his forearms on the bed, his hair back in his face, staring at the lamp with blurred vision. He matched Luis' rhythm. Beat it, and Luis' gave a long, low moan.

"Bueno," he murmured. Dipped his head to kiss at Leon's shoulder. "Muy bueno - my good boy. My good, good boy."

If he was in his right mind, he would snap that he wasn't Luis' boy. His mind had left him, entirely, though. Instead, it sent a spike through him. Luis' boy.

If Luis made him feel like this, he would be Luis' boy.

He would only whimper a string of his name, twisting his fists in the sheets. Letting Luis hear every embarrassing sound.

"You can let go." Luis' mouth moved against his shoulder blade, his hands firm on his hips. "Let go, Leon."

He did; as Luis thrusted into him again. Cried out, and Luis answered as he finished. Leon fought for breath, as he came. The heat and the need subsided, and his mind could only fizz, like a disconnected wire. His strength gave out, and he fell against the sheets. Felt Luis over him, their skin burning where they brushed each other. Felt his dark curls against his back. Felt his hand search for Leon's, and fit over it. Squeezed. He felt his heavy breath; felt the movement of his stomach and chest as he recovered.

"Dios mio," Luis whispered again.

Leon took a heavy breath. Managed to murmur, "You can say that again."

Luis chuckled. Kissed at the hollow of his jaw and Leon made a soft sound in response, words failing. His hands found Leon's hips again, as he eased himself free, and it sent another whine from his throat; he couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain anymore. He shifted. Suddenly, it was hard to keep his eyes open. His energy had drained.

And yet, his mess was all over the sheets; over himself, now that he’d fallen into them. He was uncomfortable, and he needed to make himself move. He caught the back of Luis' neck, as he tried to get upright, and pulled him down for another kiss, his lips clumsy.

He searched for the right words through his misty brain. "You're – fantastic."

He felt Luis smile.

"Oh, I try.”

*

Luis was smoking.

Leon didn’t see how he even had the energy to sit upright, after that. He’d barely had enough energy to shower; to get rid of the messy sheets. He lay back, under fresh sheets, his energy drained. He watched Luis’ profile; he’d tied his hair back, so only a single dark curl fell by his ear. Watched his lips around that cigarette, and swore he could still feel them on his shoulders; his neck.

His heart wasn’t racing, but it still thudded heavily in his chest. His mind couldn’t do much more than spark, and it was an effort to keep his eyes open.

Luis glanced at him sideways. “Turned into Sleeping Beauty now, eh?”

“Shut up.” But he didn’t have the energy to move properly. He flapped an arm at Luis, and he chuckled. It was that charming chuckle that made his stomach twist.

His mind went on a tangent, because of that chuckle. Imagined if they were both normal; if he’d really been just a cop; if he’d gone on vacation to Spain, one time. If he’d met this Spaniard and had a fling with him. Just a fling. Without any of the complications of his job, or Umbrella.

Luis looked down at him, properly, his cigarette still between his fingers. The smoke curled in a ribbon, towards the ceiling. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Leon wasn’t about to share that fantasy. The beers in the sun and the cool of the pool after a humid heat and the soft romance of it all. That would be too much. “I’m good.” He paused. “I’m beat.”

It was a poor choice of words and Luis’ smirk let him know that. He raised an eyebrow, but maybe he was tired too, because he didn’t make a joke. His eyes were soft.

“Your problem is you’re too tense.”

That was probably it. His muscles felt loose; like he’d just finished a workout. Completely drained, but in the best way.

“I wonder why,” he replied. Stretched a little, just to enjoy the ache in his muscles. It had been a minute, and he liked that it was Luis Serra who broke that streak. “Aren’t you?”

Luis raised his cigarette, twisting it slightly, and Leon chuckled. That was one way not to be tense.

He brushed his hair from his face – it was still damp from the shower – and kept his arm up, as Luis stubbed out his smoke on the ash tray. The smell lingered. The window was open, just slightly, just enough to get a breeze to catch the drapes. It was truly dark outside, now, only an amber streetlight outside fighting against the indigo blackness.

Leon listened to the roll of the cars passing. It was soothing. If cars were passing, that meant the city was still alive. He always slept easier knowing that; when he slept at all; guessed that was probably another reason why he was so wiped now.

Training had been harder. The deep breathing of other people sleeping was too much like the constant heaves and groans of those things in Raccoon City. Leon wasn’t letting himself think about how it would be to sleep next to Luis. He’d embarrassed himself enough, without having a night terror.

Embarrassed himself enough.

Damn, he had. Had mewled and whined and wanted Luis to call him good boy again. He bit his lip, frowning as though that would help soften the memories.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Luis said. His leg nudged Leon’s. “I am trying not to be worried, but…”

Leon shook his head, like that would be enough. Another car came by, the white lights illuminating the room for a moment.

A hand nudged his arm down. Gently. If he really wanted to, he could resist. If he really wanted to, he could start an argument about it. Deflect. Instead, he let Luis nudge his arm down. Looked up at him, and his dark eyes were soft, and searching. That made it worse; that he really cared.

He twisted his lip between his teeth, to feel the sting. “It’s not you.”

A dark eyebrow twitched higher; that wasn’t enough of an answer. Leon took a breath. Shrugged, and even his shoulders ached. “I just – guess they were right about me.”

“Because of the tattoo?”

Leon found himself smiling, just a little. “Must be a slut, right?”

Luis shifted. Lay down, on his side, so that they were on the same level. So their legs brushed against each other’s and he felt a rush of warmth. Luis traced the line of his collarbone.

“I did not think you would be bothered by what anyone says about you.”

“I’m not.” It was automatic. Just like not being nervous. Not being sweet. He reached up, twisted that dark curl around his finger. Easy to be intimate, now. “But some things – stick.”

They stuck when Krauser insisted on calling him pretty boy, with his mouth twisted like it was swearing. They stuck when he was trapped in basic training, and the comments were constant.

Luis’ hand settled over his chest. Could he feel his heartbeat? “And you know why they said that, don’t you?”

“Are you going to tell me it’s because they fancied me?”

“Maybe they did.” And when Leon rolled his eyes, Luis kissed him. Slowly. “Maybe they were jealous.”

Leon snorted. He got another kiss for that, Luis holding his chin steady. He tangled his fingers in Luis’ hair, his stubble rubbing against his mouth. That was a cliché, and it didn’t help wash the words away.

“Then they’d probably be jealous of you right now,” he murmured.

“Ah, of course.” Luis’ tongue traced over his bottom lip. “Then, I count myself a lucky man.”

Leon did laugh, genuinely, and that seemed amazing, just after feeling like that. That Luis could distract him. His hand trailed down, over his neck. His finger just grazed that spot. That raised scar. His heart stilled.

Luis shifted his wrist, moving his hand away, and it subsided the panic again. He pressed closer, barely pulling his face away. That was fine. Leon stared into those dark eyes. Luis was a lucky man. He was lucky, because he was here, with him.

“You know, I take it all as a compliment,” Luis continued. Leon pushed his chest in protest; immediately slipped a hand around to the small of his back to pull him closer, because Luis was alive. “I know you are having a good time, you know?”

“And did you?” Did he see those wings moving?

“They do not know what they are missing.” Luis murmured something in Spanish, too low and too fast for Leon to make out. He only registered another long, slow kiss, and felt his remaining energy draining from him. Wanted to stay here, in Luis’ arms, where he didn’t have to unpack any more of those feelings.

He suspected he would have to, in the morning. He suspected he’d remember and they’d have a similar conversation all over again. Maybe he’d even have to say more. Leon closed his eyes. He was allowed to keep them closed, this time.

“I’m really glad…” he murmured, already feeling himself slipping away. Another car passed. The city was still alive. “I met you, tonight.”

A mouth pressed against his forehead.

"I could park the Gummi Ship in Christmas Town.” Sora pressed his tongue against his fang until there was a spark of pain. He tasted blood.

Riku just snorted, and rolled his eyes. Disconcerting, when they were yellow. When they glowed like a cats. Whatever magic disguised them in other worlds had bleached what little colour there was in Riku's skin and hair. It made the black stand out; the black of his clothes (not so dissimilar to his own), the black of the great, clawed hands - the black of the horns. They reminded Sora of Maleficent's. Of course, he couldn't say that. It was hard to say anything whilst Riku had fangs. They were all Sora could see. The thought crossed his mind – of cutting his tongue on Riku's fangs – and his cheeks warmed.

Riku actually paused in their walk to look at him, properly. The snort and eye roll had been a dig at Sora's driving. He'd gotten distracted – the shadows made Riku's cheekbones look carved from marble – so he tried elbowed him back.

Those thoughts were getting harder and harder to control. They snuck in whenever he was with Riku, and sometimes when he wasn't. Passing thoughts, but ones that turned his stomach or made him warm. Thoughts about kissing him. He told himself they were silly thoughts, that he’d never do. But they weren't. He knew they weren't. They were more than that.

Still, weren't to be acted upon. Couldn't be acted upon.

They reached the door, in the middle of the woods. The screaming graveyard could barely be heard from here.

"Still think you should say hi to Santa," Sora murmured. His bat wings fluttered, of their own accord..

"Later."

It was Sora's turn to roll his eyes. The door in front of them was not the one to Christmas Town. Instead, it was a red heart. Valentines Town.

They were had a heartless problem, according to Jack. According to Jack it was, "A delightful, interesting place! Sally and I honeymooned there, you know. I'd hate for them to have trouble."

So Sora and Riku agreed to help out.

He took hold of the handle. Took a breath, and tugged it open. He didn't have the same excitement that he had over Christmas Town. There was no Santa on the other side of this door. Instead, there would be – chocolates, he supposed. Girls made boys chocolates on Valentines.

"You're not scared of here, but you're scared of Valentines?" Riku asked. He had a hand on the edge of the tree, ready to jump.

Sora forced himself to laugh. Forced himself to say, "No way," and take the jump. It was a familiar sensation; magic; rippling his clothes, ruffling his hair, over his wings.

Then, they landed.

His heart still raced. The air here was warmer, with the sun pressing through his eyelids; it smelt sweet. He didn't know why he was so nervous. This was a routine job. In, make friends, fight heartless, out.

This world was extremely pink. The path spread out before them, edged on either side with magenta poppies and red roses bursting from their stems.

"We changed forms to blend into Halloween Town, but changed again to blend into here." Riku shook his head. "It is confusing."

Sora made a sound. He was too busy taking Riku's new appearance in. He’d kept the fangs, and curling horns - though they were a dark, shining mauve now. His clothes had shifted; a cravat and collar, though his shirt was still sleeveless. Smart trousers and shining boots. And a tail. He had a long, thin tail with a spade shape at the end. It should not have been attractive.

Riku blinked, his eyes very green in the pink forest. "What?"

His tail twitched, as though it was self-conscious. Not a spade, Sora realised. A heart. It was tinged mauve too.

"Just - you don't look very Valentines-y," he replied, sure his cheeks were burning again. His heart and wings kept fluttering. He still had wings. He hadn't had wings in Christmas Town. He glanced back to see white. They were still small – not big enough to lift him from the ground. Here, they were feathered. He twisted, trying to see them better. Kept twisting, and felt like a dog chasing his tail.

Riku caught his shoulder. Turned him back the right way, and looked him over. Even his cheeks looked pink; that must have been a side effect from the world's magic.

"You do," Riku said. "Look Valentines-y."

Sora glanced down. His own clothes were lightweight, light - draping, like the fashion at the colosseum. He didn't usually feel self-conscious about a different form, but he did now. With Riku.

He tried to play it off. Gave Riku's shoulder a light punch and said, "Watch out, or my arrow’ll go through your heart.”

And Riku laughed - showing those fangs - before following Sora down the path. The rose bushes grew in heart shapes, so did the tree trunks; all cherry blossom of course, scattering pale pink petals down like confetti.

"So, you're an angel," Riku said. His tail twitched behind him, the heart staying upright. "What does that make me?"

Sora stretched an arm above his head. Tried to stay casual. "Some kind of imp?"

"A devil?" And Riku actually looked a little hurt. He pouted around the fangs. "I feel typecast."

They came to an iron gate, entirely made of twisted hearts. Sora stopped, a hand on the swirls, and looked at Riku. "It doesn't matter what you look like, you have a good heart. A good, strong heart."

His hand had risen. It hovered above Riku's chest, to prove his point. They were closer than he realised. Closer than he’d meant them to be.

Riku looked down, eyes searching as though he expected him to be joking. Searching for something. He bit his lip. Didn’t reply.

Sora’s fingers curled into his palm. Slowly, he brought his hand down. Twisted it into the gate behind him, instead. Gripped it so tightly his palm hurt.

Then Riku looked up, sharply. Frowned. “Are those heartless?”

He already had his keyblade summoned. Sora caught his, as he turned, grateful for the interruption, for once. There were dark shapes in the sky, flitting about like huge birds. He ended up hopping onto the gate to see better. One swooped close enough for him to see clearly.

“Those are cherubs,” he replied. Now that the amber sun had caught them in its light, he could make out the baby-like features of their faces. He laughed, releasing his keyblade. “I’m just an oversized chicken.”

And almost squawked like one, when Riku swung the gate open, with him still perched on it. He stepped past, onto the dirt road. His hand grazed Sora’s bare arm, as he did.

“It doesn’t matter what you look like,” Riku chanted. But then turned earnest. “You’ve got a good strong heart.”

Said heart was still racing. Sora hopped down from the gate, and hurried to catch up. Couldn’t help tweaking Riku’s tail as he did. He jumped, with his whole body, turning on him. He looked impish, with that look in his eye, and that smirk on his face.

Sora’s wings fluttered. He grinned back. Only half-heartedly tried to dodge Riku’s hand as he sought payback; he tweaked the covering still over Sora’s eye.

That made him realise it had changed to. A rose. Riku had caused one of the petals to come loose. It fell, almost heart-shaped itself, to the path. Crimson, against the plain dirt.

He tore his gaze away. They had a job to do. Heartless. Fighting. Saving the world. Not messing around. Not thinking about how handsome Riku looked. What the fluttering in him meant.

He needed to shed those thoughts, like petals from a rose.

*

This world felt like sweet torture.

They continued until the road turned to cobblestones, and the found the town proper. It looked like a child’s illustration; chalk white buildings topped with sugar-pink rooftiles, decorated with stained glass, hard-candy windows. Good enough to eat. And there certainly were a lot of things to eat; the highstreets were chocked full of confectionaries and chocolatiers; bakeries and coffee shops. Riku’s stomach grumbled at the pastries, the candy, the chocolate truffles. He noticed the dentists stuck in between like crooked teeth, their windows still full of lollipops.

They wandered, through meadows lined with rainbow tulips and past window boxes of carnations. The smell stayed stuck in Riku’s nose; he constantly had to sneeze here. It was all so very – much. Everyone walked in pairs, wearing flowers or reading poems. All lovestruck like puppies, without a care in the world. The two of them walked in a pair as well, but he couldn’t put an arm around Sora. They could hardly walk hand in hand.

They weren’t like that. Just friends.

And he was grateful they were friends, after everything. That he had been forgiven, and, most of all, they were both still here and whole. Safe. He couldn’t ruin that by turning this into anything more.

But it was so hard, when Sora looked like that. When his hair seemed bouncier and softer; he couldn’t stop staring at the wisps at the nape of his neck; short and fluffy like duckling feathers. Couldn’t look away when the one visible eye stared up at him; blue and shining like light in the darkness. His skin caught the sunlight so that he practically glowed bronze, the white clothes accentuating that all the more. He was, quite literally, an angel.

Which was playing havoc with Riku. It was always like this, now, around Sora, but being here, surrounded by love, made it all the worse.

He’d known for a while. Had confessed to the king in a muddle of, “I care about him – a lot. I thought I hated him. I hated him making friends without me. But that’s not – it was jealousy. And it wasn’t hate. I – I don’t know what it is. It makes my heart hurt.”

Mickey had looked at him, in a way that was part pitying, part amused. “Riku, you love him.”

He’d snapped that wasn’t it at the time. Of course, it was. Of course, Mickey guessed right. Of course, he encouraged him to be honest with his feelings.

He couldn’t be.

It was always Sora and Kairi. They were the love story. And how could he ruin this friendship by adding his feelings into the mix? It was best for everyone to suffer in silence.

Suffering was the word now. They trailed through town, but they didn’t see any heartless. Not a single shadow.

Eventually, they brought giant chocolate eclairs, and sat at the edge of the fountain in town square. It was marble, topped with a cherub statue and pouring pale pink liquid. Riku licked at the chocolate topping on the éclair, and tried not to think about how Sora sat so close that their legs were grazing.

“Do you remember Valentine’s day back home?” Riku’s tongue asked, before his brain could keep up. “I think we were six, or maybe seven, and you gave me handmade chocolates at school?”

Sora swung back, on the fountain, almost dipping into the flow of the water. “Oh, don’t.”

But he didn’t really mean it. Riku smiled. “They were burnt.”

“Riku.”

“But you had this big, beaming smile like you really didn’t care.”

They spoke at the same time, the words overlapping like ill-fitting puzzle pieces:

“Everyone laughed at me.”

“You were my only Valentines.”

They both stopped short, staring at each other in surprise. A sweet-smelling wind picked up, and it took another one of the petals sat over Sora’s eye. It left the rose in a heart-shape. His cheeks were the same red as it. That hurt feeling in Riku’s heart returned in full force, and he couldn’t stand it. That was what love felt like, apparently.

Sora swallowed. He ducked his chin. “Like, ever?”

Their hands both sat on the stone edge of the fountain. Riku looked at them, too. Sora’s gloves were fingerless; his own were tipped with claws. Was there a better metaphor for being unsuited for each other?

Yet, his own twitched closer. “Like, ever.”

“Kairi must have given you chocolates,” Sora murmured.

“Only because she made you some. Because she didn’t want me to be left out,” Riku said. Sora didn’t argue. He took a shaking breath. “You never usually care if people laugh at you.”

“I don’t.” Sora’s finger twitched in response. “Because I’m usually laughing with them. But I wasn’t, then. I was the joke.”

Girls gave boys chocolates on Valentines. Boys didn’t give other boys chocolates. But they’d grown up since then, and learnt they could.

“Not to me.” Riku dared to look up; dared to meet that blue eye. Sora stared back, as though he was – amazing. He couldn’t help it, his gaze twitched down, to his parted mouths. His lips were the same pink colour as the rooftops around them. Spun, pink sugar. With a dollop of cream at the edge, from the éclair.

Riku wasn’t really thinking, his heart was beating too loudly; it had taken control of all of him, and his hand reached up. His thumb wiped away the cream. He was hardly breathing; Sora didn’t seem to be either.

His fingers found Riku’s. Seemed to be entangling in his own, when a voice interrupted: “How very unusual!”

Riku pulled away from Sora. Pulled his hand away. Almost summoned his keyblade – half expecting Organization 13 – before he really took in the character before them. Because she was more like a character, than a real person. A towering lady in a meringue of cream skirts; emblazoned with yet more hearts; her beehive hair added another layer of height, coloured as sweetly pink as the rest of the town.

“Oh, sorry—” Sora was already on his feet. His wings stretched out behind him, feathers trembling. “We’re Jack’s friends. Jack Skellington?”

“Oh yes. Him. He’s quite charming, and he knows my dear Mr Shakespeare well.”

Riku managed to pull enough of himself together to stand, and step forward too. He glanced at Sora, who only lifted his shoulders in a shrug back. He supposed if Santa was in this world, there was no reason Shakespeare couldn’t be alive as well.

“He said you had a heartless problem,” Sora continued. “We’ve come to help!”

He put his fist to his chest, looking every bit a plucky hero. Riku’s heart hurt, again. This newcomer glanced to him with eyes the colour of chocolate. Seemed to know, and his stomach jolted in panic.

“Heartless?” The lady shook her head, and it made said beehive sway alarmingly. “No, we focus on filling hearts here. Filling them with love. Why, I thought you were filling your arrows with potion.”

They exchanged another glance, both as blank as each other.

“Sorry,” Riku said, eventually. “It’s our first time here.”

“That would explain the lack of respect for a queen.” She seemed to raise herself even higher, her dress flouncing around her as if it was preening. “Queen Ruby Valentino, the ruler of this land. I would have thought Jack would have told you that. Though—” She peered at them both. “You don’t look like you come from his domain.”

“We didn’t want to disturb anyone in your town,” Sora said. It wasn’t quite a lie, and perhaps that’s why it came so easily from him. “So, we – disguised ourselves.”

The queen stepped around them, examining them both. Riku felt that stupid tail twitch. It was irritating to have something attached to him, giving him away.

“Magic.” The queen concluded. She tweaked one of Sora’s wings. He jumped in response. Pressed back against Riku. He steadied his shoulder without thinking about it.

“And how interesting that magic would choose this. A cupid and an imp, working together. Love and heartbreak.”

Riku suspected his face was terribly red. Imp. Heartbreak. Typecast.

“We’re friends,” Sora said. Defensively. His arm even came out, a little, as if he was shielding Riku.

“Like I said, interesting.” The queen only smiled, glancing between them. “But love is love, darlings. You don’t need to hide it.”

Riku couldn’t move – couldn’t breathe – could only stare. It was obvious, then. He was obvious. She knew. Did everyone?

Sora was frozen too. Even his wings had stopped fluttering. The wind ruffled his hair, and it took another rose petal with it.

“So there are—” Sora sounded choked. “There are no monsters causing trouble about town?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“It’s not like that,” Riku said. Had to say. “We’re not—”

“Oh. I see.” But she made it sound like she didn’t. The queen stepped forward. Still smiling, and perhaps that was why neither of them moved. She only patted them both on the head, just once, like they were small children. “Well then, enjoy your stay here, sweethearts.”

Then she was swanning off with all of her ruffles and chiffon. Barking an order about flowers to a man who seemed to appear from nowhere, bowing profusely. It left Sora and Riku stood by the fountain. Not alone. Plenty of couples milled at the edges, but they were all in their own lovesick bubbles. They’d barely noticed the entrance of the queen.

Riku was burning. He stepped away, trying to get his tail under control. Running a hand through his hair and finding those horns. Maleficent, he thought, and knew he’d never be entirely free of her.

Sora ruffled his wings like a duck shaking off feathers. He turned to Riku and smiled, shakily. He put his hands behind his head, like nothing was wrong.

“Looks like we’re not needed, after all.”

They weren’t going to talk about it. That was fine – good – Riku could cope with that. He let go of the horn, but still didn’t feel settled. “Why would Jack send us here, if there was no heartless?”

“He must have gotten it wrong.”

Riku wondered about that. Hoped it was not a case of sending them to the wrong world, because he had no desire to see what was behind the door shaped like a turkey. But Jack Skellington didn’t seem like someone who got things wrong. It felt deliberate.

All he wanted was to stop feeling this fluttery panic, stop feeling this pain in his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek, gently, because of the fangs.

“Well,” Sora said. “As long as we’re here, we might as well explore.”

Riku didn’t have an argument to the contrary.

*

Sora didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Not when he had a purse leaden with munny and they were surrounded by sweet things. Certainly not when going home meant sitting in the Gummi ship, with the queen’s words echoing in their heads. They couldn’t talk about it.

So he chattered loudly and kept buying chocolate. Fluttered around and tried to act as though nothing was wrong. But it wasn’t working. Riku became more and more distracted, fiddling with his hair, biting his lip, looking anywhere but Sora.

It was probably a bad idea to suggest the rowboats. But they were moored on the lake, and Sora had ran out of ideas. So, he caught Riku’s arm and tugged him closer.

“Come on, Riku, you always rowed us to the island.”

Riku dug his heels in. “Sora, we’re wasting time.”

“They expect us to be gone all day.”

“Because you said we would be fighting heartless. They’re out there, in other worlds, and we’re messing around.”

“It’s fun.” Sora dropped Riku’s arm.  “You remember fun, don’t you?”

“Don’t do that,” Riku snapped. He looked over Sora’s head, in that infuriating way. As though he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. “You’ve always gotten to be the careless one. I’m the one who pieced everything together, who—”

It was what Sora couldn’t bear to think about. “I didn’t mean that!”

They shouted it at the same time: “Stop being so stubborn!”

Sora had been focusing so much on the argument – on trying to make Riku look at him – that he hadn’t paid attention to the birds over their heads. Not birds, cupids. Hadn’t noticed the giggles. Hadn’t noticed one notching an arrow. Not until it was flying towards the back of Riku’s head. He didn’t have time to cry out.

It was, mercifully, not sharpened. It bounced off the back of Riku’s head and to the sweet-smelling grass. Rubber.

But it did knock him off balance. He stumbled. Caught hold of Sora for balance, just as an arrow hit Sora’s shoulder. He stepped back, raising a hand to ward them off, and Riku’s weight lurched him over.

He fell, backwards. Hit wood with a great crash that jarred the back of his head. Something heavy landed on top of him. Whatever he’d landed on began to move, sweeping out in the direction of the lake.

The boat. He’d landed on one of the little row boats. He scrambled, trying to sit up properly to grab the oars.

Realised what had fallen on top of him was Riku. Riku, over him, his white hair hanging down, his face flushed red to his pointed ears; hips on top of Sora’s; knees nudging his; hands either side his head.

And Sora’s hands were on his chest. He stared.

Riku blinked. Pulled away, catching himself on the side of the boat. “It’s fine, it’s moored.”

It had been moored. They both sat in time to see that one of the cupids had swooped down. It threw the loop of rope from the side. They had set the boat in motion, and it was getting further and further from the shore.

“The oars,” Riku said. They dove in opposite directions – sending the whole thing swaying – grasping for the oars in their mooring holes. The one on Sora’s side fell through He fumbled, catching it just before it could disappear into the murky water. He threaded it back through, turning with a grin to Riku.

Who looked stricken. His hands were empty. The oar on that side was already gone.

Sora looked back to the shore. The cupids sat on the docks, nudging each other and giggling. They rested their chins on their hands, and watched the two of them.

He shifted, so that he sat properly in the boat, his back against the rim and one hand on the oar. “At least we can go in circles.”

For a moment, he thought Riku was going to punch him. It certainly looked like the thought occurred to him. But then his eyes closed, and he begun to laugh. So widely that it showed his fangs. They glinted in the sunlight.

Riku shifted too, so that he was sat opposite. The boat rocked. Years of rowing back home made it easy to keep their balance, and settle it.

“Or we could swim for it,” Sora said.

Riku raised an eyebrow. He reached a hand over the side, dipping his hand into the water. He held out his clawed fingers afterward, and Sora saw it wasn’t water. It was chocolate.

“I don’t relish the thought.”

“Of course not. Relish is made with pickles,” Sora replied.

Riku flicked the chocolate at him. It landed on his cheek, but he could only laugh. He brought his hand up to wipe it, and paused, the heel of his hand on his cheek. The moment at the fountain. Riku had wiped the cream from his cheek. He’d been so close. His green eyes had made Sora’s heart flutter faster than his wings. Then they had looked down. His eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks, and he did look like a devil, then.

Then, he’d looked like he was about to kiss Sora.

And he’d wanted him to. Was desperate for him to. That would answer his thoughts and feelings; would solve them.

“Riku.” He swallowed. Pulled his hand back down and there was a smear of chocolate on his white glove. “Back there…”

Riku looked away. His chest heaved with a sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They continued drifting, chocolate lapping at the hull of the boat. It wasn’t so dissimilar to being back home. Boats and islands had been their world.

Riku didn’t answer. He stared stubbornly into the distance, his tail flicking back and forth like an angry cat’s.

“We can’t do anything else.” Sora looked back to shore. It would be simple enough for one of the cherubs to fly out and tow them back in with the rope, but they were sat, watching. Like this was fun for them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Riku said. “It wasn’t anything.”

Sora slumped further into the boat, crossing his arms.

“The queen’s just – so used to everybody being in love, that…” Riku waved his hands. They fell, heavily, onto the bottom of the boat.

“I didn’t mean her.” Though he’d been turning those words over and over in his head. Love is love. Love. “I meant, before.”

“You’re not a joke to me,” Riku repeated. His green eyes finally flicked back. Shone, like emeralds.

“Thank you.” And Sora really meant it, because that memory still made him want to curl up like a woodlouse. “But, after that.”

“After that—” Riku’s cheeks burnt red. “I don’t know what you mean, after that.”

It was easier to be frustrated, than dwell on that Valentines day. Sora remembered the sniggers. Remembered sitting on his mom’s lap and crying when he got home because they’d laughed at him. He sat up, properly, kicking his shoe against Riku’s.

“You’re not a very good imp.”

“I’m not an imp at all!” Riku stayed slumped.

“Pretty sure love imps are meant to entice people into falling in love.” Sora knew he was pouting. Knew he was being childish. Only half-knew what the plan was. “But you can’t even kiss me.”

“I can.” Riku did sit up then. So suddenly the boat swayed and they both had to catch the side to keep their balance. “But you – we’re not – we’re friends. Just – friends.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you – and Kairi—”

“No.” Sora didn’t realise that the word had escaped. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to stop it. It was out. The admission. His twitched the hem of his toga, instead. “I don’t feel this way about Kairi.”

There was a pause. They were nearing the middle of the lake now. The sun was starting to set, tinging everything rose.

Riku shifted, again. They were very close, their legs fitting around each other. “This way?”

Sora looked up, his chin still pressed to his chest. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t even find the word, much less form it. His heart hammered, wings fluttering. He looked to Riku’s mouth, his tongue pressing against his own bottom lip. Back up, to his bewildered eyes, and back down. Struggled to catch his breath, his fingernails digging into the wood underneath them.

Riku seemed to understand, all the same. Of course he did, he was Riku. His hand raised, palm grazing Sora’s cheek. It wasn’t so much leaning closer, when they were already so close, but just tilting his head closer. Close enough to graze their lips together.

It felt like magic. Like when he cast magic. Sora pressed their mouths together, firmly, chasing that feeling. Caught the back of Riku’s neck as he went to pull away. Kept him close, their legs tangled, one hand finding Riku’s chest, leaning into the hand on his cheek. Feeling like he was truly flying.

It made sense. It was Riku. The thoughts and feelings – the puzzle – fit together. Love.

Riku was gentle, when he took Sora’s shoulders. He let himself be tugged away an inch, gasping for breath. He was sure he heard cheering in the distance.

“We’re – is this just because of the town?” Riku whispered.

Sora’s eyes were still closed. It was a great effort to prise them open. “I meant that valentines. You were my valentines.”

Riku’s hands went to his cheeks. Pushed him just far enough to examine his expression. Whatever he saw made his brows unfurrow. Made his eyes soften. Riku tugged Sora back, their lips crashing clumsily. But that was fine. Still felt like magic. He kissed Riku back, fangs catching against his lips. It made his stomach leap.

They kept kissing. It kept feeling wonderful. Until one of Riku’s fangs caught Sora’s bottom lip in earnest, and made it bleed. Riku insisted on no more of that until they were in their own bodies again. Sora pouted. Settled for entwining their hands though, and marvelled at the feel of it. They used to hold hands, when they were very small. Until they’d been told boys didn’t do that. He’d missed it.

“How long?” Sora asked.

Riku shrugged. “At least Castle Oblivion. But I have a feeling it was before.” He made a face. “I feel like even Maleficent guessed.”

Sora couldn’t help cringing. It was one thing to fight an enemy. It was another for them to get involved in their love life.

“I felt so confused,” Sora admitted. “After that valentines. After – everything.”

Riku’s fingers tightened on his. It sent a bolt of warmth through him. He pressed his tongue against the cut Riku’s fangs had made, and smiled to himself. His fluttering heart didn’t feel so terrible anymore. Not when they were both smiling at each other, cheeks warm, eyes shining. They were still drifting, but that was alright. They weren’t expected back, yet. They were floating on a chocolate lake, at sunset. It was like a dream.

Riku sighed, but was still smiling. “If we hadn’t gotten stranded here, I wonder if I’d ever have told you.”

“All according to her majesty’s plan,” a new voice said. A high, squeaky voice, from above them. A cherub. Up close, they really did look like chubby babies. It grinned at them.

Another had picked up the rope from the helm. It took three cherubs to tow them back to shore, where the rest of the flock was. They clapped and waved at the two of them.

Sora really did want to curl up like a woodlouse. He looked at Riku, his stomach twisting.

“They planned this,” Riku replied. Rolled his eyes, and maybe there was something in the air, because Sora found himself chuckling. Their string of clumsy tumbling made sense. The bad luck that had stranded them on a boat with nothing to do but confess to each other. Of course, the queen of Valentine’s Town would set something like that up.

The rest of it fell into place. There weren’t any heartless here. There never was.

“No.” Sora didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They had been so obvious, even the dead had realised it. “Jack planned this.”

Riku groaned, throwing his head back. But his shoulders were shaking with laughter. Sora leant against him. Hid his face, and felt safe. He always felt safe, with Riku, now. Another petal flew from over his eye, somersaulting on the wind.

They were towed back into shore. An imp and a cherub. But they weren’t, really. It didn’t matter what they looked like.

He watched the firelight flicker over Ruthven's crimson hair, turning it into licking flames too. Turning that amber eye into brimstone. A devil from a gothic novel, surrounded by hellfire.

Vanitas wondered just how much of a moth he had inside him.

He leant against the doorframe, as though he was unbothered, and forced his gaze around the room. To the leatherbound books on the shelves in the walls. The embroidered rug. The carved animals in the mahogany fireplace.

His comfort must have annoyed the Lord. He placed the papers – not quite tossed – onto the side table next to the armchair, and finally looked up.

"Last time we met, I nearly killed you," Ruthven said. His voice was that same relaxed, low growl. Like a lion.

"It's strange how often conversations with me start that way." Vanitas' smirk was genuine. What a life he led. He retrained himself from saying that he had allowed that; he suspected Ruthven already knew. 

Ruthven's expression stayed stony. "And I do not believe I gave you permission to visit this address."

This address in the mortal world. Vanitas wasn't going to ask for Noé's help with getting to the vampire world for this meeting. He couldn't. Noé would be furious that he didn’t ask, and that was why precisely why Vanitas wouldn't let him. This way, Vanitas could do what he wanted. His plans wouldn’t be interfered with.

"I'm aware." Vanitas stayed slumped against the doorframe. He reached out a finger to trace the shape of the gas lamp at his head height. The brass had been turned into an octopus tentacle. He let his words sit between them; stayed silent, to see how long Ruthven would wait for a more satisfactory answer.

It was a full twenty seconds.

"How did you find me, kin of the vampire of the blue moon?"

It was impossible that he'd know how much that niggled Vanitas, to be addressed like that. Impossible, and yet, he somehow believed he did.

"Noé went to a café, the other day," Vanitas said. He pushed himself off the wall. Met that brimstone eye, and wanted Ruthven to know this was where he got serious. "I asked at the hotel. They gave me the name of it. I visited. It turns out, your—" He let the next word drip like honey from his tongue. "—Lordship is a frequent visitor. So, I asked for your address, to give you a message from Monsieur Archiviste."

He saw it. The slight twitch of Ruthven's eye. He knew the reason; Noé didn't remember visiting that café. Didn't remember his meeting with Ruthven. But Ruthven revealing that would be admitting that he had meddled with Noé's mind.

He'd stepped forward, twice, whilst he'd spoken, and he saw Ruthven's gaze travel from his boots to his face. To his innocently smiling mouth.

"And what message does Monsieur Archiviste have for me?" he asked. Casually. Carelessly.

"He doesn't." Vanitas took another step forward. Firmly on that lovely, embroidered rug. Four feet away from Ruthven. "But it's amazing what service workers will tell you when they believe you're a servant."

There was a slight twitch of Ruthven's mouth. Perhaps the start of a smile. Good. Let Vanitas amuse him. If he was amused, he was less dangerous.

"Then I'm afraid I still do not know why you're here."

"Because Noé came home that day, and something wasn't right." It was a fight to keep his tone even. To stop himself from being too emotional. He needed to be just as stony cold as the Lord. He could do that. He'd done it before. Just because it was Noé involved—"Something happened in that café, and he wouldn't tell me."

Wouldn't tell him, and not couldn't. Let Ruthven think whatever trick he had on Noé wasn't quite perfect; didn't quite work.

Ruthven opened his large hands. The firelight glinted off the sharp nails. Vanitas didn't look.  Wouldn't look. Wouldn't think about those nails over his skin.

"If he wouldn't tell you, then I certainly wouldn't want to break his trust."

"It's your trust that would be broken." Vanitas took another step. Tilted his chin up defiantly. "So, you should tell me."

It was the straw on the camel's back. Ruthven was on his feet before he could blink; loomed over Vanitas, his hair a crimson mane around his shoulders.

"You forget yourself." His hand hovered, open, in the air, as though it was waiting to grasp Vanitas' neck again. He bared it all the more. "Human."

Vanitas looked up from under his lashes. "Tell me what you did to Noé."

The hand did land, then. Not on his neck, but his jaw. Big enough that his fingertip nudged Vanitas' earring, and firm enough for him to feel it. A display of power.

Vanitas' pulse raised. Not with fear. This was exciting. This was what he lived for; the danger; the cat and mouse – because the mouse always escaped, in the end.

"Why?" Ruthven growled. He examined Vanitas' face, and he fought to keep it blank, even though he was balanced on his tiptoes, and it was harder to catch his breath. "Do you care for him?"

Vanitas' smirk was fake, this time. He pushed out the laugh. "Not as such. But he is mine." He took hold of Ruthven's wrist. Managed to lever himself back onto the floor firmly, and didn't blink. "Only I'm allowed to hurt him."

He watched the slow smile form on Ruthven's face. The low light made the hollows very dark; made the scars poking out from under the eyepatch look twisted like tree roots. Made him a monster.

"I see." He released his grip, though Vanitas could still feel its ghost. He traced down Vanitas' jaw with a knuckle, and he felt a cold shiver race across his skin. Felt that lure vampires had around them. The sensuality of danger.

Vanitas got drunk off that lure. He supposed he was a moth, after all.

"I thought you were a strange knight in shining armour." His knuckle rested under Vanitas' chin. He pressed down against it, just to show he wasn't scared.

"I'm an avenging angel."

Which got him a chuckle. Good; he was still amusing. Ruthven released him. Sunk back into the armchair, and watched him like he was a performer. Which he was; this was a performance. Vanitas was always performing. He was good at that.

"Yes, that suits you more," he said. "Still, you're too arrogant for my liking."

Vanitas rolled his tongue in his mouth, as though he was considering that. As though he hadn't decided what he was going to do before he even walked in the room. 

He took another step forward, then lowered himself to one knee. Let his coat fall off his shoulders and land in a dark puddle around him. 

Ruthven's eyebrow twitched.

Vanitas shifted the other, to the floor. Knelt in front of Ruthven's chair, and tipped his head back. He felt his hair shifted with the movement. Felt his collar shift, and expose more of his neck. Noticed the way Ruthven looked there.

"My lord." The words were easy to drip out, when he didn't mean them. When Vanitas, at least, knew they were mocking.

Ruthven's other eyebrow raised. The smile twitched a little more. "You're much more pleasant this way."

On his knees. Vanitas pretended he didn't catch the insinuation. He rounded his shoulders; let his hair fall back over his neck. "And humble?"

Ruthven let him wait there, again. And this time Vanitas couldn't annoy him out of it. This time, he had to wait, was the one who wanted something. He felt hot shame claw its way from his stomach to his chest; to his neck.

Ruthven eventually shifted, in the chair. "Noé made a promise to me. That's all."

It probably was all. But a promise was a dangerous thing. A swear was a dangerous thing. And Noé didn't even remember what he swore, which was the worst part of all. 

This was practical. This was because that swear would come back and sink its fangs into Vanitas' neck. He preferred to choose who bit him. He had the power, because he had the choice.

Ruthven examined him. 

Vanitas' heart pounded in his chest. He'd suspected something like that. Had a plan for how to deal with it. Now that he knelt here, it seemed a foolish thing to do. This would bite into Noé's neck instead, and if he ever found out that Vanitas tried to save him from this, it would shatter him. Could make him hate Vanitas. 

Good. He should. 

"Let me take that promise," he said. "I'll take it, instead of Noé."

Ruthven leant forward, resting his chin on his fist. 

Vanitas' heart picked up speed. He tried to hide his swallow. Danger, and he loved it.

"Why should I let you do that?"

Vanitas knew how to look at men. He'd learnt from Mikhail. He settled back, tilted his head, let his hair fall and said, "I'll be your angel, for tonight."

Ruthven almost laughed at him. He saw it. That look of incredulousness – the question of why he'd ever want a human, much less a human like Vanitas. But then he took him in again, the arch to Vanitas' back. Thought about who he was – what he was. Thought about how much it would hurt Noé if he knew.

"Prove it."

That wasn't an acceptation, but Vanitas would earn it. He would take this burden off Noé. 

He was better at carrying them.

He moved closer. Close enough to rest his hands on Ruthven's knees. To use them to lift himself up, not to standing, but to close the gap between them. To slide his fingers up Ruthven's thighs as he twisted upwards. As his lips grazed that jaw; found that mouth. 

He kissed him. Teasingly, at first, until Ruthven's tongue pushed through to his mouth. Vanitas let his jaw fall open, mouth full of heat. Ruthven's teeth ran over his lip; teasing it with his own. Just enough to feel the suggestion of his fangs.

Vanitas let out a small whine. It was measured.

Ruthven's nails dragged across his scrap, burying themselves in his hair. Kept him there, arched up awkwardly, as he took what he wanted. Pushed his tongue against Vanitas' forcefully.

Warmth crawled up his body. He pressed his fingers into Ruthven's thighs, his breath raw against the edges of his throat, his pulse fluttering in his neck.

Ruthven pulled away, holding him at arm's length and keeping him in place as he examined him.

He must look pathetic. His cheeks must be red, his mouth open to catch his breath, his hair a mess. Yet, looking pathetic would help. That was a strength in itself; he could use being underestimated. He wanted to hate looking pathetic; he often did.

Ruthven's nail traced a line under his eye. He didn't flinch.

"This becomes you, nicely." The corners of Ruthven's lips twitched. Amused.

"I can do more," Vanitas replied, his voice already rough at the edges.

He was released, slowly, dark strands falling through Ruthven's fingers, like he was appraising fabric.

Vanitas fell back. Slowly teased open the buttons of his waistcoat, meeting Ruthven's amber eye. Not scared, not arrogant, but watching. Teasing at his bottom lip as he did. Exaggerating the hitch of his breath, as he let his waistcoat fall. Watched Ruthven drinking him in. Hating, Vanitas thought – knew – that he was just a human. That he was a human, and yet Ruthven was amused at least, by this display, if not attracted.

He loosened his shirt. Just enough for it to fall from one pale shoulder. Nudged his cheek against Ruthven's knee, like a needy cat.

Ruthven caught his ponytail, at the base. Gently tugged him back, and usually Vanitas would snap and growl at that, but this time he let himself go with the movement. Was compliant. Let Ruthven tug his shirt from his other shoulder. It fell, until it was barely on him. He was glad of the low lighting; it would help disguise the pale scars on his shoulder; over his back.

Ruthven didn't comment on them. He used the back of his hand to nudge Vanitas' chin to the side. It barred Jeanne's mark in the firelight.

"Seems you're already spoken for," he said. Grumbled.

Vanitas leant into the hand, looking up from under his lashes. Almost batted them, just to seem all the more alluring.

"It's casual," he said. "And I have lots of room."

It was a slight gamble. He knew not all vampires liked the idea of a marked-up human. But it made Ruthven's brows raise interestedly. He brushed Vanitas' hair behind his ear, lingering over the shape. Over the hourglass earring. Examined it, in the light, and Vanitas let him, for a moment, before he turned his head fully. Before he pressed an open mouth again Ruthven's palm and received a hum of response. 

"Yet, I cannot see an Archiviste mark on you." At least he was distracted from the hourglass. 

"It's not up here," Vanitas replied. Lied. Let the Lord think Noé had bitten him, and all that entailed, at least for now. It would put Noé in danger, but only until Ruthven realised he was lying.

And let Ruthven think their relationship was like that. Let him think that Noé had marked Vanitas' hip or thigh. From the dark look on his face, that idea only fuelled that greedy desire. He felt like a moth landing on a candle; he had what he wanted, and he knew it would be destroying.

Vanitas smiled. Coquettishly. Kissed Ruthven's palm again, taking his thumb into his mouth and biting down, just enough to feel it. Rolled his tongue around it and followed it as Ruthven pulled him closer. He followed, running a splayed hand down Ruthven's thigh and feeling him shift. 

He inched his grip further, tilted his head for the light to catch his features; to turn him into a fae. 

Ruthven hummed again. Pressed his thumb down against Vanitas' thumb. Rubbed, and the whine he gave was only half for show. Only half to ensure he got that promise.

Because Vanitas hated being compliant like this. Loved hating being compliant like this. It set him on fire. He had an excuse, a reason, to act pathetically, and that only fuelled the fire. He could never be like this with Noé.

This was for Noé.

He let the thumb press further in his mouth. Opened it wider until it threatened to make him gag. Kept his eyes closed. Heard Ruthven give a longer, still satisfied hum.

Vanitas inched his hands higher. To Ruthven's belt. Chanced feeling between his legs, and knew that what he was doing was working. Couldn't help smiling, a little.

The thumb withdrew from his mouth. 

He opened his eyes. It was an effort. His cheeks were prickling, and he had to resist shifting to ease his own arousal. Love-hated that he was aroused at all.

Ruthven didn't speak. Opened his legs slightly wider and that told Vanitas enough.

His fingers worked at Ruthven's belt. He shifted, to be properly between his knees, feeling them nudge at his bare shoulders. The heat of the fire pressed against his skin.

He tugged Ruthven's member free from his trousers. Slowly dragged his hand over the length and watched the too-controlled breath Ruthven took as he did. Figured there was a chide or scold on its way, and normally he would play into that, but this time he had to be perfect. Had to earn that promise from Noé.

He didn't waste anymore time in taking Ruthven in his mouth. Still slowly, at first, working his lips and tongue at the tip and hearing a grunt of reply. Didn't wait for that grunt to become impatient, before he took it properly. Let out his own sound, to show how good a pet he was being. It was barely an act, anymore.

Those nails appeared in his hair again. Raked paths through it as Vanitas began to move picking up his pace with each movement. Twitching his tongue just enough to get those nails to stop, to dig in. To hold him where Ruthven wanted him and he complied. Worked harder, heart racing like a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttered his gaze up to see Ruthven studying him. His face was coloured. Only a little, but still.

Vanitas' felt burning. Strands of hair clung to his cheeks and his pulse raced in his fingertips. Made soft, submissive sounds to answer the satisfied grunts.

He kept moving, kept working, until Ruthven was shifting, still controlled, but still, shifting, under him and he took handfuls of Vanitas' hair.

"Stay," he said.

Vanitas did. Swallowed, eyes closed. Love-hating, love-hating, hate-loving.

Was released. Came away with an undignified pop, earnestly trying to get his breath now. His throat burnt. His hand trembled, and that wasn't an act either, as he reached up to wipe the saliva and semen from his mouth and chin.

His wrist was caught. Was brought to Ruthven's mouth, and that tongue flicked out from between fangs to lick his glove. 

Thank God they were still on. A small mercy.

Ruthven smiled, slowly, as he released Vanitas' wrist. It took a great effort not to let it fall like lead to his side. He knelt there, his knees aching against the rug. He could feel every stitch through his trousers. His own arousal made it difficult to sit still; was staging a coup against his mind and it was an effort to remember what he was doing, what this was for, because right now he wanted relief. Wanted the Lord Ruthven to take him – would let him have Vanitas any way he decided, as long as he eventually got release.

The longer it took, the sweeter it would feel.

Ruthven smiled. A proper sized smile, this time. Satisfied. A lion with a full belly.

Vanitas bit his cheek to stop from shifting. Would not show this vampire he was uncomfortable; was needy without acting.

"I find myself unexpectedly convinced."

Vanitas smiled with swollen lips. His shirt dug into his arms, the only place it was still attached. 

"High praise indeed, my lord." 

He hadn't been able to resist the powdering of sarcasm, this time. Ruthven's brows twitched.

"Careful. You were doing so well."

"My lord," Vanitas repeated, and hid the mocking more carefully this time. Hated the words from his tongue. Got a satisfied, self-important smile as Ruthven tucked himself away. He patted his lap. 

"Here."

Like Vanitas was a dog. Wanted to loathe obeying. Did it anyway, with another spear of heat searing through him, because he hadn’t gotten that promise yet. Knew, as he stood, that his arousal was even more obvious, and saw the amusement flicker in Ruthven's eye.

He settled himself in Ruthven's lap, hands just against his shoulders to stay steady.

Ruthven brushed his hair from his face. Methodically. Almost petting.

"You're a beautiful creature," Ruthven said.

Vanitas held his head on one side, his eyelids heavy. "Even though I'm a human?"

"It's a great shame." There were nails, against the side of his neck. His bare collarbone. 

What would he say if he knew the truth? Vanitas swallowed, heavily. His pulse was between his legs.

"Do we have an agreement?"

Ruthven didn't answer immediately. Brushed Vanitas' hair from his shoulder again, and leant closer. The heat on his breath made him bare his neck further, breath catching.

If it wasn't a yes, he could pull away. Could come up fighting with fangs and claws, and consequences be damned. Could spit the truth.

But Ruthven said, almost again his skin. "We do."

Which meant not fighting back.

Ruthven's fangs sunk into his neck. Roughly. He half-cried out from the shock of the pain, before his breath left him entirely. He clutched Ruthven's shirt. Heard him groan against his neck as he began sucking.

And didn't know which outcome he had wanted, anymore.

Love-hated, hate-loved, felt like a shooting star hurtling through the atmosphere as he felt the teeth and tongue work against the soft side of his neck.

Love-hated that his arousal released itself, and hate-loved the cry that escaped him.

Ruthven's hand felt there. Hummed in satisfaction longer than ever before.

Vanitas felt himself grow limp. His vision blurred. He dimly realised that Ruthven could kill him now, and he didn't know if he would fight against it. Knew that he should.

Also knew, deep down, he was too interesting for that. 

Ruthven would keep him alive.

He pulled away. Turned Vanitas' head with the pad of his thumb to face him. He saw his own blood on his lips; his teeth. Had to fight to look him in the eye.

"Swear you'll take on Noé Archiviste's promise to me."

It would only lead to disaster. But it would be disaster that Vanitas controlled. It would keep Noé free.

The words were a blade in his throat, on his tongue:

"I swear."

*

Vanitas returned early in the morning. The sun was barely rising. He decided to slip in through the window. To climb the fire escape at the bottom of the road, and walk across the roof. That was taking his life in his hands. He was still as weak-kneed as a fawn, and felt exhausted.

It was a miracle that he didn’t slip and fall to his death whilst climbing into the window. He managed it, thumping too loudly on the floor as he landed. It didn’t shift the pile of blankets that was Noé, so he thought he’d gotten away with it. 

He collapsed onto his bed, tugging the sheets up around him. The maids seemed to insist on tucking them in tighter and tighter each time.

His neck throbbed. His scalp pulsed. He could still feel Ruthven’s hands, his nails, tracing patterns over him. Could still see that flaming, amber eye when he closed his own. Feel that burning hair brushing against him.

Vanitas felt used. Dirty. Everything that he pretended to be, and pretending it was a lot more fun than this. But this was for a cause. This was to keep Noé clean. To keep the blame on Vanitas.

Vanitas would be the fallen one. 

Noé could stay bright.

He didn’t realise he’d fallen into an uneasy sleep until Noé was shaking him awake. More gently than usual. Vanitas groaned in response. He didn’t open his eyes. Knew this his shirt, waistcoat and greatcoat were buttoned together wrong. Knew that he looked dishevelled. That his lips were puffy. That even if Ruthven hadn’t left a Mark on him, there would be a bite on his neck.

“Vanitas.” Noé’s voice was serious.

“Go to breakfast alone today,” he murmured. As though he didn’t care. As though he hadn’t made a deal to save this boy.

“Where were you last night?”

“That’s my business.” His business was protecting what was his.

“I’m asking as your friend.”

And Noé’s voice broke. Broke enough for Vanitas to roll onto his back. To peel open his eyes and meet Noé’s gaze. Those violet eyes looked down at him, brows creased with concern. The morning sun painted his pearly hair into a sunrise; cast his skin with bronze highlights. He looked down at Vanitas, like he really cared.

He did really care. Because he was Noé was good.

Vanitas’ head still felt too heavy to sit up. He felt heavy; hungover. Fumbled for Noé’s hand and grasped it clumsily.

“Please don’t make me tell you,” he murmured. And when Noé opened his mouth to object, added, “As your friend.”

Which wasn’t enough. He could tell it wasn’t, from Noé’s frown. He kissed the back of his hand, half-jokingly. Noé let him.