Title: Journey
Rated: M
By: Evantis
Summary: It's a long walk home. [LeonCloud, relatively dark theme
One of those spur-of-the-moment things. The story practically formed itself in my head when my teacher was telling ghost stories. This is the first chapter. It's probably gonna be less than ten chaps or something.
Characters might be a little OOC. It's a very eerie storyline, something different to my usual style. Oh, well. I just pray it works out okay. I think it's a little overly dramatic, but whatever. I tried. I apologise beforehand for any grammatical or spelling errors.
Hope you enjoy it. Please review. It'd mean the world to me.
"'Clarity of mind is clarity of passion'," Lenne recites, "quoted from Blaise Pascal. Unless your mind is clear, you'll never be able to achieve anything. I'd appreciate greatly if you put a good deal more effort into your work, Cloud."
The teenager stares demurely at the grainy surface of the teacher's desk, saying nothing. There is a contemplative silence, which is broken by Lenne half a minute later.
"I'm sure this isn't what Miss Garrinsbough desires of you," the teacher speaks in a seemingly understanding voice – almost as if she's finally getting tired of dealing with this single, infuriating child. "I'm sure that this not what you desire of yourself. Cloud, I know, as everyone does, that your past has left an indelible mark on you, but even then a time must come for you to move on. Not necessarily to forget, but at least to make it the least of your troubles."
'What do you know of my troubles?'
Cloud still says nothing. Lenne looks a little exasperated, and another half minute drags by.
"Why won't you try, Cloud?"
'You don't know how many times I have.'
This time the teacher seems to give up for good, and she flings her pen down, grabbing Cloud's report card from her drawer. It is stark white against her hand, clean and unblemished. However, Cloud knows on the inside it is scarred with angry red numbers and bolded lines.
"Have Miss Garrinsbough sign it," Lenne says crisply. "Tell her I've set aside an appointment for tomorrow at three. Make sure she comes, and you don't have to be present if you don't want to be, Cloud."
He nods his acknowledgment of his instructions. When Lenne has finished writing whatever it is she direly needed to write, he stashes the report card in between one of his books, and lifts his bag off the chair. He is almost ready to go, when Lenne stops him.
"One moment," she says. "Squall Leonhart lives with you, doesn't he? Now, that boy has excellent grades. I've asked him to give you a fair bit of coaching, so that you'll at least get away with a 'C' for the next major exam. That'll be all. Remember to work hard, Cloud. It's for yourself, you know."
An impossibly teacher-like speech. Always the talk about, "It's for your own good, you know" and "Don't cheat yourself."
'I've tried so many times.'
"Goodbye, Cloud. Take care of your health."
"Goodbye."
'I don't want to try anymore.'
The walk back home is as mundane as it has always been. The pavements are empty, and few cars travel on the road. The orphanage is a good ten-minutes' walk from school. He's never had any problem with the distance – he believes he needs the daily walking exercise, anyway.
As he trudges along he thinks of the orphanage. Effusive Yuffie, constantly tyrannical and probably playing a prank on Cid again if she isn't still at the convenience store. Vincent Valentine, who firmly believes in rectitude, always keeping the older children in line. He is the last resort when it comes to discipline. Grumpy, potty-mouthed Cid, frequently berated for his bad language. "It isn't helping when you're telling them not to say words that you're saying," Aerith chides, but her face remains as ingenuous as a child's. Perhaps that's why the younger ones simply flock to her. Then there is Tifa Lockheart, possibly more insistent on discipline than Vincent, strong at heart and extremely wilful. She helps to run a dojo on the outskirts of town. Hardly any of her more immoral suitors get away unscathed.
Cloud is sixteen this year. That makes a total of four years spent in the small orphanage established some fifty years ago by the late Mrs Garrinsbough, Aerith's mother. The old lady had always envisioned her house full of homeless youngsters, enjoying warmth and safety they rightfully deserved. In the past, the orphanage accommodated only ten children, but as of the present, it had twenty-seven children, ranging from infants to sixteen-year-olds like Cloud and Squall, or Leon, as he insisted on being called.
Cloud himself comes from Midgar, a severely impoverished city a fair distance from Radiant Garden. It is a smoky, polluted town, where the sky is hardly visible, amidst the black plumes. He doesn't remember any sort of grassy green, doesn't remember feeling anything but dusty, heavy black air blowing. He shudders in memory of the place, at the horrors he had been impelled to see and the torture he had been made to endure.
'Those are things of the past.'
He quickens his step. He feels a chill crawling up his spine, and reprimands himself for bringing up those ghastly memories.
'Are you trying to forget me, Cloud?'
He can barely suppress his whimper of fright. His fast walk hastens faster into a run, and he pelts down the pavement like a hunted deer, trembling with fear.
'Leave him alone, Sephiroth. He's seen enough.'
The orphanage stands on the end of the street, and behind it is a long stretch of green forest. A green that had never been present in Midgar. Currently, it indubitably looks like a heavenly sanctuary, and he bolts right into it, taking care not to slam the door too loudly. He doesn't want to wake the younger ones from their peaceful afternoon nap.
The presence behind him has disappeared, and he lets himself relax for a while, panting on the doormat. A door opens and closes somewhere, and Aerith appears in the hallway, looking somewhat worried.
"Cloud?" she says, her voice hushed. "Whatever happened? You look terribly pale."
He almost yells out. The sight of another human being has stunned him so badly that he doesn't move for ten seconds, simply frozen. But finally his breath evens out, his shoulders sag and he drops his bag to the floor, pressing a hand against his forehead, disturbed by the heat radiating from his skin.
"I'm sorry," he apologises. "I didn't mean to wake you. It's just…it's been a rough day."
Aerith looks understanding. "May I see your report card? Miss Lenne phoned a while ago. I have an appointment with her tomorrow, right?"
Cloud nods, biting his lower lip. He reaches into his bag, digging around for the white card. When he finds it he passes it to the brunette girl, who opens it and stares down at the contents without a flicker on her face. It is then Cloud is reminded of how much Aerith has done for him, and how she was never judgmental. He can never stop wondering why she chose such a menial job, why she never left.
'Does she love us that much?'
"Cloud, you look tired," Aerith says, closing the report card and tucking it beneath her arm. It is written clearly in her expression and tone that she does not want to touch on the subject more than necessary. "Go and have a lie-down. Take an afternoon nap, just for today. You look stressed. You mustn't worry about the report card – it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not your fault, Cloud."
'It's always your fault.'
Cloud flinches.
'Shut up, Sephiroth.'
"Go on," Aerith urges.
Cloud manages a small, thankful smile. He grabs his bag and runs up the stairs, footsteps light and fleeting on the wooden staircase. When he reaches his room, he flings the door wide open and shuts himself in. He practically throws himself onto the bed, and buries his tear-streaked face into the pillow.
'Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head.'
'Cloud, you can never be rid of us. Because we can't let you forget us.'
'Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head.'
'It's time for us to move on, Sephiroth, you bastard. Stop hurting him!'
'Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get –'
"–Cloud?"
He lifts his head uncertainly, but he doesn't look up. He doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to be humiliated in the eyes of another. He is already crying so badly. If Leon saw him in this state, he wouldn't fail to inform Aerith, and that might just add to another tirade of questions, and hour-long talks from Vincent and Tifa about "not worrying himself over the report card". They don't understand him. They don't understand his guilt, his pain. They don't understand that he has already tried, but he has failed. They don't understand that he doesn't want them to stop pushing the blame away anymore. For Gaia's sake, he wants to feel like a normal person.
"What's the matter?" the other teen asks, and Cloud feels a hand on his shoulder. He prays the brunette cannot see the twin trails of wetness on his cheeks. "…Cloud? Is it about your report card? It's nothing to be worried about. Didn't Aerith say so?"
He almost breaks down at that. Leon's voice is so comforting sometimes. It's almost like Aerith's. Leon is blissfully ignorant of many things. He is simply a boy Cloud met upon his arrival at the orphanage. Leon is his roommate, but he's innocent. Free from the chains of Cloud's past, completely untouched by the blackness that has tainted so many.
'You're giving us up for this imbecile? How much more will you shame yourself, Cloud? Are you really going to sell yourself to him?'
'Sephiroth, he has a right to choose who he wants. We're not him with any longer. Why won't you just open your eyes to the truth, for Gaia's sake?"
'I will never concede to that.'
'Why won't you leave me alone? Why won't you stop hurting me?'
"I'm sorry," Cloud mumbles, pushing Leon's hands away and rubbing at his face himself. "I…I just…well…I'm going to take a shower." He begins to sit up, lowering his head and letting his untrimmed locks fall over his eyes, hiding any evidence that he had been crying.
He pushes himself off the bed. Leon politely moves to the side for him, so that he can cross the small room to fetch his clothes from the wardrobe. He can practically feel the stormy-eyed boy's stern gaze burning holes into his back, and he feels painfully vulnerable in front of him. He had not heard Leon come in, and that was a big blunder on his part.
"Well," the brunette clears his throat. "Aerith says you should try to take a nap. We're having a late dinner tonight, because Vincent is working some overtime to pay some of our loans. We can start on coaching after dinner, if you like."
"I'd like that," Cloud says softly, pausing in front of the bathroom door. "Thank you, Leon."
"Anytime," the brunette says easily, stuffing his hand into his pockets, albeit nervously. "Well…I won't stay here for the afternoon, so you can rest. Don't worry too much. It'll turn out fine in the end."
'I'd like to think so, too.'
"See you later then."
"Later, Leon."
'Will you help me, Leon?'
"Shhh, you mustn't make a peep," Zack whispered.
Dirty, foul smelling and hungry, Cloud clung onto the older boy's arm desperately, nails almost digging into vulnerable flesh. He's hardly aware of anything except the lovely waft of fresh fruits, imported from Radiant Garden. He can barely hear Zack's voice amidst the buzz of the crowd, and his mind is filled to the brim with the thought of food.
"I'll make the first move," Zack explained. "I'll grab an orange or two, and dash off. You have to come out of here, and start shouting, "Thief!" Once that bumbling old shopkeeper comes after me, you have to take as many fruits as you can. We'll meet back at the trashcan. You know where it is, right? Make sure you don't run into Setzer's gang."
Cloud nodded. His lips and shoulders were trembling, and he was shivering from the cold. His clothes were thin and barely useful in this situation.
"I'll have to go now," Zack said. He gently pried Cloud's fingers off his bruised, red arm, and gave the smaller boy an affectionate pat on his dirty blonde head. "At the trashcan, okay? We'll share our food."
"What if you don't get to get away?" Cloud asked, his voice small and terrified.
"That fat man will never outrun me," Zack said confidently, a broad grin on his face. "You get 'em, Spike."
Cloud nodded. He leaned against the brick wall of the narrow alley, as Zack ran off onto the bustling market street of Midgar. The black-haired boy neared the fruit stand. With a tremendous amount of pluck, his hands flew out and snatched three oranges. His footfalls caused puddles of rainwater to fly and spray like a fountain as he dashed down the street, fleet like the wind.
As briefed, Cloud ran out of the alley, and shouted in the loudest voice he could manage in his malnourished, fatigued state, "Thief! Thief!"
Immediately the owner of the fruit stand bolted off in pursuit of Zack, roaring his outrage. Cloud made for the empty stand at once. He grabbed a handful of oranges and apples, stuffing some down his small pockets, and gathering the rest on the front of his shirt. He cradled them close to his body, and ran back into the alley, and out by the other end.
This part of Midgar was not as prosperous, and certainly filled with a lot more thugs. Cloud carefully crouched down a little, and tried to appear less noticeable.
He began to run blindly down a wet street. He knew the trashcan was at the end. He would just have to make it there. Just there, and he and Zack would have a serene night without having to go hungry.
Run. Run. Run.
And then suddenly he was blown off his feet by sheer force. It felt almost as if he'd run into a wall, and he cried out as he hit the ground, scraping his knees and elbows on the way. The fruits began to roll.
Setzer stood before him, his cold green eyes unforgiving. Cloud whimpered. He was barely half the size of the older boy, and probably only one third of his weight. Setzer picked up an apple, and stared at Cloud, a devious smirk on his face.
"I'll be taking the lot," he announced. "My group haven't found their dinner yet. Looks like you found it for us. Thanks, sucker."
As Cloud watched Setzer walked away, he almost broke down. Instead of doing that, he decided to make a dash for the trashcan. Zack already stole three oranges, and the owner would not run outrun him. Cloud would just give up his portion of dinner to make up for his failure.
Unfortunately, Zack had no such idea.
"This is yours, and this is mine," Zack said, holding his piece of an orange. "I'll beat Setzer up for us one day. One day he'll have a taste of what it's like to be bullied."
Cloud clutched his juicy piece in his hands, and burst out crying.