Chapter Text
Riku loved his grandfather dearly.
He embodied the qualities that Riku wanted to emulate— wise, strong, and dedicated until the end. Every gem of wisdom lovingly bestowed shaped Riku's understanding of life.
With a reverence for self-sufficiency, his grandfather possessed an innate talent for crafting beauty from the broken, transforming seemingly irreparable items into a harmonious blend of form and function. He imparted his extensive knowledge of repair to Riku—from delicate knick-knacks to robust cars and even the sturdy bones of houses. Armed with this expertise, Riku pursued a career in construction and renovation, transforming his grandfather's teachings into a lucrative profession.
Though he loved his grandfather, Riku didn't shed a single tear at his funeral. Succumbing to such weakness would mar the legacy of the man he aspired to become. The image he sought to project, the embodiment of strength and composure, left no room for tears. Riku had better ways of grieving that didn’t involve pitiful displays of his emotions.
In the will, Riku was left with his grandfather's home in a small, rural town in central Texas. Having resided there briefly before relocating to assisted living, Riku assumed the property had been sold. The revelation that the home was now truly his own came as a surprise, a gift from beyond the grave that added a new layer to the legacy his grandfather had left him.
That is how he ended up in the middle of nowhere, under the sweltering August sun, staring thoughtfully at the dilapidated home before him. It was a reflection of both the physical and emotional toll time had taken. The wear and tear, visible scars etched on the facade, the neglect that mirrored the state of his grandfather's mind in his final years. It was a silent testament to the struggles endured within, a withering echo of memories now left in Riku's care. The paint was peeling, the wood was rotting, and the overgrown yard was in a state of disarray.
The interior of the home proved to be in worse condition. As Riku crossed the threshold, the pungent scent of mold assailed his nostrils, the musty air hanging heavy and humid. A leak in the roof seemed probable. The kitchen tiles, once pristine, were now filthy and lifting at the edges. Furniture, beyond salvaging, demanded disposal and complete replacement. The appliances in both the kitchen and bathrooms begged for a fresh start. Certain areas of the home could be salvaged, but it was clear that he would have to start from scratch more often than not.
Within the decay of neglect lay an opportunity to resurrect the home. Riku wanted to channel all of his grief into restoration. He couldn't think of a better way to honor the man he admired. As he envisioned the transformation, a hopeful thought crossed his mind – perhaps, once fully renovated, he could sell the home to a loving family who would cherish it just as his grandfather did.
With a sigh, he acknowledged the daunting task ahead of him. This would take a while. Like all his other projects, he just needed to tackle this one step at a time. Fortunately, he could afford to focus solely on the home for the next several months. If this played out as he hoped, he could see a modest profit for his efforts.
The garage was relatively clean, so he stowed his belongings there for the time being. Riku acknowledged the necessity of spending another week or two at the hotel before the home could be habitable.
His first order of business was to address the root cause of the leak, tracing its path to eliminate the source and subsequently tackle the mold infestation. Surprisingly, the process didn't drag on as Riku had anticipated. On the second day of renovations, he pinpointed a crack in the roof, swiftly addressing the source of the leak.
With determined resolve, he meticulously cleaned the home from top to bottom, eliminating every trace of mold after disposing of the ruined furniture. Standing in the aftermath of this initial cleanup, Riku felt a renewed sense of readiness—the real work, the transformation of the home, could finally begin.
Following the removal of grimy tiles, faded wood paneling, and musty carpet, Riku turned his attention to the utilities. He hired plumbers and electricians in the area to facilitate the installation of the new appliances. After about two weeks of dedicated work, Riku could officially move in. Well, ‘move in’ may be a stretch. The furniture would have to wait until the floors were finished, so he improvised with a simple mattress on the bare bedroom floor.
In between renovations, Riku took the opportunity to familiarize himself with the town. The stark contrast from his metropolitan upbringing in Austin exposed him to an entirely different way of life.
The county sprawled across long stretches of land, occasionally interrupted by bursts of civilization—large superstores, gas stations, and charming vintage-looking storefronts that stood as relics of a bygone era. The landscape was adorned with vast farmlands, undoubtedly a cornerstone of the local economy. In fact, the only neighboring home on his street appeared to be a decently sized wheat farm.
As picturesque as it was, the adjustment would take some time for Riku. Having grown up in a city that was constantly evolving and pulsating with energy, the transition to such a quiet and simple town seemingly stuck in another time was nothing short of a cultural shock. It was like stepping in to a whole new world.
In the city, he blended in effortlessly, but here it was the exact opposite. He didn’t even need to open his mouth for the locals to tell that he was an outsider. It was probably in the way he dressed or carried himself that sent off those signals, or maybe the people around here just had a sixth sense. Either way, it made him feel a little self-conscious.
He couldn’t shake the feeling as he meandered around the farmer's market, drawn by his curiosity for the county’s main export. As he strolled among the stalls, the friendly camaraderie between the locals highlighted the contrast. Each suspicious glance and guarded interaction only served to amplify his sense of being an interloper, a disrupter in the otherwise peaceful collective.
Maybe he was just reading too deeply into things, being in a new place resulting in hyper-awareness. He fixed his gaze on the vibrant produce, attempting to block out his sudden bout of anxiety.
“Just harvested this morning.” A raspy voice drawled, snapping Riku out of his thoughts.
Lifting his gaze from the cucumbers he hadn’t realized he was staring at, Riku found himself locking eyes with the young man behind the stall. A wide, friendly smile greeted him. The pressure in Riku's chest seemed to dissipate, taking the tension in his shoulders along with it.
Wow, he’s cute, Riku thought involuntarily.
The man's cerulean eyes held Riku captive, their vibrant brilliance unaffected by the shade of low trucker hat struggling to contain his unruly chestnut hair. Tanned and freckled skin highlighted the upturned bridge of his nose, and a bright, white smile lifted round, dirt-smudged cheeks. Despite a shorter, lean stature, the muscles in his forearms were well-defined, showcased by the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel button-down draped over a stained white tank top.
“Wanna try a sample?” he asked in a breathy twang, far less grating than the other accents Riku had encountered here. Or perhaps it just sounded better coming from his lips. The man held out a small cup of cucumber slices with his plastic-gloved hands, his eager and unwavering smile inviting Riku to partake.
“Sure, thanks,” Riku accepted the cup with a nod of acknowledgment. Retrieving a slice of cucumber, he popped it into his mouth. The fresh flavor coated his tongue, its crisp and delightful texture making each chew a satisfying experience. After a moment of relishing the taste, he swallowed and remarked, “It's good.”
The man tilted his head to the side. “Y’ain’t from around here, are ya,” he remarked, more of an observation than a question.
Riku shook his head. “That obvious, huh?”
The man shrugged. “Well, everybody knows everyone in this town. Not often I see a new face.” Extending a hand for a shake, he offered a warm welcome. “I’m Sora!”
Riku smiled and took the offered hand, surprised by the firmness of the handshake. “Riku,” he introduced himself.
“It’s a pleasure, Riku,” Sora greeted, returning his hand to his hip. “So, what brings a guy like you to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere?” He gestured vaguely to their bucolic surroundings.
Riku couldn’t stifle the snort that escaped his nose, amused by Sora’s candidness. “‘A guy like me’? What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted with a playful smirk.
Sora, equally smug, returned the smirk. “I could spot a city boy a mile away.”
“Ah.” Riku's gaze dropped to the cup in his grasp, his insecurity threatening to resurface. “I’m renovating a house not too far from here.”
“Wait, the one on Destiny Trail?” Sora asked with infectious excitement, leaning over the stall.
Riku snapped his gaze back to Sora. “Yeah. How did you—?”
“Well, I’ll be damned! I own the farm down the road!” Sora declared with a proud smile.
This guy owns the wheat farm?
The idea of someone presumably his age taking on the responsibilities of a farm owner intrigued him. He was quite different from the stereotype he had of farmers in his mind. As the reality sunk in, another realization dawned on him – the prospect of having an attractive and charismatic neighbor. Sora, with his bright smile and boyish charm, was the literal embodiment of the boy-next-door.
Maybe staying in this town won’t be so bad.
"Hm. No kidding. Seems like quite the operation," Riku remarked, attempting to convey a sense of casual nonchalance.
Sora nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Just me and my brother. I’ve been meaning to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood, but we just got so busy with the harvest. We haven’t had a neighbor since that old man moved out.”
A bittersweet smile played on Riku’s lips at the mention of his grandfather. “Yeah, my Grandpa. He left the home to me when he passed.”
Sora’s cheerful demeanor took a somber turn, his smile dropping suddenly. “Oh, man… I’m sorry to hear that. I used to come over and mow his lawn sometimes. He was such a sweet guy,” Sora recounted with a nostalgic fondness.
Nodding somberly, Riku’s guard momentarily slipped from the warmth in Sora’s voice. "Yeah, he was. I'm fixing up the house to honor his memory," he admitted, the words flowing freely as if drawn out by the sincerity in Sora's eyes.
It was an uncharacteristic openness, sharing such personal sentiments with a stranger, but the easy connection he felt with Sora made the disclosure feel natural.
Sora's smile slowly resurfaced, a touch more reserved but no less genuine. "I love that idea. I know how much he loved that house," Sora commented, his voice continuing to carry a soft understanding. "Seems like a lot of work for just one guy, though."
Riku offered a nonchalant shrug. “It's manageable.”
Sora leaned in a little, resting his head against his hand propped up by his elbow on the stall. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the wood. “Maybe I could swing by and lend a hand sometime?” he suggested, leaving Riku to wonder if it was genuine kindness or something more.
Is he coming on to me?
He quickly pushed that thought aside. Just southern hospitality, he reassured himself.
“I guess a little help couldn’t hurt,” Riku muttered.
Perhaps it wasn't the most prudent decision Riku had ever made, welcoming a stranger into his new home, but Sora appeared trustworthy. After all, they were neighbors, and a visit from Sora seemed almost inevitable.
Sora's wide grin returned with a vengeance. "Awesome! What’s your number?" he chirped with evident excitement.
Riku blinked, inwardly marveling at the unexpected turn of events. How did a trip to the farmers market in a small conservative town lead to him getting a cute guy's number? It seemed like a stroke of pure dumb luck.
As they exchanged numbers, another figure made his way to the stall. A man, roughly Riku's height, with silver hair flowing over his shoulders. In stark contrast to the laid-back local attire, he was elegantly dressed, a notable departure that set him apart as another outsider. Maybe it wasn’t a sixth sense after all. Whether it was in the confident posture or the coldness in his hazel eyes, the man seemed to carry a certain imposing presence that immediately seized Riku's attention. Even Sora, in response, subtly scaled down his demeanor in the newcomer's company.
Sora instantly put his phone away. “G'morning, Xehanort," He greeted the man meekly.
“Hello, Sora.” The man, Xehanort, smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
Sora sighed and spared Riku a passing glance. He looked rather embarrassed for some reason.
"I’ll have it next week. It was a bit of a slow month for us,” Sora muttered.
Curiosity gnawed at Riku. Does Sora owe this guy money? Is he a landlord or something? But that couldn't be right; Sora said that he owned the farm.
“There’s no need to stress. If we need to readjust your payment plan, I’ll be happy to discuss that with you at a later time,” Xehanort offered, the disconcerting smile evolving into a subtle smirk.
What’s this guy’s deal? Should I leave? This seems like a private conversation.
Riku mulled over his options, but another glance from Sora indicated he wanted him to stay. So he did.
“No, thank you. I’ll have it next week,” Sora repeated, his unease palpable.
Xehanort huffed through his nose. “Very well. Just know the offer is always on the table.” He shifted his attention to Riku. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand to Riku in greeting. “Xehanort.”
Riku hesitantly shook the offered hand, the greeting lacking the firm warmth he had experienced with Sora. The contact felt limp and clammy, leaving an uncomfortable impression lingering on Riku's palm.
“Riku,” he replied simply, opting for brevity in the awkward introduction.
“New around here?” Xehanort inquired, his hazel eyes piercing and calculating, dissecting Riku with a scrutinizing gaze.
Riku nodded once. “Yup.”
Xehanort narrowed his eyes, clearly detecting Riku’s lack of enthusiasm. “Well, welcome to our humble town. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
How did he pick up on the fact that Riku was only here temporarily?
Riku crossed his arms over his chest, subconsciously guarding himself. “Thanks.”
“Well then, I’ll see you around. Take care.” With that, Xehanort turned gracefully on his heels and made his exit, leaving Riku with a distinct sense of discomfort. Sora let out a sigh of relief. Riku wiped his palm on his jeans.
They bid each other mildly awkward farewells, the vibe undoubtedly dampened by Xehanort’s presence. Riku left the market empty-handed. The lingering unease clung to him as he navigated his way home, an unsettling feeling compelling him to cast occasional glances over his shoulder despite his attempts to shake off the discomfort.
What a creep.
The following day, Sora made good on his promise to help Riku with the renovations. He appeared at Riku's front door in the afternoon, a basket of freshly laid eggs in one hand and a six-pack in the other. He greeted Riku with an infectious beam.
“Hey, neighbor.” Sora's cheerfulness seemed undaunted, as if the unsettling encounter with Xehanort had never occurred.
“Hey. Thanks for coming,” Riku responded, offering a subdued smile in return.
As Sora stepped through the threshold, he let out a low whistle, taking in the surroundings. “You sure have your work cut out for you.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Riku said as he closed the front door behind Sora.
Sora placed the beer and eggs gingerly onto the unfinished countertop. “For you. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you, that's very thoughtful.”
“Sure thing! Eggs are fresh from the farm, beer's fresh from the gas station.” Sora chuckled. “You gotta share the beer though,” he added with a playful wink.
“Of course.” Riku shifted his attention to the unopened box of beer. “PBR?”
“S’at a problem?” Sora drawled, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
Riku shook his head and took two out of the box. They still retained a pleasant chill. “No, not at all, just didn't peg you as the PBR type.” Truthfully, PBR wasn't exactly Riku's favorite, the flavor a bit too watery for his taste.
Sora's vibrant laughter echoed through the barren room. “What were you expecting? One of them fancy Craft IPAs?” Sora tsked. “Boy, you’re in Blue Ribbon country.”
An amused huff escaped Riku’s nose. “Right. My mistake.” He casually tossed a can to Sora, whose impressive reflexes allowed him to catch it effortlessly.
With ease, they simultaneously popped open the tabs, tapped the cans together, and shared a long, synchronized swig. Riku marveled at how quickly they had developed this unspoken rhythm in just a little over a day of knowing each other. Sora seemed to notice it too, humming amusedly as he drank.
As Riku's lips parted from the can, he ruminated on the taste. Yep, just as unpleasant as ever, but the mere fact that these were a gift from Sora seemed to enhance the flavor a little.
Together, they began retiling the kitchen, meticulously laying out ceramic tiles, ensuring each piece aligned seamlessly. As they worked, the air buzzed with the sounds of measurement and cutting, creating a rhythmic harmony to their collaboration. Amid the manual labor, they engaged in pleasant small talk. Time seemed to dance away with each exchanged sentence.
"So it's just you and your brother working on that big farm? How do you manage that?" Riku asked as he marked a tile for cutting.
Sora, measuring the perimeter of the kitchen island, casually shrugged. "It's a lot of work, but we have a system. I take care of the animals and seasonal crops, and my brother looks after the wheat field. Occasionally, we'll hire some help in busy seasons.” Sora gave a soft sigh. “But we had to downsize a bit when Pop passed, so we could keep up with the workload."
"Ah. Sorry to hear that," Riku responded sympathetically.
"S'alright. That’s life. He passed the farm along to us ‘cause it's all been kept in the family for generations now. We'll pass it along to our kin if all goes well." Sora's words resonated with pride, but a subtle tinge of worry lingered in his voice.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Riku inquired curiously.
Sora chuckled sheepishly. “Well, both of us are way too busy to date, so not a whole lot of progress in the kin department.” Sora cast his gaze to the side, a thoughtful expression flashing across his features. “And… sometimes I worry that maybe we'll screw up somehow and lose it all,” he confessed.
Riku frowned, empathizing with the weight Sora carried. “With enough determination, I'm sure it’ll work out. All you can do is your best,” he offered reassuringly.
Sora's smile was genuine, holding a hint of gratitude. “Yeah, that's true.”
A companionable silence enveloped them as they continued working. However, an unanswered question lingered in Riku's mind, a curiosity he couldn't ignore. Deciding on directness, he broached the subject.
“What was the deal with that creep at the market yesterday?”
Sora's hands froze, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor. “Yeah, Xehanort.” His voice held a touch of vulnerability. “He's the richest guy in town, probably even the whole county. He owns a lot of the businesses ‘round here.”
Riku's brows knitted in confusion. “If he's so rich, what's he doing shaking down a small-town farmer?” The question slipped out before he could stop himself, his curiosity overcoming his filter.
Sora sighed. “He helped my brother out of a jam, so I’m paying him back.”
“So… he’s, like, a loan shark?” Riku couldn't help but wonder aloud.
“Nah, it ain’t like that…” Sora chewed at his lower lip. “It’s… personal,” He was beginning to sound slightly irritated.
Riku instantly regretted his line of questioning. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. The guy gives me bad vibes so I was just curious.”
“It’s alright,” Sora reassured. “But yeah… he’s bad news. I would steer clear.”
“Alright. I'll keep that in mind.”
The previously companionable silence now hung heavily with tension, an unexpected shift that Riku immediately regretted causing. He could feel the palpable awkwardness settling in the air. Xehanort was obviously a sore spot for Sora. Inwardly cursing himself, he realized the misstep of broaching such a sensitive topic. The conversation not only failed to sate Riku's curiosity but also left him with a lingering sense of unease and more unanswered questions.
As they wrapped up their work for the day, Sora managed to offer Riku a warm goodbye, despite the underlying tension. He promised to return and help out another time, maintaining a cheerful demeanor. However, the atmosphere remained strained, and Riku couldn't shake the feeling that he had made things unnecessarily weird.
Into the evening, Riku found himself reflecting on the day's events, replaying the conversation in his mind. The regret gnawed at him, a nagging feeling that he had disrupted the budding camaraderie between them. Riku's introspection deepened, and he wondered how he could repair the awkwardness he unintentionally introduced into their growing friendship.
God, I'm such an idiot.
That same evening, Sora stood before his full-length mirror, a flurry of conflicting emotions swirling within him. His fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his stiff, white button-down shirt, an uneasy dance of nervous energy. Paired with the expensive black slacks and polished dress shoes, the ensemble painted a picture of affluence that made him feel gross.
These clothes where quite stylish and upscale, but he never felt like himself when he wore them. The discomfort they brought was not only physical; it was a sensation of being out of place, a misfit in garments that seemed to belong to a different world. Each adjustment of the cuffs and every step in those dress shoes intensified the feeling of being an imposter, unworthy of such finery. The sensation of these clothes against his skin was always a reminder of what would inevitably happen when he wore them — unpleasant memories stitched into the fabric.
With a heavy sigh, he exited his bedroom and descended the stairs. The oppressive scent of cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils with each step, causing him to wrinkle his nose at the unpleasant odor.
“What’d I tell you about smoking in the house?” Sora scolded as he reached the last step , addressing the messy black hair peeking out from the armchair.
Vanitas abruptly swiveled his head around, pulling the cigarette from his lips. He opened his mouth, probably to say something shitty, but instantly closed it upon taking in Sora’s attire. His expression softened from annoyance to concern, smoke steadily seeping from his nose.
As if on cue, two honks from a familiar car resonated from outside the home, the sound cutting through the tension in the smoky air.
“Sora, please don’t tell me that’s—”
“I don’t know what else to do, Vani,” Sora interrupted quickly, already anticipating his protest. “Ain’t no way in hell we’re gonna make enough before next week.”
Vanitas narrowed his eyes and stood up quickly, his movements swift and assertive. “Don’t you walk out that door.”
“I’m just going to talk,” Sora tried to reassure him, though the strain in his voice betrayed his unease. They both knew that was a lie.
“If he lays a finger on you, I’ll kill him. I swear on Pop,” Vanitas warned through gritted teeth.
“I’ll be back in a couple hours. I promise.”
Vanitas only sighed in response and dropped back down on the arm chair. He took another long drag of his cigarette, looking defeated.
With a final apologetic glance to his brother, Sora exited his farmhouse into the humid embrace of darkness.