Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters (Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy) in this story. It's all part of the large corporation called Square Enix.

Warning: Shounen-ai, yaoi, slash, male/male relationships, gay, homosexual... whatever you want to call it.

Author's Note: In the sky – It's a bird, it's a plane! No, it's a goddamn one-shot!

Sorry, Mom

•••

•••

By: Freekiwi

In order for anyone to really understand anything, they'd have to know the background information. For instance

– where did I come from? Answer – a sweaty vagina.
Question – what's my name? Answer – Riku.
Question – what was I going to be when I grew up? Answer – a doctor.
Question – what am I now? Answer – a fucking zero.
Question – what have I been doing with my life for the past five years? Answer – working at a Home Depot and munching on the occasional orphan.
Question – what's going to happen to me now? Answer – I don't know.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

I was the goddamn Valedictorian in highschool. I was in band, on the school and church choir – I played soccer and basketball and I had a part-time job at a golf course. I made straight fucking A's and I was the kind of kid who ate dinner at six o'clock every night and brushed his teeth before bed and slept at nine o'clock every single night. I was the poster boy for "all around good boy" and to top that goddamn sundae with a cherry – I was a rich kid.

Yes – I was your stereotypical rich kid.
I was the "date the hottest girl in school" boy.
I was the "captain of every goddamn anything" boy.
I was the "no, I'm not gay, I have a girlfriend" boy.
I was the closet homosexual.
I was the violent asshole that beat on kids for BEING gay.
I was a little bastard sometimes.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

So, in order for anyone to understand anything, they'd first have to understand all of that. That I, Riku, was the homophobic, Valedictorian, straight A, good-looking, rich, perfect son kind of kid. And once anyone understands that, they'll understand why my life has been such a mistake. Why it's going to END in such a goddamn tragedy and why it's going to be one of those things that gets made into a "made for TV movie" and ends up on the Logo channel or Lifetime. I'm going to end up lying in the ground in a casket and my headstone is going to say something along the lines of – "Here Lies Riku. The Handsome Valedictorian Who Nobody Thought Would Contract HIV."

Or something less wordy.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

It's not like I'm going to die NOW. It's not like I'm going to slowly wither into nothing right at this instant moment in time. It's not like that at all, actually. To put it in a way most people can identify with, it's like someone posting a goddamn expiration date on your forehead. "Sell By September 7th, 2007."

Yep.
That's me.
Riku.
The human milk jug.

It's not even like I'm particularly SAD about having HIV. It's not even like I've called all my friends and family and told them all to gather around me so we can all weep and hold each other and act like we care. We'll cry and hug and act like we care and then once I expire, I'll just be tossed into the trash can with someone saying "oh.. I didn't realize this went bad so soon.."

Only, this is different.
You can't replace me no matter what store you go to.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

The only person I've bothered to tell is Sora.

The only person I've bothered to tell is Sora and the only reason I bothered telling Sora was because he had to go get tested, too. Which is why I'm here now, standing in this hallway, waiting for my boyfriend to walk out of that goddamn room and go "oh, well, I have HIV, too. What's your expiration date?" and then he'll lift his bangs and show me his big red stamp. And then I'll lift my bangs and show him my big red stamp.

And then we'll laugh about it even though it's not funny. We'll laugh and laugh and laugh and then we'll cry about it because neither of us can deal with something so fucking heavy. And then we'll call our families and say "oh yea, I have HIV. Come to Chicago. Come see me again. I might be dead in ten years. By the way – can I have ten thousand dollars to pay for the medicine I'll need to stay alive?"

Then my family will come out and hug me and cry and my mom will say things like "why didn't you use protection" and my dad will say things like "you should've told us sooner" and then my sister will say things like "why the fuck do you need ten thousand dollars if you're just going to die anyway?"

And I'll laugh because I know she's right.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

Sora walks out of the room after what feels like a fucking eternity. I grasp his shoulder and I yank him close, unsure of even my own actions at this point. I'm wearing a goddamn parka because it's a hundred fifty million degrees below zero and I'm shivering. The hospital is hardly cold. I'm wrapped up like a meat roll in a grocery store and I'm still shaking like I'm naked and standing outside. Regardless, I hug Sora. I'm squeezing him and rehugging him and trying to almost mold us into one person. If that were possible, I would've molded us together a long time ago. Probably back in highschool.

Probably back when I beat him up.
And then blew him in the bathroom.

All in the same day.
I was one efficient motherfucker.

"So?" my voice sounds broken. Like I'm a toy with a squeaker and my squeaker just so happens to have a hole in it.

"So what?" he's hugging me back, but he can't totally encompass me because of the gay ass parka I'm wearing. I'm half tempted to take it off, but I don't want to let go of Sora. I feel like if I let him go, he's just going to float away. Like gravity just won't apply to him anymore and he'll go through the ceiling and into the sky and into space and if he's in space, he might as well just be dead.

If he did just float up like that, would he hit heaven? If he has HIV anyway and if he was going to die, would somebody just take him early?

Jesus.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

"How did it go?" I'm trying to keep my voice even, but it's not working. It doesn't really matter, anyway.

"Positively well."

I laugh coldly even though I know I shouldn't laugh at all. I get Sora's undertone. I understand what's telling me and I hear the bitterness in his voice. He knows I gave it to him. He knows I gave it to him. He knows I gave it to him. And I could look at myself in the mirror and say it until I was blue in the face and I still wouldn't believe it.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

"I hate the way they tell you. If they're too serious, it comes off as campy and too... soap opera-ish.. But if they aren't serious enough and they smile too much, it's like they don't care."

Sora breaks away from me and slips down the hallway. I follow him, trying to keep the conversation light which... I was never any good at. Especially not with him. Especially not when he knows exactly what the fuck I'm trying to do and especially when he knows I'm failing miserably. I hate the way his face scrunches when he's mad. I hate how his eyes look when he's sad. And I hate the way he's going to ignore me for a few months because I passed on to him a disease that has no cure.

My bad, Sora.

I guess next time it can be your bad.

"You know, my mom wanted me to be a doctor."

Nothing.

"She wanted me to be a heart surgeon like she wanted to be."

Still nothing.

"She wanted me to marry some pretty girl like Kairi and sprout a bunch of germ-riddled children."

Come on, Sora, you fucking asshole.

"She wanted me to have some fulfilled life in which she could take joy in. She wanted to be able to whip out pictures and go 'that's my son, Doctor Riku. These are his kids and his wife. Aren't they lovely?' and now she has to go 'that's my son, God rest his soul. This was his boyfriend and this was him in his death bed'."

I think I'm being funny.
I know I'm not

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

Sora stops in his tracks and rounds on me. He rounds on me so quickly that when his fist connects with my nose and practically breaks it, I'm still thinking we're walking. I stumble, almost fall, stare like I've just been shot, and then I begin to bleed. Not a slow, gradual nosebleed. A bleed that's almost like an artery wound. A bleed that stains my mouth and immediately drips onto my light colored parka and stains it.

Good thing we're in a hospital.
I think my nose is broken.

Before I can even start screaming at him – before I can even start yelling 'what the fuck' or 'why the fuck did you just punch me' or anything of the sort, Sora begins screaming. Fucking really SCREAMING and I actually do the embarrassed spouse thing –

you know --
the 'look both ways and behind and then past your partner to make sure nobody can hear' type of thing. To make sure nobody is staring at you and your broken nose and your broken partner and your stained parka and your disgusting, HIV riddled body.

You infectious goddamn bastard.

'That's my son, Doctor Riku.'

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

Sora is screaming so much and so loud and so quickly, my ears have trouble catching up. My head is pounding, my nose hurts, and I'm still bleeding and I'm not even doing anything about the blood. I'm still in shock and it takes me a moment to even realize what Sora is saying. When my ears catch up, boy – they REALLY catch up.

".. You gave me HIV, you stupid asshole. And all you can do is joke about it?! What is WRONG with you? Are you so incapable of caring about anyone other than yourself?!" Sora's voice is reaching octaves that I thought couldn't be reached even when we had sex.

I try and get a word in edgewise and for a moment, I wish Sora was a fucking mute.

He's just going and going and going like the energizer bunny and I'm standing there looking like a goddamn asshole. Looking like I belong on Maury or Jerry Springer or on a street corner waving a condom and opening my jacket to show people I'm available. Looking like I should really do something about my nose and my crazy, screaming, HIV-riddled partner. They're staring. I feel it. It's like being shot in the back with invisible bullets. It doesn't hurt, but it's annoying and there's nothing you can really do about an invisible bullet.

".. You don't even understand!" Sora is close to tears and I'm a little shocked. Jesus, the last time he cried was.. Uh.. "You don't GET it! You're such an asshole! A pompous COCK and I can't believe I EVER wanted to be with you!"

He's still going.
Goddamn energizer bunny.

"What–" I try to speak. I fail. Sora doesn't want me to talk. He wants me to feel bad about what I did to him and he wants me to repent, repent, repent, and what? Make it all go away? Boy, THAT train left the station a week ago. I'm not God. I'm not anyone special. I'm not anything and there's nothing I can do about HIV.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

".. Didn't you EVER care about us? Didn't you ever stop to think about US?"

Sora is still going and it suddenly dawns on me.

And suddenly I do feel like repenting and suddenly I do feel bad and suddenly I do realize that if I could make it all go away, I would. I realize that if I could give my life for Sora's life, I would. I realize, quite suddenly, that if I was God, I'd take a million lives just so Sora could keep on going. Keep on fucking kicking and screaming and crying and moaning and kissing and running and.. Well.. You understand.

"I do care about us. I just didn't think about us." I frown. I finally put my hand to my nose and pinch it. I wince. Oh. Wow. Yea. It's broken. Thanks a lot, Sora. That's blood I NEED. Blood I really need now that I'm DYING of some illness that started with monkeys. Dying of some illness that won't even kill me, but will totally fuck my immune system in the ass.

What if I ate vitamin C every day? What if I drank more juice and stopped smoking? What if I had more iron, potassium, in my diet? What if I took a Centrum pill every day? What if I visited the hospital once a week for check-ups? What if I just moved home and lived a quiet life with my boyfriend and my family?

Would I waste away so fast?
Would I die so quickly?
Does it even goddamn matter what I do from this point on?

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

"I get why you're mad." Sora has stopped screaming. I'm talking funny because I have my nose pinched. I'm surprised nobody has kicked our gay asses out into the snow and told us to deal with our problems elsewhere. Like the Jerry Springer show or Maury or a parking lot or something along those lines.

I realize that Sora isn't mad because I gave him HIV.

He's mad because in order to give it to him, I had to contract it from someone else.

I guess "hey, Sora, you know the story of Mary and the immaculate conception? Well.. It's kind of like that for me, but with HIV.." won't work.

I would.
But he just might punch me again.

"I'm sorry."

He says nothing and he just stares.

For some reason, I panic.

"Sora, I'm sorry."

Nothing.

"Sora, aren't you listening? I'm sorry!"

Still nothing.

"Sora!" I grab him and I shake him like a small child. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I repent a million goddamn times! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and it's all I can get out. All my throat and tongue and teeth can manage.

I don't have to mention it was a one-night stand type of thing.

I don't have to mention that it was a one-time thing. That I had never done anything with anyone else since Sora and I started dating back in highschool almost ten years ago.

Secretly dating.

And then when we graduated, openly dating.

"I'm sorry!"

Ten years is a long time to love someone.
It's really not all that long, though.

"Aren't you listening? I'm sorry, Sora, I'm sorry!"

I'm sorry for breaking that ceramic dish you made. I'm sorry for missing your birthday. I'm sorry for beating you up and destroying your pretty face. I'm sorry for stealing your shirts because I like the way you smell. I'm sorry for being such a selfish, ugly bastard. I'm sorry for forgetting you when I was out with friends. I'm sorry for ignoring you when I don't want to listen. I'm sorry for pretending I didn't love you because I like seeing you squirm. I'm sorry for being such a pain. I'm sorry for stealing your car keys so you'd be late for work. I'm sorry for hurting you during sex. I'm sorry for squeezing you too tight. I'm sorry for scrubbing your hair or back too roughly.

I'm sorry for cheating on you.
I'm sorry for every little tiny thing I've ever done to you.

And he's just not goddamn listening to me.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry God.

Skip to right now.
Skip to Sora not listening.
Skip to me apologizing my guts out.
Skip to all of this.

And now skip to me out in the snow with Sora yanking me a long and a large bandage over my nose. Skip to us walking through the snow like goddamn Nanook of the North or something along those lines. Skip to us in our ugly parkas – mine stained – and skip to us walking into some shitty diner in downtown Chicago. Some nasty place with nasty food, but it's warm inside and it smells like coffee and pancakes. Skip to us sitting down and looking through our menus. Skip to Sora glaring at everything and skip to me.. Me just sitting there and my eyes are rimmed red because, apparently, I had been crying.

"That's my son, Doctor Riku."

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

"What do you want?" Sora's voice is rough. God, since when did HE become such a fucking man?

"You hate me?"

"What?" he looks over his menu and the glare has dropped from his eyes.

I clear my throat, "I'm sorry."

Sora frowns, "I know."

There's this nasty little silence between us and I get up from my side of the booth and I make him move over so we can sit on one side together. I make him move and I make him throw our giant parkas into the booth across from us and he fuses and whines and I tell him to do it anyway. And then he does because he doesn't hate me. He doesn't hate me – he loves me and sometimes I think that might be just as bad.

I want to hug him and cuddle him and kiss him.

But I don't.

"I'm sorry."

Sora is staring.

"I'm sorry."

Nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Still nothing.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

The waitress comes and we order coffee and hot chocolate and water and orange juice. The usual spread of things and we're poor as hell. Poor as fuck and I'd be surprised if we can even manage the bill for ONE prescription drug. Since when did I become so responsible and since when did I cry at hospitals? I'll deny it was Sora who made me cry. I'll say it was the doc when he tried to fix up my nose.

.. Like anyone's really going to fucking ask anyway.

"What's wrong with us?" I asked.

Sora shrugs. "What do you mean?"

"We found out we're HIV positive, you break my nose, I apologize until I'm blue in the face, and now we're at some crappy diner in downtown Chicago ordering breakfast when it's already six in the evening." the sky was gloomy and fresh snow was falling. I was frowning and Sora was trying his best not to smile.

We're so ridiculous, it's hard not to laugh.
We're so extreme, it's hard not to giggle.

"Why aren't we calling our families and telling them we're going to die?" I ask. "Why aren't they on their way here NOW to hold us and do all that other motherly and fatherly and family shit that they do?" I swallow and our waitress brings us our drinks. We order pancakes and sausage and waffles and bacon and eggs and toast and two slices of chocolate pie. We'll pick at it, eat half, joke about how bad the food is, and then give each other that look. That look that says – "this is good, but I'm actually very upset at the moment."

"We're not telling our families because not even we believe it yet."

I open my mouth and then close it.

"We're not telling our families because they'll do just what you said. Hold us and do all that motherly and fatherly and family shit that they do." Sora blows on his coffee and then sips it. "They'll find out eventually. When we need rent money. I can see it now.. You'll call your folks and say 'hey, mom, behind on the rent.. Loan me a few thousand? Oh, by the way, I have HIV. Thought I'd let you know.' and I'll call my folks and be serious about it."

Because Sora cared about his folks.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

"Do you hate me?" I wrap my arms around him and it's awkward to hug someone like this in a booth, but I do it anyway.

"No." Sora doesn't hug me back but he does a half-nuzzle type thing with his head.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

I frown and he frowns and we sit there like we're in some weird episode of The Twilight Zone. God, I wish. I wish this was one of those things. One of those game show things where our waitress will walk up to us and go "You don't have HIV! It was all just a prank! You're on television!" and then we'll accept an overly large piece of cardboard that has a thousand dollars written in the little box. A thousand dollars for what?

For being a good sport?
Yea. For being a goddamn team player.

That's me.
Riku.
The team player.
The doctor.
The selfish bastard.
The human milk jug.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

I sigh gently and slouch in the booth. Sora slouches too and then sighs. For a moment, I think he's mocking me and when I look down at him, I realize he's not. His eyes are watery and I don't want him to start crying here. I don't want him to start bawling because then people will stare and I won't know what to do with that. I hate it when people stare and I hate it when Sora cries. It's like my two least favorite things wrapped in a box waiting for my selfish ass to open up the lid.

I cause the scenes.
I make Sora cry.
I make people stare.

"That's my son, Doctor Riku."

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

Briefly, I wonder what will happen next. If my life was like TiVo, I'd rewind myself back to the point where I slept with that redheaded guy, Axel. I'd rewind myself back to then and look at him and go "you have HIV" because now I'm wondering if he knows and now I'm wondering how many people he's infected so far. I bite my lower lip and I squeeze Sora a little tightly, realizing now that he's begun to cry. Those big, fat silent tears that you can't do anything about and those big, fat silent tears that just say –

"Fuck off. I'm in no mood to talk about this right now."

God, I love him.

I pull him in close, almost hiding him from the waitress as she sets the food on the table. Her lips move to say "is everything okay?" but the words don't come out. She doesn't asks. I don't answer. Instead, I sit there with Sora in my arms, holding him like I've always held him. Tight and secure. It's like I'm afraid someone is going to walk up and just grab him if I don't hold on tight enough. Is that such a far stretch, anyway? There's got to be a million better guys out there than me. Ones that won't cheat on him and infect him with HIV. Ones that won't beat his face in and then suck his cock right afterwards.

Well, maybe he loves me for my blow jobs.

Does it matter?

"My Mom wanted me to be a doctor," like Sora doesn't know this. Like he doesn't know that I feel like shit because I never became what my own MOM wanted me to be. Her dream. Her little dream for me that I just spit on and slammed it right back in her face. I already knew why I hadn't called my family. I already knew why I was avoiding it –

I left my house right after highschool.
I told my Father, "I'm a faggot. I suck cock."
I told my sister, "you're a whore who's had one too many abortions."
And I told my Mother, "I'm not your goddamn doctor. I hate surgery. I hate blood. Stop forcing your dreams on me. I won't let you live your life through me."

And then I told her I hated her
and that I hoped
she died in a fire.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

Sora is cutting a pancake in half and nibbling on the end. He doesn't like butter or syrup and he only eats pancakes with chocolate chips in them. Hell, he'd eat pretty much anything if there were chocolate chips in it. His tears have stopped and now his cheeks are just streaked and his eyes rimmed red. Wow. We're a pair. Broken Nose Boy and his trusty, gay sidekick Cry Baby. I feel the stares coming on. I feel the questions. For instance

– why were they crying? Answer – we have HIV.
Question – are they gay? Answer - yes.
Question – will they eat all that food? Answer - no, probably not.
Question – why are they holding each other? Why are they sitting so close? Answer - why don't you mind your own fucking business?

For some reason or another, Sora mutters something about my mother.

"What?" I chew on a piece of bacon.

"I said you should call your mother and tell her what's going on."

I know he's right.
I know he wants me to make amends with her.
She's been trying to make amends with me – giving us rent money, sending us Christmas gifts. Accepting me for who I always was and I'm suddenly realizing something really important..

My mother never wanted to live her life through me.
She simply wanted me to have the best opportunities and not end up like how I am now.

HIV positive.
In a diner.
Eating breakfast at dusk.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

I lean over and press a kiss to Sora's ear. He looks over at and I wrap an arm around his shoulders, yanking him close and kissing the top of his head. I'm being quiet because I suddenly realize how LOUD we must sound in such a quiet place. My voice is hardly a whisper and I'm laughing coldly.

"She always wanted to be able to whip out pictures and go 'that's my son, Doctor Riku. These are his kids and his wife. Aren't they lovely?' and now she has to go 'that's my son, God rest his soul. This was his boyfriend and this was him in his death bed'."

I'm laughing.
And Sora laughs, too.

Sorry, Mom.

Sorry, God.

Yea. That actually went on for about six pages too long. I meant to end it a while back there, but I really liked how it was feeling. I know I left some loose ends and it's not as polished and pretty as I would like it to be, but.. It's all right. It's not quit as sad, but it's... there. I like the extreme selfish, assholeish side of Riku better than I like his regular assholeish and selfish side. I like how Sora just GETS him and understands what a dick he is and is still with him anyways. Yes. The perfect couple in my professional opinion.

I like how the tone of this story came out.

And if you're wondering, yes, I did steal the whole "Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God" thing from the book Invisible Monsters.

It just worked.

Now review. So I know I still have people that like me.