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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.

Chapter Text

16 Hours Left

Six hours later and a few hundred munny poorer, Riku and Sora trekked back to their gate. 

Spurred on by Sora's contagious enthusiasm, they had combed every inch of Concourse C: souvenir stores, coffee stands, fast food chains, art galleries, restaurants, bookstores, bars, and the odd luxury boutique-slash-perfumerie. ("Who would buy a 7,000ӎ purse in an airport?" Sora had demanded, pressing his nose against the glass while an employee looked on disapprovingly.) 

There had been one heart-stopping moment where they were separated in a crowded shop. Riku released Sora's backpack strap to flip through a book of local photography. There were lots of photos of deer, but none of them captured the quiet beauty he remembered. A minute passed, or three; when he thought about it later, Riku couldn't remember. When he replaced the book and looked around, he was alone in a sea of strangers. 

"Sora?" 

It came out in a whisper, barely audible over the busy airport hum. 

Riku swallowed the sour taste rising in his throat and took a deep breath. His second try was much more powerful: several people actually turned and looked at him with mildly worried expressions. None of them were Sora.

Damn it. Riku pushed his way to the front of the store. He figured–he hoped–Sora would wait there if either of them got lost. 

He was right. Thank god, he was right. A few frantic moments later they spotted each other between shelves of holiday ornaments and snow globes. 

The relief on Sora's face went straight to Riku's chest. He actually put his hands on Sora's shoulders and squeezed before catching himself, mumbling an apology, and withdrawing.

"I know," Sora burst out as Riku opened his mouth to say–what? I thought I lost you, or Don't go where I can't see you, or something equally melodramatic but true? "I went to look at the postcards on the other end of the aisle, and when I tried to find you again, there were just–so many people–"

"It's fine," Riku said quickly, because someone was staring at them. "Nothing happened. We're fine. Let's go, okay?"

Sora said something Riku didn't catch under another announcement about a delayed flight. Neither of them spoke again during the long walk back to their gate. Now Sora was the one clutching Riku's backpack, taking two quick steps for each of Riku's long strides. 

They passed windows that, at first glance, looked as though they had been painted white. Upon closer inspection Riku realized it was snow–thick, fluffy flakes that piled up quickly along the sills and ledges. His heart sank as they rounded the corner to C39 and saw the crowd at the help desk.

"What's going on?" Riku asked the last person in line, an older man holding a nervous-looking wiener dog. 

"They canceled our flight," the man sniffed. He didn't look nearly as distressed as the other travelers–only slightly annoyed, as though the situation was no more troubling than being served vanilla ice cream instead of chocolate. "I expected as much in this weather, but they're all acting like animals."

He shook his head at the unruly group, which seemed to grow louder and angrier with each passing moment. 

Riku felt Sora pressing closer and tried to sound calm. "So what happens now?" 

"Oh, the airline will give us all hotel vouchers, of course," the man replied, shushing his dog when it emitted a particularly shrill whine. "There won't be any more flights tonight. You just wait. I've seen plenty of storms like this. She–" 

He indicated the long-suffering clerk Riku and Sora had spoken with earlier.

"--says they rebooked us for another flight tomorrow morning. Hm. We'll see. My grandpa always said, never whistle until you're out of the woods."

*

Armed with two new boarding passes, two meal tickets, and two hotel vouchers, Riku and Sora walked slowly to the other end of the airport. Neither of them spoke much on the way there, even after Riku suggested grabbing dinner before they checked into their rooms. The sun would set soon (though they hadn't seen it all day for the whiteout) and both of them were hungry. 

And, though neither of them said it aloud, they were both shaken at the prospect of spending the night there while a blizzard raged outside. The adventure varnish had worn off; now they were just two teenagers, alone in a strange place on the eve of a major winter holiday, without even a thousand munny between them.

After the waiter delivered their drinks (orange juice and coffee) Riku said: "We should call our parents when we get to the hotel. We won't be home tonight."

"Right," Sora said absently. "Good idea."

He pushed his crinkled straw wrapper around the table, chewing his lip. Riku watched and wondered what would happen if he were to confess right then and there, in the shabby little airport diner, watching the snow trap them ever more surely through the darkening windows. It was the last time they'd be alone before drifting off to their respective hotel rooms, waking up, and immediately boarding their flight. This unexpected layover had been the first time they were truly alone since the Realm of Darkness.

"You know," Sora said while Riku was ruminating. "I said this was an adventure, but suddenly I just want to be home again. It's weird. I've been to so many worlds in so many galaxies. Why does this place feel so much further than any of them?"

"Because we're alone," Riku said automatically, because he was thinking it, and blushed.

But Sora didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He only looked thoughtful, lowering his gaze to Riku's coffee cup while he tore his straw wrapper into tiny pieces.

"You're right," he said. "Everyone we know is spending tonight with friends and family. But we're stuck here."

At least we're stuck here together, Sora had said earlier. Compared to that, these words were like a cold bucket of water. 

"Together," Riku added softly. "Listen, Sora, I–" 

But then the waiter came back with their food, and the moment dissolved like a snowflake in a warm palm. 

*

Their troubles weren't over yet.

"I'm sorry to ask this at all," the hotel receptionist said, flipping through a thick stack of paper vouchers. "But with so many flights canceled tonight, we're trying to make space for as many people as possible. If you two can share a room, you'd be helping out another traveler."

Immediately Sora said, "Sure, that's fine."

"Perfect. Let me get your room cards made up."

Before Riku had time to process this conversation, protest, or decide whether he even wanted to protest, the receptionist finalized their booking and pushed a pair of keycards across the counter. "One night, double queens, fourth floor." 

A few moments later, en route in the elevator, Riku said: "Um. Sora. Are you sure?"

"Of course." Sora met Riku's troubled gaze in the reflective double doors. "We shared a room at Grandpa's house, no problem."

That was true. "But–"

"Anyway," Sora went on. "I don't want to get separated again."

Riku had no reply; he felt the same. In fact, he had been keenly aware of it since the episode in the souvenir store just a few hours earlier. It reminded him of the first frantic weeks he had spent alone behind the Door to Darkness, and in Castle Oblivion, climbing endless stairs and searching empty rooms. 

Their room smelled like lemon cleaner. It had a balcony that opened onto the airport's interior, overlooking the splendid holiday decorations in the lobby below. Leaning over the railing, Riku looked down into a forest of fake evergreens and felt a pang as he recalled the smell of fresh pine needles. Overhead, the enormous glass-domed roof was pitch black, reflecting thousands of string lights: blue, green, red, yellow, and purple. It was surprisingly cozy.

Evidently Sora thought so, too, because he had already kicked off his shoes and crawled into one of the beds by the time Riku came back inside. He looked very small–and very tired–with the sheets pulled up to his nose.

Riku watched from across the room. "Going to bed this early?" he teased, desperate for a bit of normalcy, some sign that he and Sora were still okay in all these unprecedented things. "Maybe you're becoming a boring adult, too."

Sora mumbled something soft and rude, then pulled the sheets over his head.

Disarmed by a rush of fondness so acute it made his chest hurt, Riku watched the small lump that was Sora toss and turn. Then he shook it off–he always did–and went to take a shower.

*

An hour before midnight he woke in a cold sweat, rubbing the nightmare out of his eyes: a million red lasers and pain that obliterated everything. 

For a long while Riku lay with his face in his hands, listening to Sora's slow, even breaths just a few feet away. He inhaled and exhaled in time with those breaths, just as he had on that desolate beach, until death didn't feel quite so close anymore. His hip twinged when he swung his legs out of bed and padded across the dark room to his backpack.

On the balcony with the book of prints on his lap, Riku left the door open just enough to monitor Sora's breathing. The airport lobby was dark and empty, now; most of the travelers had gone off to their hotels or found corners to curl up in and wait out the night. The string lights still glowed among the plastic tree forest, though, throwing multicolored rainbows across the dome above. It was oddly comforting. Riku could almost imagine they were at home on Destiny Islands, watching cheesy holiday movies in the living room at Sora's house.

He was glad he had waited for a quiet moment to read the book. Every page was as beautiful as he'd expected it to be: warm, impossibly detailed renderings of deer and other animals: downy-soft rabbits, clever squirrels, and even a delicate owl with eyes that seemed to gaze at Riku from the yellowed page.

It him ages to notice when Sora appeared in the doorway.

"Oh," Riku stammered, slamming the book shut, though he didn't know why. "You're awake."

"You were gone," Sora said simply. Sometime in the night he had shed his pants and sweater. Riku's flannel came down to the tops of his thighs.

"I was–I couldn't sleep." Riku kept his eyes on the book in his lap. "Sorry if I woke you."

Sora made a noise Riku couldn't quite grok–something between a sigh and a scoff. "I was already awake." 

He didn't offer to explain why. Riku didn't ask. He didn't want to have more awkward conversations, especially considering everything that had already gone so terribly wrong that day. They'd wake up tomorrow with a clean slate, and Riku would act as though nothing had happened. He was good at that.

But Sora lingered in the doorway, resting his head against the frame. "Grandpa gave you that," he said.

"It's a really great book," Riku replied truthfully. "It was nice of him."

"Because you like deer," Sora went on, as though Riku hadn't spoken. "You got up early every day this week to watch them in the front yard."

Now Riku looked up. "How do you know that? You've been sleeping in every day."

"Because you were gone. I mean, I woke up and it was still dark out, and you were gone. And when I looked for you, you were out on the porch, even though it was freezing outside."

Riku was quiet, digesting this confession, imagining Sora watching him through the dark cabin windows. It made him feel oddly naked. Every time he had come back inside, puffing and stamping his feet, he'd found Sora still asleep in their room.

Or so he'd thought.

After a minute Riku said: "So you just–went back to bed? Why didn't you say anything? I mean, why didn't you just–come outside with me?" 

"I didn't want to scare them."

"Scare–"

"The deer." Sora's expression was something Riku, who had known him all their lives, couldn't read. "If you move or make a noise, you'll scare them away. They're skittish. So I stayed inside."

On paper it all made sense. Opening the creaky porch door, which Sora's grandpa insisted he'd been meaning to oil, would certainly scare away the deer.

The way Sora said it, with his eyes flickering between Riku's eyes, Riku's mouth, and the book in Riku's hands, made no sense at all.

They gazed at each other without moving, Riku leaning against the balcony, Sora framed in the doorway. Three feet of ugly hotel carpeting separated them. It was simultaneously too much and not enough distance. Multicolored lights danced across Sora's face, across the bedhead, across the delicate collarbones disappearing into the shirt that didn't belong to him. 

This is the moment.

Riku knew it like he'd never known anything else.

At the same time, feeling the weight of the book in his hands, he knew he couldn't do it–just as he'd known not to move a muscle as he watched the grazing deer.

Not while they were sharing a room.

Not when there were still eight long hours to endure before they boarded their flight home.

Not when Sora had trusted him enough to appear in Riku's shirt, offer up this piece of his heart, and ask nothing in return.

He couldn't do that to Sora–

Not when the answer could still be No.  

So instead he looked.

He looked at the rainbow lights, the messy hair, the loose shirt.

He looked for a long time.

Then he folded and neatly tucked them away. 

"Let's go back to bed," Riku said at last, tucking the book under his arm. "We've had a long day."

Wordlessly Sora moved aside to let him slip back into their room. Their shoulders touched as Riku passed.

Sleep didn't come. Riku watched the red and blue and green and purple lights flicker on the ceiling with one hand clamped over his shoulder--the way he did with his left wrist when the phantom ache kept him awake.

Chapter Text

30 Minutes Left

The shadows under Sora's eyes the next morning told Riku they had both passed sleepless nights.

This time, they'd had the benefit of staying in bed until the last possible minute, rather than rising two hours early to hitch a ride down the mountain with Sora's grandfather. 

A fat lot of good that did us, Riku thought as he brushed his teeth and squinted at his reflection through the over-bright fluorescents. 

He wondered whether he really looked that bad, or whether it was the crappy hotel bathroom lightbulbs. But he abandoned the concern when he realized Sora had no intention of making direct eye contact or talking to him. 

In fact, Sora seemed intent on pretending Riku didn't exist. He dressed in silence, brushed his teeth in near-silence, and waited in silence as Riku fiddled with the cheap coffee pot in the corner. Then, he followed Riku to the elevator, out of the hotel, across the airport, and to their gate–

In silence.

Whatever weather had battered the region last night was gone now. Through the windows Riku caught glimpses of blue sky between the thick white blanket that was hiding the sun. Their flight was on-time and on-schedule.

It was only when they joined the yawning crowd of passengers and pulled out their boarding passes that Riku realized.

"Oh. Our seats aren't together anymore."

That got Sora's attention. He leaned over Riku's paper slip, eyes traveling back and forth between their seat numbers. "But–why–"

"Maybe when the flight got canceled, they rebooked people in a different order?" Riku suggested. He didn't like the idea of sitting separately, but part of him was a little relieved. He wasn't sure he could stand a ten-hour flight with a Sora who wasn't talking to him.

"But–" Sora began again, then stopped, sighed, and jammed the slip into his pocket. "Fine. It's fine."

"It's the same flight to the same place." Riku couldn't help wanting to reassure Sora, even when they were…not exactly fighting, but not getting along, either. "That's all that matters."

He wondered whether this mutual separation anxiety would ever go away. Before the Door to Darkness and everything it entailed, they had rarely ever gone more than 24 hours without seeing each other. The year apart had brutally stopped that routine, and rather than leaning into their newfound independence, they had started to cling to each another. The look on Sora's face that first night back on Destiny Islands, when he remembered they lived in different houses, was burned permanently into Riku's brain.

"Now boarding group one," the ticket clerk said into his microphone, jolting Riku back to the present.

"That's me," he said to Sora. "You gonna be okay?"

"Of course I am," Sora answered, completely unconvincingly. "Um–wait."

Sora shrugged off his backpack and dropped to his knees to rummage through it. A minute later he reemerged with a nondescript brown paper bag–the kind Riku's mom used to pack school lunches in.

Before Riku could ask what it was, Sora shoved it into his hands. "Here," he said. "Since I'm not going to see you for the next fifteen hours."

"Ten," Riku corrected. "Just ten. I'll see you on the plane, okay?"

Sora ignored that, but glanced meaningfully at the paper bag before crossing his arms and turning away again. 

There was nothing left to do but join boarding group one, so Riku shuffled off and got in line. He couldn't help but look back at Sora over his shoulder and was gratified to discover Sora couldn't help but look at him, too. Their faces said what neither of them could bring themselves to speak aloud: I'm sorry, everything is weird, I wish this wasn't happening.

The ticket clerk scanned Riku's boarding pass and sent him off down the long hallway that connected the gate terminal with the plane. It was colder in here, and as Riku queued up behind a large family, he opened the bag Sora had given him and reached inside.

It was a snow globe. He knew the moment his fingers closed around the cool glass dome. Riku brought it out carefully, holding it with both hands, face heating despite the temperature in the tunnel.

It was small, even for a snow globe. The two tiny deer inside the glass were trudging through a forest of snow-covered trees. 

Sora had probably slipped away to purchase it the day before, when they'd gotten separated. It was a cheap thing, just like the rest of the trinkets in that shop, but it was simple and charming. It was Riku's; Sora had picked it out for him.

Riku gave the globe a little shake and watched fake snow swirl around minute antlers. He was lost in his thoughts as he followed the family in front of him down the hall, only looking up when the plane staff asked for his seat number.

He didn't have to go far. Trying hard not to bump his head on the luggage compartments (Riku had only recently discovered that most airplanes were not suited for people over six feet tall) he slid across to his assigned window seat. Once his backpack was safely stowed under the seat in front of him, he fastened the belt at his waist and peered through the window. 

Snow was still falling, but the flakes were light and airy–what Sora's grandfather called "powder." It was another thing Riku had been surprised to learn. There were different types of snow, from sticky-wet to dusty and dry and everything between. Outside, the powder made everything bright and soft, as though whatever it covered was glowing from within. 

Riku stared as long as he could. Yes, that was the reason the corners of his eyes were wet. Who knew when he'd be back, or when he'd see snow again? His right hand closed around the little snow globe in his coat pocket.

"Oh, we meet again," a cheerful voice said.

It was the man from yesterday–the one with the nervous little dog. Right at that moment, said dog was shivering and staring at Riku from an oversized tote bag one seat over. Its owner was stowing a carry-on in the bin above. When he finished, he plucked the bag (and the dog) up and settled into the seat directly next to Riku.

"Guess we can whistle now," the man said, craning his neck to look through Riku's window. "Bet you didn't bet on this clearing up so quick, eh?"

Riku shook his head.

"Knock on wood." The man cast around for a wood surface, and finding none, patted his dog's trembling head. "Hey, where's your–friend? He was with you yesterday."

"In another boarding group."

"Oh, honey. That's no good. But isn't that him right there?"

Riku peered down the aisle of passengers shuffling slowly to the back of the plane. Yes–there he was, trapped between an elderly man and woman who were probably married, judging from the way they were carrying on over Sora's head.

"And another thing," the old woman said, reaching over Sora's shoulder to swat her partner good-naturedly. "You packed two dozen pairs of underwear but forgot to bring a single sweater! Honestly, dear, I don't know what you were thinking."

Sora and the old man grimaced in unison. 

Riku couldn't help but smile. "Yep, that's him."

"Tell you what," the man with the dog said, adjusting his scarf. "How about I switch seats with him, and you can both sit together."

"Oh–no. No," Riku said quickly, remembering his manners. "You shouldn't have to move."

"Please. I insist," the man replied. "It doesn't bother me a bit."

The line of passengers flowed on. The old man who had packed too much underwear grumbled slowly by. Now Sora was close enough to recognize Riku's voice and look around for the source.

"Thank you, but it's really not necessary–"

"It's really not a big deal. If my husband was here, he'd say the same."

"I–"

Riku paused mid-protest when Sora stopped next to their row. Neither of them knew quite what to do with their faces, it seemed; Sora raised one shoulder and dropped it, as if to say, Hey, what can you do? Riku returned the gesture, but inside his pocket, his hand tightened around the snow globe.

The man with the little dog looked between them and made an exasperated sound. "Really, let's swap seats. You two are together, aren't you?"

There was nothing complicated about the question. Really, it was the simplest thing in the world, considering how much grief it had given Riku over the last 24 hours, or ten days, or three years. Considering how little sleep he had gotten last night as he listened to Sora breathe in the next bed over, turning those words over and over in his head.

So why was Riku hesitating?

The snow globe was warm against his palm.

"We are," Riku said. "Sora, do you want to sit next to me?"

"Yes," Sora said immediately, breathlessly. His cheeks had become rosy-brown in less than three seconds. Then he, too, remembered his manners and addressed Riku's seat-mate. "Um, is that okay with you?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I said it was, but you're both so set on being polite. Who raised you, and would you tell them to relax a little?" The man secured his dog under his arm like it was an unwieldy handbag and stood up. "Just tell me your seat number and I'll skedaddle."

Sora did. The man and his furry companion smiled at them and went off toward the back of the plane, leaving a nervous silence behind. 

The moment seemed to have used up all of Riku's courage. He returned his gaze to the window, pulling his elbows and knees in as Sora got situated in the middle seat. He wondered whether his adrenaline shivers were as obvious as the little dog's had been.

"You okay?" Sora asked, close enough for his breath to disturb Riku's hair. 

"I–" 

Riku's voice came out strange and creaky. He swallowed hard, waiting for his heart to slow down just a bit before trying again. But then airline staff began walking up and down the aisles, checking seat belts and luggage bins and tray tables, and after that was the safety talk and pilot announcements, so there was no more room for conversation. 

"Prepare for takeoff," said the intercom. The cabin was plunged into darkness. The only light came from the windows and the glowing snow outside.

Over the thrum of the engines, Riku said: "Just a little nervous."

He wasn't. He figured that after riding in gummi ships piloted by talking animal-people, regular flights were pieces of cake. But it was a good explanation for his skittish behavior–hopefully one Sora would buy.

"Oh," Sora said. "Me too."

For a moment Riku thought he had gotten away with it. Then, as the plane began to taxi toward the runway, something touched his left hand where it rested on his thigh.

It was Sora. 

Sora's hand, to be more precise, slipping under the armrest separating their seats. It was hot and slightly damp, as though he had been clenching his fist. It was also too small to cover much surface area, but the weight was comforting–even if it also made Riku's stomach do jumping jacks.

Riku kept his eyes on the white mountains scrolling slowly past the window. He wasn't sure what would happen if he turned and looked at Sora, or if he tried to speak again. The lump in his throat was back. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing; it was too soon for heartfelt proclamations of love. It was also too late–and too crowded, and too loud–to properly confess.

So instead of doing any of those things, Riku lifted his hand (Sora withdrew quickly, a tiny fish darting away from a ripple) and turned it over, palm up. 

A minute passed, then another. 

The plane picked up speed. Riku waited. 

He bit his lip, watched the mountains, turned the snow globe over in his pocket. 

He thought about the deer.

He thought about Sora's face on the hotel balcony.

Distantly, as though it was happening to someone else–someone braver, luckier, and more deserving–he felt the armrest between them lift, the delicious pressure of Sora's shoulder against his, and the small hand filling his own, fingers interlocking like long-lost puzzle pieces.

Sora said it for him. "At least we're stuck here together."

Together they watched the airport and mountains get smaller and smaller, falling away unil they were as tiny as snowflakes–until the world through the window was pure white.