Making Memories

[excellente]

Okay, wow. My heart is going at like, 243bpm right now.

Title: Making Memories
To: Casey (caseyvalhalla)for all her help with NaNo, and just being amazing in general. I hope this is enough.
From: Zu
Warnings: boy/boy. That is all.
Length: 4957
Summary: "Your name is Sora, and nothing you say is real."


There were few tourists out today, the sun was too hot for them, necks and ears burned pink after just minutes outside. But that wasn't to say that the beach was empty -- not at all. It was full of people, people who could deal with this, who enjoyed it and lived for it because after years in this weather, the heat barely affected them any more. They'd spent their whole lives running barefoot over hot tarmac and roasting sand, climbing and sprinting and sweating and laughing and learning, skin tanning and hair bleaching, and--

And Sora wasn't one of them. In fact, he wasn't even on the island. The island didn't even exist. Sora was at the park, the only place in the damn town that kids had as their own. It was summer, true, but summers here were nothing like the ones on that imaginary island. They were never quite hot enough to be hot, but not cold enough to be cold. The temperature zipped up and down like crazy, meaning you could never leave the house without a sweater, no matter how warm it was.

In a place where the season was as pathetic as this, the sensible thing to do would have been to stay inside like normal, healthy teenagers and play video games and surf the net and hide away from the sun as much as possible and just slob because, hey, no school!

But the parents, in their cruelty, had all gathered together -- well, that was the theory anyway -- and decided that inside was off limits, and that this summer, the kids should have some good, old fashioned, outdoor fun.

So, sometime in the morning, far earlier than was humane (usually nine o'clock or so), grumpy half awake kids were shoved out front doors with sweetly said orders to not come back until it started getting dark -- or else. And even the most badass of teens gulped when their mothers said 'or else' in that tone of voice. It was instinctive, a reaction borne of millions of years of evolution. Mothers were not to be messed with, because they could mess back so much better.

The only place in the town that could even roughly pass for an outdoor recreation area was the park. A playground surrounded by grass and picnic tables and oddly placed little walls provided nowhere near enough entertainment for enough people for a long enough time, and they were forced to get inventive.

After an hour or so of wandering around and trying to fit into one group or another, even as just a tag along, Sora gave up and sat down on a low, concrete block wall. At least with so many people, watching them all was an option, even if it meant getting funny looks in return. Sora didn't mind, the weather was currently nice and warm, blurry chatter luring him into a state of half sleep.

He was like that when Roxas found him. Or maybe he found Roxas, god, they could've found each other. Didn't really matter. The people-watching turned on two teens, about Sora's age, both blond -- a boy and a girl. The boy caught Sora's eye the most, he had a strange look about him, not immature exactly, but childish. Just the tiniest bit innocent and naive. Weird.

From the way the two walked, it was obvious they'd been refused by as many groups as Sora, and whilst it was entirely plausible that it was because the boy was just as small and scrawny as Sora, something told him it wasn't that. That it was more to do with the way he had, the childishness. Not that anyone would recognise it, it had taken Sora long enough, and he was trying. To anyone else, he'd just be weird, freaky.

The boy spotted him and smiled a little, dragging the girl over. A few steps away from Sora's wall, he let go of her hand and made the rest of the way along, sitting down on the wall and grinning.

"Hey," he said, content otherwise to just look.

Sora choked out a mangled 'hey' and fell silent, feeling the girl's eyes on his back. At first he'd thought she was a girlfriend, but the way she watched the scene was too protective and motherly for that to be true. A sister then. One of the crazy kind probably, the ones that hid switchblades under pretty little skirts and pinned you to the wall by your throat if you so much as looked at who ever they were obsessive about funny.

Wanting to hit himself for talking himself into being afraid, Sora averted his gaze quickly. "Hey," he said again, a little louder and friendlier this time.

"I'm Roxas," the boy -- Roxas -- told him.

"Sora."

The girl coughed to get Roxas' attention; "I'm going to go sit over there, okay?"

"Sure," he said pleasantly, turning straight back to Sora as soon as his sister wasn't looking. "So Sora, tell me about yourself, where you come from and all that."

Sora froze, breathing heavily. It had been so long, so, so long since he'd felt this kind of urge. The first time in years he'd even considered doing this. Maybe it was the childish way that Roxas had, all smiles and trust, but even so...

He shouldn't. Really. It was a bad idea, the worst he'd ever had. He'd be caught out before he could blink, and it would all go horribly wrong. Again. You probably wont see him ever again though! His anti-conscience said. What's the harm?

"I was born in another country, one that no one seems to have heard of..."

Sora wasn't quite sure when exactly he'd started making memories, but it probably occurred around the same time that stories stopped being about going to school and taking the dog to the vet, and started being about kids with magic powers and twins and people with tragic or beautiful pasts; orphans and princes, sometimes both.

They were special, and Sora wasn't. He had a normal life in a normal town. There were no secrets about who he was, no exciting fate waiting for him, and that hurt. Just a little bit. Because, as far as he could see, you could only be what you had been. If you were special then you would be, but if you weren't...

So he started imagining things, stories and myths where he was the main character. Stories where he found out about long lost twins or magic abilities.

It had been okay to start off with, his parents praised him for his creativity, and classmates listened in rapture as Sora informed them of all the things he could do. His fatal flaw though, was the inability to stick with one story. One thing might appeal to him for weeks on end, so much so that it became his own world, but that obsession would fade, and another would replace it.

Too many nights of telling stories, and only stories at the dinner table, rather than truthful things about his day had his parents grounding him for lying. And though six and seven and eight-year-olds might be gullible enough to believe one crazy story, or even two, when your life changed completely every fortnight, in ways that couldn't connect, then they turned their backs.

You became an attention seeker, a drama queen, a faker.

No matter how much he loved making memories, Sora loved his friends more, and so he stopped, promising himself that he'd never again lie to make himself look cool. It wasn't allowed and it wasn't right. Stupid and babyish, like still having an imaginary friend. Ugh.

That wasn't to say that he never again made up these lies in his head. He did, all the time. But never again did he tell anyone, nor did he let them get so real that as he ran down the street, pretending that the dogs were his allies in a super secret mission, and that the cats were evil spies, never again did it become so real that it became a memory, true in his mind.

Years of work, and effort and silence, all gone because of one simple question. He hated himself for being so weak, but at the same time, it felt incredible to be doing this again -- Making, creating, being more than the norm. Watching Roxas as he sat, transfixed and listening intently.

They'd been talking for hours, and even when Sora gave in, he hadn't meant to go this far. Maybe twist the truth a little, embellish facts here and there. But it had gotten out of control, becoming an epic tale full of suspense and mystery and heroic deeds.

And when Roxas reluctantly left with his sister at her insistence that they get home, Sora felt absolutely sick. He was such an idiot. Without Roxas and and his childish appeal, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. He'd stayed away from this for a reason, and this was that reason. No doubt he'd run into Roxas again sometime, and by that point he would have worked out exactly what was going on, he would call Sora a liar, a faker, a kid.

It wasn't that he spent the entire night worrying, but Sora did have a nervous sleep, not wanting to go anywhere near the park for the rest of his life.

He'd tried to hide, behind all the winter coats in the hall cupboard. But his mom in all her momly wisdom had found him after just minutes of search, and pushed him out the door with a smile on her face and a friendly 'If you're back before dark, I'll skin you!'

As he stomped down the street, shoulders hunched and head lowered, simply because that was what teenagers did, Sora mulled over his options. There weren't many. If they'd been anywhere else to go, then the park wouldn't have been so crowded. He could try hiding out in town, around the shops and stuff. If he kept moving fast enough, the shopkeepers wouldn't be able to nab him for loitering (a favourite pastime of tired managers and employees alike). Then again, it would mean an entire day of walking and bad looks. Not the best.

All right, he'd walk past the park, and if Roxas wasn't there, then Sora would go in and hang out. And if he was... Well, Sora would deal with that when the time came.

Sora kept the sulky teenager thing up right until he reached the park, and as he searched the crowd. There was something instinctive that said that if he hunched up, no one would see him. About as likely to work as the 'I can't see you, so you can't see me' theory, but really, he had more important matters at hand.

A multitude of scans later, and not a spiky blond head in sight, Sora decided the park was safe, and headed towards his wall. He'd only been sitting on it a minute or two before someone sat down next to him with a smile that made Sora's stomach lurch.

"Hey! I knew you'd be here. Nami said you wouldn't be, but I told her you would be. And I was right!"

Only the happy banter kept Sora from dropping his head into his hands and groaning. Hopefully Roxas would be one of those weirdoes who loved people who told crazy stories as though they were true.

"Yeah... I'm here. Same wall, everyday."

"I like this wall. It's kinda comfy. In a weird way. It's nice and warm too."

Sora couldn't help but smile at that, the slight childishness getting to him again.

"So Sora, we talked for ages, and you never told me anything about yourself! Except for your name, of course. C'mon! Spill!"

"Huh?" Hadn't they spent all of the previous afternoon going over Sora's 'childhood'? Was this some sort of joke? Or was Roxas just being polite and ignoring the lies?

"Um, I ah, I told you. Yesterday. That's what we talked about."

"No we didn't!" Roxas said, not angry but sure.

"Then what did we talk about?" There was no way that he hadn't said all that yesterday. No way all this guilt had come from nothing. Nuh-uh.

"I can't remember, but it sure wasn't you."

He didn't remember? But, he'd sat and listened so intently. Maybe he really didn't remember anything, maybe he'd forgotten for some reason. And if he'd forgotten...

As much as he'd tried to force it away, there had been a tiny, brilliant idea planted in Sora's mind the night before, in between 'Oh god! What do I do?'s and 'It's okay, I'll never see him again,'s. He couldn't help it, he'd never been able to. Especially not with Roxas there, waiting and watching for a story. Listening to yesterday's as though it was true and plausible.

He was a weird kid, but then again, Sora was probably weirder.

Roxas was dragged away by his sister again and he nattered to her as they walked away, no doubt relaying today's tall tale. They were almost out of sight when the blond girl turned around and shot Sora a dirty look, leaving no doubt that she'd heard both stories, seen the lie and the conflict. Seen through them just like he'd expected Roxas to. Sora tuned back around on his wall and continued worrying. If this wasn't all some elaborate rouse -- If -- and Roxas really had forgotten, then would his sister tell him, would he believe her, or the stranger he'd met at the park?

This whole thing, quite frankly, was a nightmare.

The next day, Sora didn't even bother trying to avoid Roxas. Maybe if he actually talked to him, he'd be able to laugh it all off, or something. Turned out there was no need. When Roxas sat down beside him on the concrete wall, his sister just metres away, trying to look as though she wasn't listening, the first thing he said was, "Geez, we've been friends for three days already and you still haven't told me anything about you!"

At which point, Sora blinked, then frowned, then gave the male equivalent of a sigh and began talking.

Day after day, it went on. Roxas would turn up, utterly shocked that Sora still hadn't said anything at all about his life, then Sora would spin some tale while Roxas listened, completely enthralled. Around about four-thirty, his sister -- her name was Naminé -- would come to drag him away, sending a dirty look in Sora's direction.

There were some days that Roxas didn't show, some days that Sora didn't. Some days they didn't talk, just wandered around, threw stones at the ducks, swam in the pool. Some days they did both. Some days they arrived early and got the best seats; dry grassy spots with shade just inches away. Sometimes they stayed late and climbed trees together, staying there until it got so late that it was getting dark and Naminé was throwing a fit.

Roxas had, at some point, started having trouble remembering Sora's name. No big deal, since he still ran over to say hi, but he'd forget the 'So' or the 'ra' or not say his name at all. At least, that's what Sora figured.

The tales were getting more and more outrageous, things happening in them that were far from believable, and yet, Roxas never once doubted what Sora had to say. A sceptical look never crossed his face.

Naminé warmed up slowly, she never accepted Sora exactly, and he had no doubts that if he dared hurt her 'baby brother' he'd be on the receiving end of a very painful amputation. But her looks faded from dirty to exasperated to pitying. That was one that Sora just didn't get, but at least she was playing along.

Worry and fear had faded away after about the third day, and Sora now spent his evenings planning the next day's story, letting his imagination run free in ways he hadn't done in years. He was excited about Roxas turning up now, and not only because he listened. In the few times that it had been Roxas talking and telling, Sora had discovered a friend, and a good one at that.

So, when Sora sat on his wall and watched Roxas' gaze slide past him onto the next person, looking lost despite the guiding hand that Naminé had on his shoulder, Sora frowned painfully and felt kinda betrayed.

When Naminé spotted him, she sent a look that was a mixture of that odd pity and anger. Sora threw his arms up in a 'What the hell?' gesture, and was rewarded with Roxas being led towards him.

"Hey Roxas, this is Sora, remember?" Naminé prompted. Sora opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. There would be some explanation for Roxas not remembering who he was. A very sensible and obvious explanation that he tell Sora all about the second his sister let them be.

"...Sora." It sounded like a question -- Are you Sora? Is Sora your name? -- and it knocked Sora's certainty a little.

"Rox! Hey!" He tried to stay upbeat, refusing to admit that there was something wrong.

Naminé was watching closely, and for once, Sora looked to her for reassurance.

"Sora," Roxas replied, more sure of himself this time.

Sora made a valiant attempt at normal conversation. "What's up?"

"The sky." And he said it with that oh-so-Roxas grin on his face, making Sora relax and Naminé step away, still glaring at Sora. For what, he had no idea.

That afternoon when she came to get Roxas, Nami sent him ahead with a five dollar note and a request for a lemonade iceblock at the shop across the road. "I'll catch up!" she told him and the second he was out of earshot she turned on Sora with a face like thunder.

"You idiot!" she hissed, and Sora took a step back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know! What am I supposed to be doing?" The amputation was coming, he just knew it.

"Not this!" For someone so small and blonde, she sure had quite a temper. "Not these stupid idiotic stories that change every day!"

"Hey," Sora raised his hands to protect himself, not sure whether or not she was about to slap him, and at a complete loss as to how to deal with a violent female. "He enjoys listening, who are you to say I can't tell him stories?"

"Did it not occur to you, that second day, or even the third, when he didn't remember, that he might have memory problems?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then why do you keep doing this?" Naminé seemed almost in tears by now, her anger losing its edge. "If you want him to remember, you have to tell him the same thing over and over again. But you! You tell him something different everyday, nothing sticks! This morning your name didn't even stick!"

Sora only just followed her, "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'll... I dunno, change?"

"Well, you better." She inhaled and stood up straight, to make things more dramatic no doubt. "Because if you don't, then one of these days he won't know who you are at all."

He froze at that one. To forget his name, or not spot him in a crowd was one thing, but to have Roxas forget him altogether?

"Hey! Wait!" Sora called as Naminé walked away. "What do I do? Tell him the same thing everyday?"

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "It doesn't have to be the same thing, just... The same story. Pick one and stick to it, maybe he will too."

Sora had a billion and one stories he could have told. Some were too short to be considered, some plain stupid, but that still left him with plot upon appealing plot. And he had no idea how to choose. He'd never had to before, and if he'd been able to pick and stick at any point in his life, then...

Circles. Stupid, stupid circles. He wanted something amazing and clever, but Sora knew from experience that what sounded great now could be boring and old within days, hours even. But he had to pick one. And he had to pick a good one, something epic he could tell for days on end.

By the time Naminé 'introduced' them the next morning with a very significant look in Sora's direction, he still hadn't chosen. He tried to keep the light conversation from heading towards where he knew it would go. To the one thing that Roxas never remembered. To the one thing he'd be sure to ask. And surprise, surprise, ten minutes or so later:

"Hey Sora, you never told me, where abouts are you from."

"I, ah..." His mind scrabbled and tripped over itself, but nothing fitted, none of his maybe-plans made it out of his mouth. He'd wing it then, that could always work. "I was born on the little set of islands called Destiny. They were pretty secluded, but it was okay, me and my best friend used have so much fun! Then one day this girl turned up with no memory at all!"

And he was off, no idea where he was going, or how to make it work, but he'd find a way. Somehow.

Roxas never forgot his name again, never missed him in a crowd. After the first few days when 'Where do you come from?' had Sora's stomach dropping with the knowledge that he'd have to summarise the story so far, again. It wasn't long though, before Roxas was asking for the rest of his story, wanting to hear the next part of the epic tale Sora spun for him.

Naminé stopped glaring quite so much and the two boys spent incredible amounts of time together; talking, walking, climbing, sitting. And not only did the story move on, but they talked about normal things as well. School and parents, crazy uncles that lived in the attic. They became close, brilliant friends, like none Sora had had before, and they hardly ever fought.

Finally, Sora got what people meant when they said they loved their friends. Because he loved Roxas. Maybe, being a guy, he wasn't supposed to, but it didn't matter. Every so often, the question of 'friendly or romantic' entered his mind, but it was pushed aside in favour of just enjoying what he had.

"He died!" Roxas cried in outrage, stopping Sora mid-sentence. "After all he did, he died? Man, that must have sucked."

"Yeah, pretty much. It was sad. I'd hated him so much before all that, but he wasn't so bad after all. He probably saved us in there. I owe him a lot." It was getting deep now. Sora knew this story so well that he did feel a pang of sadness.

"He wanted to save you, though, because of who was inside you," Roxas pointed out.

"Yeah he did, and I can't thank him enough. We can't thank him enough."

King of detail he may have been, but the story had to end sometime, and end it did. A mostly happy ending, but one with a touch of sadness that Roxas appreciated. It was way late and the sun was about to set. Naminé had left hours ago, finally trusting Sora with her brother now that things had started sticking

The park was nearly empty, bar a few people over by the swings. Sora and Roxas sat on the grass by the duck pond, watching the stupid creatures do their stupid thing. With the story gone, finished, over, and Roxas having followed it the whole way, Sora wanted to know whether his efforts had worked. Roxas knew his name, that was for sure, and the story, but what else? Had he forgotten anything? had he remembered anything.

"Hey, Rox?" Sora shifted his weight and looked over at his best friend. "Wanna play a game?"

Roxas pulled his raise-one-eyebrow trick. Something Sora had tried and failed to replicate many a time. Much to Roxas' amusement. "What kind of game?"

"A game where we ask each other questions." Sora suggested, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "You ask me one, I ask you one."

"Sure, why not. Sounds good."

It took half an hour for Sora to work up his nerve, and in that time he'd managed to discover a wealth of tidbits, tiny facts and feelings that entranced him for no apparent reason.

The sun was low in the sky, nothing more than a glowing blob on the horizon. It was nice, Sora thought, and he started to understand the obsession society had with sunsets. All the colours, the intensity, it felt like magic. And to share it with someone, to look at the lightshow and know they were seeing the same thing...

It felt right. And yet, Sora was so sure it shouldn't. Because this whole thing was so epically confusing. Not only the memories and the stories, but Roxas himself. He knew there was a line, there had to be. Friends don't make out with each other, and couples don't sit beside each other, watching a sunset and not touching. There had to be a line, but Sora couldn't figure exactly where to draw it. There should be neon markers, and signs every step of the way, this should all be so easy. It wasn't though, and Sora had no idea what Roxas was to him, or if there was a word for it at all. But Sora's head was heavy and he leaned sideways to rest it on Roxas' shoulder, and a few minutes later his head was on Roxas' lap and there were fingers threading through his hair, and that sort of answered his questions.

They'd been quiet for quite some time, just resting and breathing and feeling right. Sora had no idea if it was his turn or not, or if the game had been abandoned all together, but he didn't think that Roxas would mind, so he closed his eyes and focused on the fingers in his hair and asked.

"What do you know about me?"

"Hmm?" Roxas hummed a little, then inhaled to speak, and Sora knew that his mouth would be twisted up a little, one eye more closed than the other as he thought. "Lots. You have brown hair, and blue eyes. You like sitting on the wall and you think to much. Naminé never used to like you, and she still doesn't, sometimes. But you're my friend and she's just gonna have to deal."

It was true, all of it, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. And he had a feeling Roxas knew exactly what he was getting at.

"What do you really know about me? More than just the little stuff."

The grass was wet beneath his legs, and his heels ached from being pressed into the ground, and Sora was pretty damn sure he looked a sight with screwed up eyes, but what he really noticed was the way that those fingers had drifted from his hair to his face. To the dip beside his eyes, the spot where his jaw met his neck.

And it still felt right.

"Your name is Sora," Roxas said, voice light and Sora wasn't sure if he was looking down, or at the sky, "And nothing you say is real."

Sora's eyes flew open, and he stared straight up at tiny smile on Roxas' face, straight up into those eyes that had been looking down. "Nothing?" he whispered, and it was about all he could do.

"Nothing," Roxas assured him. He still smiled, even though Sora knew his own face was somewhere in between fear and shock. And the smile felt wrong and right at the same time, and Sora's mind couldn't figure that one out right then, so he closed his eyes again and focused on fingers instead.

"And that's all I know," Roxas added on, a little late Sora thought, because 'I've forgotten almost everything about you' should really come first. Not last.

"So it was all for nothing then? I sat and talked to you for days on end, the same damn story every time, and you still don't remember?" His voice was sharp, sharp because he was confused, and hurt. Sharp because he'd failed.

The fingers stopped, lying frozen on the side of Sora's face, and when Roxas spoke, it was sad, not angry. "It wasn't all for nothing," he all but whispered. "I don't remember what you said, or what we did. Not clearly anyway, but I know that I liked it. I remember enjoying being around you." His fingers lifted and brushed once more through Sora's hair. "I remember what this feels like. Isn't that enough?"

"Yeah," Sora said, because really, it was. So what if Roxas didn't remember in what order they'd climbed the trees today, or whether Axel or Demyx had died first. In a few years time, Sora probably wouldn't either. But he'd still remember how much he'd loved being with Roxas.

Sora opened his eyes again, and smiled when Roxas returned to stroking his face. For a moment, the blond held his gaze, then he turned to look at the sunset, and Sora did too. The sun was gone now, so were the colours, and the vividness of the moment had faded, but it had been, and it would come again.

And when it came down to it, that was enough.