Work Text:
Sora is happily preparing dinner when the unmistakable sound of someone hitting the floor echoes throughout the penthouse and, suddenly, the knife in his hand looks more appealing as a murder weapon than as a kitchen tool. If only Tifa had not been there to stop him…
“Riku!” He calls, putting the knife on the cutting board. At his side, his Indeedee exhales a relieved sigh. “That better not have been you trying to get out of bed!”
The little touchscreen on the wall lights up, displaying JJ’s blank expression. “That was, indeed, him failing to get out of bed.” The Rotom switches over to footage of Riku’s shadowy bedroom, which shows his stubborn best friend fighting to get up from the floor, his pokémon crying in concern each time he denies their help. If he weren’t injured already, Sora would kick his ass for being so hardheaded. They are supposed to be past these hurtful demonstrations of pride.
“Riku!” He yells again, this time in the most stern voice he can manage. “Let Musharna or Komory Bat lift you up! You are going to mess up your wounds!”
Sora leaves Indeedee and Lucario in charge of the kitchen and starts striding upstairs, making sure that his stomps reveal his level of annoyance. It helps that his Falinks follow him all the way, causing a racket as if they were soldiers marching into war. Forcing Riku to take care of himself might be close to one, after all.
“Riku!” He opens the room to his bedroom and, within the dimness, he distinguishes his figure half draped over the bed, panting as if he came from running a marathon. Sora rushes to his side. “Please, just stop.”
At first, Riku doesn’t react; he keeps breathing harshly, deeply. There is sweat sliding down his arms and his forehead, dampening the edge of the bandages over his eyes. When Sora sneaks one hand under his chest to help him sit up, he notices his pulse drumming against his palm, agitated and fast, scared.
“Hey, Riku, it’s okay. I’m here.” His voice comes out softer, Sora tries to make it as soothing and sweet as an Alcremie. Going by how the beating slows, he guesses it works. “I have lots of told-you-sos to throw at you, but I can’t do it if you are on the floor.”
The faintest of smiles stretches across Riku’s mouth. “Then I guess I will sleep here.”
Relief washes over Sora; he sounds breathless but okay. He was considering calling Hoopa for a quick portal to the hospital.
“No, can’t do!” He presses his shoulder until he leans backwards and Sora can pass one arm under his knees and the other across his back. “Up you go.”
Riku jolts weakly in his hold and Sora expects resistance, if only to salvage his ego, but Riku is deadweight against his chest and Sora worries again. Going by the troubled expressions of the pokémon around him, he isn’t the only one.
Komory Bat and Absol help by pulling the blanket off while Musharna rearranges the pillows tossed around into a pile. Sora lays Riku against them so he is half seated and then covers him with the duvet. It’s warm after hours of Riku resting in it with his pokémon cuddled close and Sora is tempted to do the same. Maybe he should just go for it; he doesn’t think Riku would mind.
“Really, what were you thinking?” Sora chastises, one hand brushing Riku’s sweaty bangs off his face. It’s flushed red under the bandages and feels feverish to the touch. A wet towel would help.
“I don’t want to stay here all day.”
“You are going to stay here all week.” Incorrigible. Riku is incorrigible. Just yesterday he was fighting lethal poison out of his system, looking halfdead and now he is back to grumbling. Not even mortal danger could shake the brooding out of him, it seems. Sora is gotta start going hard on him. “Riku, you got venom from an Alpha Salazzle into your eyes. You are blind!”
“Temporarily.” He adds and Sora knows he would be crossing his arms if he had the energy to do so.
“Well, you are temporarily bedridden.” Absol and Komory Bat support him with their own complaints, while Musharna floats over the sheets, slowly drifting back to sleep. “Which means that you can only get out of bed if you ask for help first.”
“I can do it on my own.”
“You can’t even stand!”
Riku huffs a hmph that is the closest Sora will get him to agree with him on the matter.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. So, Sora inches closer; even if Riku can’t see him, he must be able to notice the shift in the mattress, his body causing a dip near his hip. “If you do this again,” Sora leans towards him, whispering next to his ear, “I’m tying you to the bed.”
This time, the reaction he gets is a strangled little noise that sounds similar to the shriek of a Rattata and Sora bites his tongue to hold his laughter. Perhaps he is enjoying this too much, but who could blame him? This: Riku being dependent on him, vulnerable and blatantly in need of help, has never happened before. Riku has always been the strong one, the reliable one, the older and wiser and the leader, even when he got a little crazy at fifteen. Of course, he had gotten hurt on occasions, he had the scars to show it; but Sora wasn’t there to heal his pain. Now he is, and he promised to himself that he would make the most of it. His mission for the foreseeable future is to spoil Riku rotten, to coddle him so thoroughly it would erase a whole life of dealing with everything on his own.
That’s why he moved his things to Riku’s apartment; Sora is his caretaker. At least, until his vision comes back, which Aerith said would take from one to two months.
If only Riku accepted to be more cooperative about it. For now, all Sora has done is cook and as fun as it is to feed him and as elated as it makes his heart, Sora wants to do more.
“I should give you a bath.” He says, picking at Riku’s shirt. It’s sticking to his skin due to the sweat. If the room wasn’t as dark as it is, with the blinds drawn shut, Sora would be able to appreciate it clinging to his biceps and across his broad chest. What a pity, he always relishes in the view.
“What?” Riku sounds choked up. Water would do him some good, his throat must be dry after all that heaving.
“You are soaking wet.”
“What-”
Whatever he is going to say is interrupted by the fanfare of Sora’s Falinks walking into the room, the brass leading the march as the troops carry a towel, a glass of water and a dish with apple slices on their heads.
“That’s where you went!”
The brass does a little hop and schools its expression. A single twitch from its horn is enough for the troops to disperse. They put the glass of water on the nightstand, the dish on Sora’s lap and then climb onto bed and make a valiant effort in positioning the cloth on Riku’s forehead, but Komory Bat is having none of it, using her telekinesis to set the troops back on the floor. Falinks are nothing if not persistent, though.
“Give me that.” Sora grabs the towel in exchange for some pets to their cute yellow helmets and a chin scratch. His Falinks chirp with satisfaction. “Thank you all for your service, you’re dismissed, comrades.” He finishes with a military salute, which seems to please Falinks, because they return to their usual formation and make a beeline for the door.
“They are so chaotic.” Says Riku and Sora can hear the smile in his voice.
“They are perfectly organised.”
“I can imagine them destroying my apartment.”
Sora turns towards him, mouth open in outrage. “Your apartment is fine! More than fine. I have been cleaning, you know?” He smacks him gently on the arm with the wet towel and Riku laughs as much as he can in his condition, which isn’t much, but to Sora it’s as melodic as Meloetta’s songs.
“You mean Indeedee has been cleaning.”
“Everyone is helping! Well…” Finally, he uses the rag to wipe some of the sweat on his neck, those annoying drops that were tempting him. Riku flinches at first, then stays still, breathing slowly. “Except your Liepard.”
“Were you expecting something different?”
“From that lazybum? Nah.”
As if agreeing with him, Absol scoffs and shakes his head. Next to him at the foot of the bed, Komory Bat shrugs her wings. They have been living with Liepard since he was a Purrloin Riku caught during his rebellious phase, so they know better than anyone what a pain he can be. Although Sora has a story or two to tell about him too. Sometimes he wonders if Purrloin jumped onto his back and scratched until he tore his shirt to shreds for fun or because Riku commanded him to. Both options are plausible for how they acted at that age. Sora doesn’t miss those times.
“I’m feeling like a lazybum myself.”
Sora clicks his tongue, gingerly pressing the cloth around his bandaged eyes; the gauze smells of medicine and salve that makes Sora think of pecha berries. In four hours they will need to be changed. “You’re injured.” Water slides down Riku’s cheeks, the febrile red now a warm pink. The skin isn’t as hot as before when Sora caresses the sharp cut of his jaw. “Stop being hard on yourself, that’s my job now.”
“You’re too soft.” Riku says, even if he leans into the touch.
“Not everyone can be all hard muscle.”
“Not like it helped in this situation.”
“No workout routine will get you immune to poison, Riku.”
Now it’s Riku’s turn to click his tongue. Sora shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does, really. How would he react if Sora kissed his cheek, even if it were only a peck? Would he get red again? Would he call him out? Curiosity is a strong motivator, but he has other things to take care of before indulging his greedy heart.
“Here, open up.”
Riku furrows his brow and he does blush a little. “Why?”
“Falinks brought a snack.”
“I can eat on my own.”
Stubborn bastard. They have had this conversation already. Last time it ended with half the soup on the sheets. “Show me, then.” Sora throws the towel to the floor, crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, even if Riku can’t see him, he must feel the challenge. At the end of the bed, Komory Bat and Absol exchange resigned glances. “Eat one apple slice.”
Riku’s hands twitch over the duvet, Sora can tell he is realising how stupid the situation is, as well as he knows that Riku won’t recognise it yet, not this easily. So, Sora watches in silence as Riku pats which parts of the bed he can reach without moving too much. Eventually, his fingers bump into Sora’s thigh and he stops, scowling his expression into something resembling embarrassment.
“Where is it?” He asks, retrieving his hands to his sides.
“On my lap.” That’s the place Falinks left it, after all.
“Okay.” Riku whispers, sounding strangled. Right, Sora also needs to give him the glass of water. “You win.”
“I’m taking care of you, you are the one winning.” He grabs one slice, turns one of Riku’s hands palm up and puts it there. That seems to surprise him at first, but ends up saying nothing as he lifts it to his mouth and takes a bite. Sora is glad to see him able to do so; yesterday he had problems even moving his fingers. “Really, if I were the one blind and in bed, I would have you do everything for me.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t be as difficult as you, though.” Sora gives him another slice when Riku offers his hand.
“I have my doubts.”
“Hey!”
Riku smiles, that little, precious, reserved smile of his. The one Sora had missed the most during his travels. If he plays his cards well, if he has been reading the signals right, maybe Sora won’t be going on his next journey alone.
It has been less than two days and Riku spent half of the first one breathing miserably and falling out of consciousness, yes, but it’s also the most they have talked since Sora won the championship and got his hands on the X-blade, the undeniable proof that he is the pokémon master. Also, the knife that severed his ties with Riku, even if Sora wasn’t aware of when the cut happened.
He knows it isn’t jealousy or envy; he is intimately familiar with how those look on Riku. It’s something different, not malicious, but rather a resigned kind of silence, as if Riku had given up on keeping contact once their paths diverged. Sora went to enact his duties as holder of the X-blade, while Riku stayed in Disney and trained to substitute King Mickey as Champion one day. Both busy and stressful roles to fulfil. Duties Riku used as an excuse to not answer Sora’s calls or to cut them short.
It’s difficult to do that now, though, with them living under the same roof.
“There is some water too.” Sora takes the glass from the nightstand and diligently guides Riku’s fingers around it. His hand trembles a little; it’s probably too heavy for him right now. “Careful, it’s full.”
Together, they bring the glass to Riku’s lip and, once Sora is sure that he won’t spill it all over himself, he stretches across the bed and puts the apple slices between Absol and Komory Bat. They look at it, then at Riku, then at the food again and finally at Sora, who nudges the plate closer.
“Dinner will be done soon, Riku isn’t going to starve if he shares his snacks, I promise.”
Red eyes glare at him, unconvinced. Meanwhile, Komory Bat covers her mouth with the tips of her wings. It would be adorable if it didn’t mean that Riku’s pokémon are as loyal and as stubborn as him.
“I’m not going to eat more, you can have them.” Riku makes a dismissive gesture with the glass and in the next second his pokémon are wolfing down the apple slices. No one can say they aren’t obedient.
“Talking about that, I’m gonna return to the kitchen.” He takes the empty glass from Riku and the dish from the bed and, after giving it some thought, decides to take the risk and kiss Riku on the top of his head. His reward is another Rattata squeak. Sora wouldn’t mind hearing it for the rest of forever. “You should take a nap.”
“Not like you let me do much else.” Mutters Riku, red to the tip of his ears.
Sora brushes some locks away from one of them, it would be so easy to nibble on the shell of it, just a taste. To see Riku’s reaction, what he would do, what he would say, the noises he could make. But just as before, that would be too forward, too soon and too bold. A part of him isn’t completely sure of what Riku is hiding from him.
“Give yourself time.” He says, knowing that he should follow his own advice.
He receives a sigh instead of an answer, so Sora ruffles his hair and leaves the room. Although not completely. He stays on the threshold, watching Absol making himself comfortable in Sora’s former place and Komory Bat climbing onto his chest. The same as when she was a little Woobat, a ball of mossy fur that clung to Riku whenever he went and left heartshaped marks on his chubby cheeks. Riku’s first pokémon.
It has been so long since the day they found her whimpering in the Secret Place. Sora looks back at that memory sometimes, missing the closeness they shared. Little him would have never imagined a future without Riku by his side. The actual him doesn’t want to, either.
Slowly, the shadows in the room turn into pink swirls, a mist of oneiric dreams oozing from Musharna’s forehead. It’s Sora’s signal to go on his way unless he wants to fall asleep on his feet.
At the bottom of the stairs he finds Meow Wow standing guard and Sora pets his head with his free hand as he passes by. In the living room he sees Liepard splayed smugly across the couch as Riku’s Grimmsnarls sits on the carpet, staring daggers at him. His dishevelled silver hair proof of his lost fight for the sofa. Near them, his Eevee and Riku’s Umbreon are napping together in the latter’s bed, cuddled close with Umbreon’s rings painting them in gentle blue with every peaceful inhale. Inside the kitchen, Riku’s Maushold has joined dinner preparations and the three of them are busy chopping vegetables into uncannily even pieces that his Lucario drops into salad bowls before adding the dressings. In the background, he catches glimpses of Dota possessing the stove to cook the meat while JJ displays different recipes on his screen and rambles about roasting times. All of it happening, as it couldn’t be any other way, under Indeedee’s meticulous guidance. She is the first to welcome Sora inside and take the empty dish and glass away from him and into the sink. Sora also has no doubt about who cut the apple that Falinks brought him earlier.
And as he returns to the task of feeding a whole penthouse full of pokémon and one reluctant patient, Sora finds himself brimming with a giddy kind of energy.
Because, if he concentrates on the sounds beyond the click-clacking of his work, Sora can hear KK and Braveheart chiming gently in some hidden cranny in the living room. Because, if he were to step into the hallways, he would find his Falinks and Hawlucha inspecting the perimeter, making sure that everything is where it should be. Because he knows that Riku’s Krookodile and his Komala are sunbathing on the terrace. That his Palafin is splashing around with Riku’s Sharpedo in the pool downstairs and that his Raichu is having the time of her life riding the waves created by their games. And he has the assurance that, by the time dinner is served, his Braviary will have already returned from his flight with Riku’s Noivern, ready to devour some fruit.
Because he thinks that it wouldn’t be bad at all if the rest of his life looked like this. Them and their pokémon together in one place, delicious food and cheerful chatter. Plans to spend the afternoon together. Maybe Sora would read Riku a book. Perhaps Dota and JJ would put on some music. They could talk– yes, they would talk and laugh and wonder ‘Arceus, how could we even be apart?’ between chuckles, because the idea would be too ridiculous to consider without bursting into laughter.
Sora ponders when it will happen. Sora questions if Riku would want it to happen. And, if he wants it, what’s keeping him from pursuing it. From pursuing Sora. Surely, he isn’t imagining the signs that Riku reciprocates his feelings.
In case he is, then, well, Sora has no qualms about asking Rayquaza to fly him into space and hang out with Deoxys until he is able to face Riku again. Because he plans to lay it on thick, he will spare no effort in his flirting for the next weeks and unless Riku has been secretly in love with him for years, Sora will have made a fool of himself for nothing.