Konnichiwa
Rated: T
By: Evantis
Hey, everyone! I'm not dead! Yeah, I've just been really busy with exams and all. This is the oneshot that I promised, and it's one of the strangest storylines I've ever picked.
This story's about Leon and Cloud, obviously. But it's rather strange. I don't know how you'll think of it, and I hope you don't find it too lengthy or anything. Okay, I know it's short – but I just hope you don't find it boring. I don't know – I find this little fic rather admirable, really. I have to say I'm quite happy with this one. However, I still don't expect many reviews (considering it's awkward storyline).
Oh, yeah, and if you don't notice – Cloud's brother is Roxas.
I don't know what everyone will think of this, but enjoy it, anyway.
And review, if you feel like you should.
The first time I saw him was an indescribable moment. He was five, like me. His family moved in to the house across the street, two doors from the house opposite of us. He was small-sized, scrawny, skinny, with messy, fluffy blonde hair and wide, bewildered but lovely, innocent blue eyes. I still remembered he was wearing a white fisherman's hat. When he took it off, his hair shone golden-bronze in the mornings, and a soft molten gold at night. At midday, it was a bright, sunny blonde. His skin was creamy white, and he was unbearably cute.
His eyes met mine. We stared at each other for about five seconds, before his younger brother dragged him away. At age four, his brother was just barely shorter, with ruffled, shorter blonde hair and with more freckles on his face. And his skin wasn't as pale as his brother's.
My heart filled with disappointment. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to take his hand, shake it, give my greetings and ask his name.
But it was not to be so.
He happened to be home schooled. I heard from my mother that his parents refused to let him go to school, not until he was the age for maybe junior high. Five, they said, was too young. They believed their son was fragile.
But I knew differently.
On most afternoons, he would be out on the front lawn, playing with his younger brother. Sure, he was much skinnier, and even his younger brother could kick the ball further than him – but he wasn't frail. He wasn't sick. He was just a little too much on the skinny side.
"Don't go near those boys," his mother warned him. "Their parents are awfully protective. They catch you with their sons – you'll get interrogated as if you're a murderer."
When the boys played on the front lawn on the afternoons, their father would be with them. I did not dare approach. But sometimes I felt as if the boy's wide blue eyes were fixed on me.
Did he want to meet me as much as I wanted to meet him?
I waited torturously for junior high school. When the time finally came, I was overjoyed to see him at the same school as I was.
He was a little taller. His eyes got even bluer (if that was possible), his blonde hair had grown a little longer, brushing against his shoulders, and errant locks falling over his eyes. His skin was still pale and milky, and it didn't look like he gained much weight. He still looked smaller than most of the boys.
But we were in different classes.
Damn the person who arranged it that way.
Despite this, we met. We met in one of the hallways. It was empty and I paused in my step, and he did the same. We locked our eyes together, and I found myself lost in his captivating blue eyes.
Less than two seconds passed before his friend shot out of nowhere, and dragged him away, screaming about a game of football they should be at.
What I felt was indescribable.
So close.
But still so far.
We didn't have much luck in seeing in each other again. We passed each other in crowded corridors, but he was always surrounded with his chirpy, over excitable friends who seemed to really like him. Who wouldn't? He was small, yeah – but he seemed nice and likeable. I had seen one of his smiles from afar – it was like a ray of purest sunshine shone right down on his face, lighting his adorable blue eyes, and making his pale skin glow. When he laughed – well, I could see his mouth moving, but I was never close enough (or the surroundings were never quiet enough) for me to hear it.
The road became bumpier.
In the second year of junior high school, he transferred out. Why – nobody knew. But it was through some gossip and rumours that I got wind of the story that his parents divorced, and he had been forced to move away with his father. His younger brother went even further away with his mother.
The reason for the divorce – well, people said it was because the younger son had become rebellious. The mother blamed the father for being too liberal, though the man had shot back firmly that times were changing, and they couldn't be so controlling. Their sons needed air to breathe, needed to see the outside and make friends.
And so, the boy was gone from my neighbourhood.
In my final year of junior high, I passed with flying colours. I got into an excellent high school, and my parents decided to move, since it was rather inconvenient to reach the school from where I was. So we moved.
It was called Radiant Garden High School. It had the most elegant uniform I had ever seen. Everyone wore black, long-sleeved and proper with collars and ties. But nobody kept to the extremely proper style. There was also either an opened jacket, a loose tie or some undone buttons. Not that the teachers or anyone minded. It seemed to be the tradition.
Try to imagine to my exhilaration, my joy, my delight – when I saw him standing there, at the gate with a friend.
If possible, he had gotten even cuter. This time, an adjective like 'beautiful' just had to be used.
His blonde hair had grown even longer, with golden locks framing his face, and falling into his eyes. His eyes. They had gotten more brilliant, more vivid and the blue had intensified. The glow of his eyes had become scrutinizing and piercing, but somehow his eyes still held a soft, gentle touch. His skin was white and flawless, like I last remembered. He still had the 'fragile' look, but this time he could be described as effeminate. His cheeks curved sweetly, his neck was a pale, delicious arch. His cheekbones were set high. His facial features were delicate, and beautiful. He was much too thin, and his hips were too narrow. He looked breakable – somehow. He looked like something precious.
His jacket was open, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a succulent bit of his white chest. His tie was loose, and he carried a bag slung across his shoulders.
His friend was a whole head taller than him, and was talking excitedly to him. He seemed to listen, but his eyes drifted.
And they met mine.
The first thing emotion that entered his eyes was recognition. And then – very briefly, very discreetly – joy.
His friend asked him something, and he turned to reassure him.
A crowd of people walked in front of us, and he was blocked from my view. Gone again.
But that was okay. He was going to stay here. At this high school. We had plenty of chances to meet and finally be friends. After all these years, we could be friends.
Things still refused to go our way.
On the third day of high school, he collapsed in the school canteen.
It happened so suddenly. He had been walking with his friends. I watched from a corner, sitting with my own group of newly made friends, when he dropped his food tray and crashed to the ground on his knees, his hand flying to grasp helplessly at his throat. Weak wheezes strained his lungs, as he struggled desperately to breathe.
Our eyes met for one fleeting split second. My heart wrenched at the sight of his perfect blue eyes stained with pained tears, wrought with so much hurt and suffering.
And his friends surrounded him.
An ambulance was called and he was taken away. I didn't get to see him after the they took him out of the canteen.
Rumours – as usual – flew around. It was believed that it was an asthma relapse. He would be fine – just needed a little bit of rest at the hospital.
Sometimes, such assumptions are wrong.
He became inexplicably sickly. I barely saw him at school now. Our few glimpses were scarce, and he didn't seem to notice me. In fact, he came to school only a few times a week. He looked gaunt and thinner than ever. His blonde hair lost its lovely shine, and his blue eyes were dull and tired. His skin didn't look so glowing anymore. It hurt to see him like this. More fragile than he already was, more breakable.
I wanted nothing to more than to envelope his weary, sick body in my arms and comfort him.
And again, it was not to be.
Two weeks later, he was transferred out of the school.
Rumours flew again. He had transferred to attend a school in the country. It was his father's decision. The country had cleaner air, and it would be better for his health.
I graduated from high school with stunning results. I won a scholarship and went to the best college in the area – St. Advent College.
I had a bit of time before that, and so I decided to spend it properly – back at home with my parents.
"Hey," my mother said, "do you still remember that little boy from last time? You know, the small guy who moved in across the street?"
I nodded, looking at her in askance.
"Well, there's been news about him," my father cut in. "I think he's attending the same college as you are. He got sick at high school, didn't he?"
"I was there," I answered pointedly, but my chest was bubbling and overflowing with excitement.
"The poor child," my mother cooed. "But you know – there's even better news. His parents are back together! His brother's attending a nearby high school. Quite close to St. Advent."
Things were turning around.
At least, that's what I thought.
This time, the problem was about me.
My younger brother, Sora – had been injured in a car accident. With his body from waist down paralysed, we had to move nearer to the hospital that was treating him, and I rejected my application to St. Advent's, and accepted the one to Eldenbridge, which was just as good but at the other end of the country, though much nearer to the hospital.
Again, I was away from him.
My college years went by. I spent my days studying till late at night, my weekends keeping Sora company and the rest of the time helping my parents as much as I could. When I finished college, I was ready to go onto to university and become a doctor.
A week before being shipped off to university, I spoke with Sora.
"Do you hate me?" he asked.
"Why?" I questioned, taken aback.
"Because I got into that accident," Sora answered frankly, "because you couldn't go to St. Advent's. I know you wanted to see that boy. That boy from long ago."
"Even so," I carefully thought of my words, "you're my brother. I had to put you first."
"Do you think he'll enrol in the same university as you?" Sora mused.
"I doubt it," I replied.
I really did doubt it.
"I think one day you'll get to meet each other," Sora said, "and be friends. Maybe more."
I nodded.
Tomoe University was one of the best. I have to thank my brains for never failing me, for sticking with me all this time and bringing me this far academically, despite so many other failures in my social life.
With my bag over one shoulder, I walked towards Tomoe. The front gates were littered with very few students – it was still early in the morning. I had come only to observe Tomoe. Lessons started much later.
And yet, there was a lone figure standing in front of the school.
I walked closer.
And closer.
My breath hitched.
He was standing there. The object of my dreams, the core of my life, the very substance of my ambition, the person I wanted.
He didn't look gaunt or tired anymore. His hair was back to being light and fluffy, spiky and uncontrollable. It protruded out in various directions, and fell into his eyes and around his face. Such a nostalgic sight. His skin had back its perfect glowing colour. He was still thin, but not as thin as when he had been sick. His body was perfect and slender, lithe and petite. Ever so effeminate. His features were refined and attractive, his blue eyes brighter than ever and shining with something I recognized easily as joy. Was he happy to see me?
"Hello there," he said.
His voice was even more than I had imagined it to be. It was cool, fair, aloof. It fitted him perfectly.
"Hello," I said.
He held out his hand, and I took it.
And he smiled. The purest ray of sunshine.
"My name is Cloud Strife," he said, "Pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you," I said, "I'm Squall Leonhart. But call me Leon."