Chapter Text
24 Hours Left
Everything went wrong. The taxi was late, security lines were long, and their gate changed just as soon as they made it to C39 for nonstop service to Destiny Islands.
But all that would have been all right if not for the weather.
"Unfortunately your flight's going to be a little late," the help desk clerk told them, looking as tired as Riku felt. "Some nasty weather at the origin airport. Stay in the area and we'll let you know when we have an update."
"Do you know how long–"
"No," the clerk interrupted, rubbing her temple. "Sorry. No. If I had to say? An hour, maybe an hour and a half."
Riku looked around. It was 6:30 in the morning. The sky was beginning to be light despite the curtain of iron-gray clouds, but the airport had been awake for hours already. Pilots strolled by with cups of coffee and shiny leather totes. Groups of sharp-dressed stewards followed close behind, chatting or complaining. Parents carried sleeping children and unfortunate latecomers pushed through the crowd. With the holidays in full swing, almost everyone was on their way somewhere–
Except Riku and Sora. Now, they had to wait.
A week ago they had flown to the mainland to stay with Sora's grandfather over winter break. He lived in a cabin in the mountains, where snow fell thick and fast and deer wandered close enough to reach out and touch. Every night they sprinkled oats and seeds on the lawn, then woke early the next morning (or tried to, in Sora's case) to watch does and their fawns nibble by the light of the blue-gray dawn.
Riku had never seen deer before. He loved their liquid-brown eyes, the snowflakes that caught in their lashes, and the way they picked their careful paths across the drifts that piled up in the cabin's front yard. It seemed impossible that something so delicate could survive in such harsh conditions.
His fascination had not gone unnoticed. That morning, as they said their goodbyes, Sora's grandfather had pushed something into Riku's hands: a book of prints by an artist he'd never heard of. But one glance at the cover–a warm sepia print of a fawn, curled up as though preparing to bed down for the night–sent a thrill of recognition through Riku. There were the eyes: the ones that had watched him, too, as he held his breath and sat very still on the cabin's porch, wrapped in an old quilt.
The extra weight of the book seemed to burn Riku through his backpack and coat. He longed to sit down and flip through the pages. More than that, he wished he was back in the quiet mountains where noises disappeared, swallowed up by endless white swells and valleys.
But there were more pressing things to consider.
Whether their flight would really arrive in an hour, as the airport clerk had guessed.
Whether Sora would ever properly wake up (even now he was asleep on his feet, propped up against the gate counter).
And most importantly, whether Riku would use this extra time to do what he'd been trying to do all winter break: confess the feelings he had bottled up for the past three years.
*
At the start of winter break, Riku had made a promise to himself. He and Sora were about to spend ten days alone (or as alone as they could be with Sora's energetic grandfather puttering around the cabin). It was more than enough time to have the talk– the one Riku had been putting off since their near-death experience with Xemnas and the subsequent conversation in the Realm of Darkness.
It had to be said; he had to get it out, before it got stuck in his throat forever.
But one day passed, and then another, and before Riku could gather his courage, winter break was over. Now they were in the airport, headed back to Destiny Islands for the last of the holidays, and prospects looked bleaker than ever.
Or at least they had a few minutes ago.
"Okay," Riku said, trying hard to make his voice sound normal. "So we need to stay close to our gate. Why don't we go wait at that cafe over there?"
The answer came as a soft, agreeable hm. Slowly Sora straightened up, covering his yawn with sleeved hands. His sweater, and the flannel under it, were too big; both garments belonged to Riku.
Out of carelessness or ignorance, Sora had neglected to pack warm clothes for their trip. And though the things he borrowed from Riku were warm, none of them fit quite right. They gave him a loved-up sort of look, as though he had just rolled out of bed and thrown on a partner's discarded shirt.
Longing to cuff the sleeves, but not brave enough to actually do it, Riku looked away.
They crossed the hall and its ever-flowing stream of people, dodging roller bags and straggling children to join the queue of travelers waiting to order coffee.
The cafe employees had decorated the tiny space for the holidays. Tinsel, strings of plastic pine, and glittering ornaments lined the walls and glass dividers. There was even a tiny tree strung with lights next to the cash register. Someone with a careful hand and an artist's attention to detail had drawn a festive scene on the menu blackboard: a snowy forest with a red-nosed reindeer.
Slight pressure against his shoulder pulled Riku's attention away from the menu. He looked around.
It was Sora, hiding his face in the puffy material of Riku's coat. His arms were folded and his shoulders were slumping under the weight of his backpack; every line and curve in his posture read exhausted. No surprises there–it was far too early for Sora to be awake, especially since they'd spent the previous day sledding and exploring the woods.
The woman standing in line behind them caught Riku's eye and smiled before turning back to her partner, who was smothering a laugh of her own.
Oh geez.
"Sora," Riku muttered, heat rising in his face. "Come on. It's time to wake up."
"Mmmawake." The answer was muffled, barely audible under the holiday jazz coming through the tinny cafe speakers and the thrum of the airport.
"Uh huh. Look, it's almost our turn. Tell me what you want to order."
Sora emerged long enough to fix Riku with a bleary look and say, "You know what I want."
Riku couldn't argue; it was true. Sheepishly he recited Sora's usual (a large hot chocolate, with a spritz of peppermint and toffee crumbles; he knew it by heart) to the purple-haired barista, who didn't laugh but offered something that was almost worse: a soft, knowing smile.
It's not like that, Riku wanted to say, if just for Sora's benefit. It's not like that at all.
But it was so easy to pretend that it was. Easy to let Sora hide in his shoulder as they waited for their orders. Easy to feel butterflies when he thought about his own shirt, flush against Sora's skin inside the sweater. Easy to let strangers assume what he wished was true.
The cafe was quite bright by the time their drinks were ready. Snow was falling steadily through the tall windows. They snagged a two-person table in the corner and removed the lids on their paper cups, letting the steam ease them awake.
The more Sora sipped, the more alive he looked. His eyes were very blue in the weak, early light. Riku focused on his coffee to keep himself from accidentally staring, but soon realized he was the one under surveillance.
"What is it? Something on my face?"
Sora shook his head. "Since when do you drink coffee?"
"I don't remember."
Riku lied automatically. The question caught him off guard. He knew perfectly well he had taken up the habit during his time in the old mansion with Namine and DiZ. It had been a long year for him, even if Sora had slept it away. He was determined to never talk about it again--especially not to Sora. It would only make both of them upset.
Sora frowned at him. "It'll stunt your growth, you know."
"That's fine. I'm tall enough as it is."
"Humblebrag." He kicked Riku's foot gently under the table. "I hope you shrink."
It was typical Sora banter, and typical Sora teasing, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes as he looked thoughtfully at Riku's face.
"Really, though," Sora said. "I didn't know you drank coffee."
What did it matter? Riku shifted in his seat. "Guess I'm becoming a boring adult. Soon I'll be doing aquarobics and newspaper crosswords."
A swing and a miss. Sora smiled but didn't laugh. "You always were the grown-up one," he said, and pushed his cup away.
*
They killed some time like that, making small talk, watching planes taxi past the cafe windows. Two hours slipped away before Riku remembered his promise. The disappointment sat like a stone in his belly, but it wasn't as though the right moment had come and gone. It had never been there to begin with. He wasn't sure why.
The realization that Sora was watching Riku as closely as Riku was watching Sora was unsettling. Not just watching: observing. Recording details. Maybe even comparing notes against past, worse versions of Riku. What conclusions was he drawing as he watched Riku finish his bitter drink?
"We better check on our flight," Riku said, feeling flushed all over from the attention. "I haven't heard an announcement yet."
"If this is late, I hate to see what delayed means," Sora replied.
A few minutes later it wasn't a joke anymore–it was a premonition.
"Officially delayed until three o' clock," the clerk told them grimly, without looking up from her computer. It was the same exhausted woman from before. "Weather. It's that time of year, you know."
The boys from Destiny Islands, where the last snow had been over sixty years ago, looked at each other. Then they looked back at the clerk.
"But–what do we do now?" Sora said near Riku's elbow, his voice suddenly very small.
The clerk tapped away at her keyboard. "Try to be patient. That's my advice. Everyone's in a hurry. I understand it's inconvenient. But blizzards don't rush for anyone."
"A blizzard," Sora repeated as they wandered away from the crowded help desk. "Riku, what do we do? It's only nine."
Riku didn't answer right away. He dodged to avoid a caravan of lacrosse players, instinctively tugging Sora along behind him, and they took shelter in a little alcove between a news stand and souvenir shop.
"We'll just be patient, like the clerk said," Riku said, releasing Sora's sleeve a little too hastily for discretion. "It's only six hours."
Thankfully Sora wasn't looking at him, but at the lacrosse team filing by with their duffels and sticks. He seemed very small with his over-packed backpack, and smaller still in Riku's borrowed clothes, even though both of them had gained a few inches over the last year. But Riku was a year older, after all; it made sense that he would grow faster.
"...Well, at least we're stuck here together," Sora said after a moment. "What's the best way to spend six hours in an airport?"
Riku thought for a moment. "Read a book?"
"Wrong." Sora made a dismissive noise and shoved Riku good-naturedly. "Don't be so boring. It's an adventure."
Riku couldn't help but laugh. "This? After everything, this is your idea of an adventure?"
"Sure it is. Blizzards, delays, no grownups around. That's an adventure, right? Now come on--there must be something fun to do in a place this big."
Sora heaved his backpack higher onto his shoulders and dove into the crowd. Riku hastened to follow, tracking the messy brown hair through the sea of bodies.
Six more hours, he realized, grabbing Sora's backpack strap so they wouldn't get separated.
There was still time.