Geostigma Kills
By: Evantis
Rated: M
Summary: Freak. Monster. Ugly. That was all Cloud knew himself as. Timid. Alone. Scared. That was how he lived. But not anymore. [LeonCloud
For Nut. 'Kay, Nut – I know you're not a big fan of LeonCloud, but there is Akuroku, y'know.
Okay, this is my new project. Well…it's not really new. I started on this fic about six months ago. I actually planned for it to be one long oneshot, but I changed my mind. I've actually written most of it, but I've divided the story into parts, and this is the first chapter.
Note: This fic contains implied sex in later chapters. Nothing graphic, but if it still bothers you, then just press the back button. The pairing is mainly LeonCloud, but there is Akuroku, a little RikuSora, implied TidusYuna, and if you squint, maybe you can interpret AuronTidus. Also, geostigma is a disease taken from Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children. Though the disease is somewhat alike to the one I have in my story, most of the properties disease in this story are made up by me, and evolution I plan for it later is completely fictitious.
I hope the story isn't too confusing or boring.
Please read, enjoy and review! X)
Chapter One: Sunrise
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Cloud knows that in this world, everything is biased.
There's a sordid reality nobody can change. Cloud knows that if you're a cleaner, it will be near impossible to befriend an important entrepreneur. He knows that if you have a meagre salary, nobody will think highly of you. He knows that if you look thin and weak, the hottest jock will treat you like a disease. He knows that if you have a huge Adam's apple, or an overload of freckles and pimples, no girl will bother to even glance at you.
And he knows that if you're sick, and your skin is black like charcoal, your face is mangled and mauled, you'll never be accepted.
Not by anyone.
Not in this lifetime.
Cloud knows that beneath the façade of so many well wishes, hypocrites in the charity world – once you're supposedly contagious, nobody will want to help. The aids and donations do not come like water like they do on television; charity organizations will not come with open arms. Because once you're a danger, and you resemble nothing short of a monster, nobody wants to know you anymore. Nobody wants to help you.
There's a lot of crap about the 'look inside, not outside' thing. There's even an old saying, a phrase – "don't judge a book by its cover." But the truth is, nobody is ever going to look inside. They'll judge you from the outside, before they decide if they want to judge you on the inside. Nobody's going to see you – a person with blackish, rotting skin – and say that, "Hey, let's be friends." This isn't a soap opera. This isn't a donation drive on television. This isn't a dream world. This is reality, and in reality, nothing's so simple. Nothing's what it seems.
Cloud knows that for people like him, the only thing they can do is just hide.
And just hope for the better.
Leon remembers nothing much of his childhood, but there is one incident that is fresh and vivid in his mind, even now. This haunting memory that always managed to drive hot guilt into the pit of stomach, and make him want to throw up. He feels sick with himself, whenever his mind brings that picture into his head.
He doesn't even know the boy's name. But he knows the boy was in kindergarten with him. And unlike Leon, who was popular and well liked, the boy was hated, discriminated and treated like an outcast. Leon doesn't exactly remember why, but he knows the boy was sick. So terribly sick that his skin was starting to rot. Or at least, that was what it looked like. Leon still remembers the pattern of black devouring the boy's left arm, whenever he changed for physical education classes. He still remembers how, by each day, that streak of black thickened in width, grew in length. He remembers how till one day, the parents started to complain, demand the boy be expelled, for his illness was contagious. The children might catch it.
Leon still remembers how the boy's younger brother and father stood up for him. Leon still remembers how the boy huddled against a tree, his small legs drawn up protectively to his chest, his bewildered blue eyes wrought with hurt and pain. Leon remembers how the headmaster stood valiantly in front of the boy, defending him, saying that the boy's illness was nowhere close to contagious. And Leon wanted to believe the headmaster. No, he didn't want the boy to leave the school. It all felt very wrong.
Leon remembers his own father in the fray. His father – a tall, prominent man with long black hair, and intelligent, bright blue eyes. He remembers his own father jeering at the boy, insulting the headmaster. He still remembers those words of hatred, how his father was part of the group egging the headmaster to expel the outcast. Leon hears those loud noises of protestation, how so many went against an old man, a small-sized father, and a little boy no more than four. He can still hear the sobs and cries of the frightened boy who looked like he wanted nothing more than to melt into the tree somehow. Like he wanted to escape, run away and never come back.
Leon remembers clearly that in the midst of it all, he had been standing in the corner, at the playground, beside the swing. He had been watching with wide, stormy grey-blue eyes. He had seen his father raise his fist; he had seen several other fathers trying to hit the headmaster. He could see the wives of the men with their arms around their children, sounding righteous and justified as they insulted the headmaster, criticized the ill child. He could hear, amidst the noise, the barking of the dogs, the loud, shrill voice of the little boy, and the sobs of the sick boy.
Leon also remembers that he did nothing to help.
He sighs as he picks up his school bag from the corner of the kitchen and starts his walk to school.
He never saw the boy again, not after that day at the kindergarten. The headmaster had said that the poor boy had been sent to hospital, for his mental health was failing, and his physical health wasn't doing much better anymore. He said that the boy was much better off without the hullabaloo of daily life, without all the criticism he received. The headmaster had also said judiciously that people should not be discriminated because they're sick. They're suffering, too.
Leon knows the boy was suffering. Everyday at the kindergarten, the boy was mercilessly picked on. He was called names; he was bullied, knocked around and stepped all over on. Leon wanted so many times to help, but he didn't want to go against his friends. He regrets it now. He regrets not helping, when he was the given the chance. He feels angry, and he always feels the empty hole in his heart. It was a place not filled, not filled because he didn't help the boy when he had the chance to.
Sometimes when he walks to school, he thinks of how different all of it might have been. Maybe…if people hadn't been so mean, if he had stood up for the boy as well, would the boy be his friend right now? Would the boy walk with him to school? Would he be Leon's confidante and best friend? Might there be something more? So many questions, so many possibilities – all vanquished because Leon didn't have the courage to make the difference.
He wonders as the school comes into his sight, where the boy might be now.
Sora has not had a day when he does not smile.
He smiles in spite of everything. His heart sometimes feels like it's going to crumble and shatter, but he still smiles. He smiles for the sake of everybody. He smiles for the sake of his best friend – Roxas, for his boyfriend – Riku, for his older brother – Leon and for his parents. He tries to make everything seem all right, when everything isn't really quite.
He notices Roxas's weary, fatigued look every morning. Roxas looks more tired by the day, his blue eyes duller with each passing moment. His movements are sluggish, his attitude in homework and school ridiculous. He looks worried and he doesn't ever really smile. But then, Sora thinks – what reason has he to smile? His brother is in hospital, his father is struggling with bills, and he has two people and two dogs to feed plus a hospital bill that increases each day.
Then there is Riku, whose parents splitting up. Sora notices Riku's irritated, angry, hurt face everyday. He tries to bring his parents back together, but it isn't working. Sora knows he can't help much, but he tries. He does try.
And Leon, who seems detached from life. It's almost like he thinks life has no meaning. He goes on everybody with this blank, expressionless face. Sure, he's a straight-A student, with thousands of admirers. He's the best runner on the school track team, his grades are flawless and he's the family favourite. But it's almost as if his life is too monotonous for him. So Sora smiles, hoping that will add more light to his brother's life, add more colour to his brother's black and white world.
People say smiles can change lives.
But Sora, with aching face muscles and a heart that's aching even more, doesn't believe that anymore.
Roxas feels crushed by burden that constantly piles up on his shoulders.
Each day, his life is painfully the same. His father comes home, looking weary and tired, with a stack of letters tucked under one arm – most of them coloured an angry red. His father will then proceed to eat a short dinner, and then retire to his room, where Roxas knows he stays up all night trying to sort out bills, and wrecking over how to pay for them.
When his father goes to bed, Roxas has to secretly feed the two dogs in the house – Bobby, nicknamed for Bobbin Greyfair and Toby, short for Tobias. Bobby is a small white dog with brown puddles. He's a little chubby, with long droopy ears, and with sweet black eyes. Toby is bigger – a mongrel of some type picked off the street. He's leaner, and taller than Bobby with a straight fall of longish fair hair, and bright blue eyes. Roxas has made up thousands of parent possibilities for Toby.
Roxas knows his father doesn't like the dogs being fed, because that takes money. But Roxas refuses to let his two only real friends in the house starve. So he feeds Bobby and Toby, often off his own plate. If there's no enough, he rummages all over the house, sometimes even in the trashcan.
Life is miserable and hard for him, but Roxas doesn't give up.
When his father leaves the letters he has finished looking through on the table, Roxas will take his turn to go through them.
With a cup of icy cold water next to him, and Bobby and Toby curled up at his feet, Roxas will look through the bills. He'll learn that bailiffs have threatened to barge into the hospital, that their credit card is expired, but there is still a robustly large amount of money to pay, that the electric and water company have threatened to cut supply to the house in a week if a certain amount isn't paid up. Roxas drifts through all of these like it is a dream. But he keeps his mind alert; his eyes open when the hospital bill comes.
Each night his brother spends at the hospital costs a fortune. One night can pay for two of the red letters, but Roxas's father is adamant that his eldest son comes first.
"After Cloud gets well," he would always say. Roxas feels like tearing at his hair, and telling his father that his brother would probably never come closer to recovering, but he keeps quiet, for the sake of the man who's already trying so hard.
Roxas starts at the increasing amount written on the hospital bill each time it comes. For each night, for each treatment, for each test, for each scan – everything must be paid for. Nothing is subsidized, for no charity has stepped up to offer subsidising.
Once he has finished looking through the letters, Roxas goes to the living room. He sleeps on the sofa and does his homework on the coffee table. He has forced his father to use the only room in the house, and he was so determined that his father finally gave in. Roxas would sleep in the small living room, trying to block out the numbers in his head. Bobby and Toby snuggle next to him in the couch, and Roxas fantasizes in his head, dreams about how everything would get better, once his brother was home.
He fantasizes, dreams, imagines – but they never become reality.
"You're doing much better, honey," Lenne says in an encouraging voice.
Cloud nods impassively.
"See right here?" Lenne says, holding up his right hand, while his fingers look burnt to the tip. "Look? It isn't so black anymore. I'm sure Dr Auron can find something to speed up the process."
Cloud feels something unhopeful.
"Does it still hurt?" Lenne asks softly.
He shakes his head, trying to take his hand back. Lenne lets it go, and smiles brightly. Cloud glances at her momentarily, but turns away quickly before she notices he's staring. There are few people in the hospital who notice Cloud, and even lesser who dare to talk to him.
Lenne pets him on his head, and affectionately runs her hand through his hair, before straightening and picking her clipboard up from the small table next to the cot. "I'll be back later again," she tells him, "Be good, okay? Yuna might come around later. To see if you're doing okay. Dr Auron and Tidus will be here tonight. I'll get Dr Auron to give you something, okay? And do you want more painkillers?"
Cloud shakes his head, and watches Lenne leave the room.
Once he's sure she's gone, he stares at his own hand. And true enough, what had once been a pitch-black had changed into a light greyish tinge overnight. Cloud's eyes are filled with a little disbelief, and his head spins a little. He pushes the sleeve of his hospital shirt back, and for the first time in almost ten years, he sees the creamy white that is his skin.
Leon does not have a girlfriend.
This is because he doesn't really like girls all that much. Well, to be honest – he doesn't really like anybody in the first place. There are only a few people he really considers as his friends.
There is Aerith Garrinsbough, quiet and reclusive, but kind and compassionate. She sits next to him in class, always there to help. Her soft emerald eyes can melt anyone's heart. There is Yuffie Kisaragi, hyperactive, excited and always on the move. She's the descendant of a family of ninjas, and takes every opportunity to hurl someone else's pens and pencils at the people who cross her. There is also Axel Maximillan, who is his best friend and his exact opposite. Whilst Leon is silent and reserved, Axel is outgoing, loud and everything regarding the word 'fun'. That's Axel.
He arrives at the school, and a horde of girls are already by the girls, ready to greet him. It's routine – the girls at the gate, the boys at the front door. Not that he initiated this – they did it for no real reason. Leon is too tired to tell them to stop, for he's already told them countless times to stop the unbelievable rubbish. So he goes along with it, feeling lame and exposed.
The sensible ones stay in class, and Axel always leans against the wall opposite of the classroom door, greeting Leon with a "Yo!" Leon usually mutters an incoherent "Hello" in return. Then he wishes he can just disappear, as he gets assaulted in the classroom.
"Did you watch the sitcom last night?" Axel asks. "Hyne, it sucked, didn't it?"
Leon mumbles something that sounds relatively close to a "yeah", but he knows he doesn't watch television. He takes out his book and tries to revise for their science test today, and lets Axel fill up the silence with senseless prattling.
"Josie Ignation can't act, for Gaia's sake," Axel grumbled. "And no offence, but Kan Royston looks like a stone block. And honestly, I'm never going to watch that sitcom ever again. It totally sucks. I don't even understand the storyline! It's so ridiculously complicated, really. And it's supposed to be a sitcom."
Leon listens to Axel continue to talk, and watches as the school turns rowdy without the presence of a teacher, and wonders just what is he doing.
Dr Auron Rourke comes at night with his assistant, Tidus Keifer, just like Lenne said they would.
Dr Auron is about six feet tall, towering and imposing-looking. But beneath that hardened face, there is a much nicer person beneath, a person who can smile and make jokes. That's what makes Tidus Keifer look up to him so much. Tidus Keifer is a trainee doctor, who follows Dr Auron everywhere like a dog.
Tidus's girlfriend is Yuna. Yuna and Lenne are twins, with Lenne being the older.
Cloud doesn't move when Dr Auron pulls a chair up next to him, sits down and picks up his hand – the same one Lenne took, the same one he stared endlessly at for hours, marvelling at the small revealing of white skin.
Dr Auron scrutinizes the same spot, touching both black, white and grey skin with no fear. Cloud feels at ease. If only everyone in the world would be like Dr Auron, unafraid, caring and generous – then maybe Cloud will revise his opinion of everything. But once again, this is reality, not a television show.
The doctor stares for a few moments, before a smile cracks his normally serious face. Cloud's heart feels light, and he stares at the doctor. Tidus Keifer is smiling broadly behind the doctor, his tanned hands clasped around a bottle of medication.
"You're doing extremely well, my boy," Dr Auron says, his voice jovial. "It's excellent progress. You're making the fastest recovery of geostigma in the history of mankind. You should be proud of yourself."
Cloud shuddered. If ten years was supposed to be groundbreaking, he didn't want to think about other victims of the same disease. Instead he tries to focus on Tidus passing Dr Auron the bottle he was holding. Dr Auron then takes it, and sets it on the bedside table carefully, the smile gone from his face, his eyes solemn once more.
"I specially ordered this from Midgar," Dr Auron says, pointing to the bottle. "It will speed up in removing the scars. If you constantly take it properly for the next two weeks, I can assure you that by then, your skin will be flawless. Except maybe for your left arm, where it all started. It will take a little longer to rid the scars there, but eventually they'll be gone, too. I ordered this for you the first time you came to this hospital. I never imagined you'd get to use it so soon. Lenne will help you take the medicine – you don't have to do it on your own. Tidus and I will continue to check on you everyday."
"This is great," Tidus beams down at Cloud. "You're getting better. Thank Shiva! When you're better, I'll give you Blitzball lessons! You know, the game you like to watch on TV?"
The blonde cannot help, but let his lips twitch just a little bit upwards.
"You shouldn't be making such big plans yet," Dr Auron says jokingly. "Cloud hasn't been out of bed for almost ten years, Tidus. He's going to have to learn to walk around first."
"Yes, but when he does," Tidus's blue eyes sparkle with so much hope that Cloud can almost feel it in his chest, bubbling up from beneath his diseased skin. "We'll have fun, then."
Three Weeks Later:
Roxas presses his face into his hands during math class. He's sick and tired of algebra, of geometry, of fractions and of perimeters. He doesn't want to see numbers anymore. He can't take the sight of numbers.
I'm sorry, but we must have your overdue payment of $3000…
Sir, you owe us $1700…
Your electric bill for the month is…
He groans, as his head spins painfully.
"Roxas? Are you feeling alright?" Quistis Trepe asks lightly.
Roxas's cheeks burn as the whole class turns to look at him. He nods his head quickly, signalling for Quistis Trepe to go on with her explanations. He tries to look attentive, but his body is failing him badly. His eyes threaten to close, but he keeps them open.
Sora, sitting next to him – pokes him with a pen.
"What's wrong?" he asks, blue eyes filled with worry and anxiety. Roxas momentarily feels sick with himself – he's not only affecting himself, but those around him.
"It's alright," he replies, trying to make Sora smile the bright, cheery smile he knows so well. "I'm just sleepy."
Sora doesn't look convinced, but he nods and turns away anyway, back to scribbling notes while throwing side-glances at Roxas. Roxas's stomach starts to churn uncomfortably, and he's quite certain he's going to throw up. He tries not to think about what he had for lunch, because that makes his stomach heave even more. He's sure his skin is a alien-green by now, and some of the girls are giggling and pointing at him.
He wishes he doesn't have to do this.
He wishes he can just stay home with his father. He wishes he can sit with his father all day long without fear of bills, without fear of bailiffs, without fear of homework and exams. He wishes he can go to school for at least one day, and not worry that the brother he's never got to see doesn't die that very morning. Doesn't fade away. Doesn't let go of that last string that's holding him to this world.
When the lesson is over, Roxas is first out of the classroom, first out of the school, first onto the courtyard. He breathes in the fresh air – like a thirsty man dying for liquid, like a starved beggar seeing food, like a drowning man seeing the surface. His stomach feels relatively better; his head isn't so nauseous anymore.
He just stands still, inhaling and exhaling. As he looks up and casts a fast glance around the courtyard and past the school gates, his eyes catch a blinding flash of bronzed gold hair, and he immediately backtracks.
There's a young teenager standing by the gates, his body half under the dappled shade of a tree, half in the open sunlight that turns his spiky, yellowish gold hair a rustic bronze. His eyes are blue – not the light blue of a pale summer sky, not with the brightness of an aquamarine, but the oceanic coolness of a sapphire. A deep blue – two swirling pools of the liquidized stone that makes Roxas feel like he's drowning into their pressing, but gentle gaze. The teenager looks very thin, as if he's been sick for a long time, though it doesn't really show on his face, except for the faint bruises beneath his eyes that told of probable gauntness from before. Still, his legs and arms look slender, his entire frame fragile and lithe. He looks soft, his entire being with a touch of femininity.
Yet he is frighteningly, ethereally beautiful. His skin is marble white, smooth, flawless and creamy. His features are defined, his cheekbones set high. His face is a little bony, like the rest of his body, but that isn't much of a flaw. He has his head tilted slightly to the side, as he leans against one of the gateposts, and the sweet curve of his lean neck is revealed. His hips are too narrow, his waist thinner than Roxas's, like he hasn't been eating much. Everything about him looking fragile and cherubic.
His blonde locks fell around his face, but is spiky everywhere else. Some errant locks fall into his dazzling eyes, and Roxas's breath is taken away.
And yet…in spite of it all…there is something familiar about this boy. Like something taken off from a far off memory. He looks like someone from so far along before that Roxas can't even picture the face, but there is still familiarity.
As the courtyard fills with more students, everyone's attention is fixed on the stranger. The boy is dressed in a long-sleeved, white collared shirt that almost covers his smallish, thin hands. Black jeans follow the shape of his thin legs perfectly.
The stranger takes a step forward, and it's not long before everyone realizes he's walking towards Roxas.
It's then that Roxas sees so much of himself in the stranger. Though their eyes are of different hues, though the stranger's hair is much spikier than his, though his skin is creamier than his own, though his face are much more effeminate than his, it almost looks like they were taken out of the same picture.
"Roxas," the stranger breathes, and Roxas smells his sweet breath. His voice is twinkling and fair, musical and almost velvety.
Before Roxas can do anything in response, the stranger has wrapped his arms around Roxas, gentle breath tickling his hair, thin, slender arms loosely winding around his waist. The stranger bends down a little, for he is a whole head taller than Roxas.
"Roxas," the boy says again, and tightens his hold. Roxas doesn't pull away. The embrace is comforting – it provides him with warmth and security, something he's not had for a long time. The heavy weight has been taken off his shoulders.
"Who are you?" Roxas manages to ask softly, a minute later. He's still in that gentle, alluring embrace.
The stranger pulls away, and a small smile graces his beautiful face. Blonde locks fall into his eyes, brushing against his cheeks. Blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight, bronzed gold hair contrasting with the creamy-white complexion of the boy. Roxas's heart stops, when the answer he already knows comes out.
"Roxas," the stranger says, "I'm your brother."
I think everything is still a little vague. I hope everything becomes a little clearer as the story goes on.
Once again, please review and give me your comments!