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Everything was fine. Sora was fine. Donald was tapping just staff on the ground with a rhythmic click click click. The noise echoed off the stone floor and bounced around the room. Like a drill in Sora’s mind. But it was fine. He’s just tired. It was a long day, after all. Xaldin was by no means an easy opponent, and Sora had almost cried in gratitude when Belle offered to give them a room for the night.
Unfortunately, the castle, while grand, was not exactly in its peak condition. There was only one guest room that was usable, so Sora was sharing. This wasn’t anything new, back on the ship they all bunked in the small cabin, and even on the islands Riku and Kairi often slept over. The castle staff was nice enough to salvage mattresses from other rooms so they were able to have their own beds. This was fine. Sora was fine. He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. He forced himself to let go. This was fine.
Until it wasn’t. Donald’s staff kept tapping away. Sora could feel his nails dig into his palms, leaving small crescent welts. He stared at the stone tiles under his feet, not truly seeing. He was so tired.
He felt something snap.
In his chest, it felt like something had opened, and every dark thought and emotion he’d been holding in came rushing out. He wanted the tapping to stop. It was driving him crazy. He wanted Donald to stop. He was in a spiral. The dull pressure on his palm turned into sharp pain as his nails broke skin. The wet slide of blood between his fingers snapped him out of his trance. He needed out of this room.
He stood up jerkily. The madding tapping finally stopped as Donald looked up at him in surprise. “Are you feeling ok, Sora?” He quacked. “My magic’s recovered enough to blast out a few ‘cures’”. Sora smiled, wondering if it looked as strained as it felt. “No, I’m fine. I just need some, uh, fresh air.” When the duck gave him an unbelieving look, the notion of knocking him out entered Sora’s mind. He found too much pleasure in the image.
If that wasn’t a big sign to get out of the room, Sora didn’t know what was.
“Don’t worry Donald. I’m just going to the courtyard.” He attempted to wave off the duck’s concerns. Then, before the mage could protest, he rushed out of the room, not even stopping to put his jacket or shoes back on. As soon as the heavy wooden door closed behind him, he sprinted off, bare feet slapping against the stone floor loudly.
The black hole in his chest had only grown larger, constricting his heart and scratching at the inside of his ribcage. He wanted to feel something fall apart under his hands. He wanted to see something break. It scared him, but he was almost too far gone to care. In a haze, he slipped into the courtyard.
The chill night air felt heavenly on his skin, keeping the roiling rage underneath it in check. He summoned his keyblade almost absentmindedly, not really thinking but still wanting it in his hands. He stood in the middle of the courtyard, waiting for the statues he knew were possessed to make the first move.
With a screech, one of them lunged forward, swinging it’s axe down. Sora felt unequivocal catharsis as his keyblade smashed into the stone, shattering it’s head. He could feel himself smiling, despite no joke. He had the urge to do it again. To see it shatter under the weight of his rage.
Three more statues charged him, stone swords and axes flailing wildly. Sora danced through them, relishing in the feeling of his keyblade crush and crack stone. Normally he used his keyblade as, well, a blade. Like the wooden swords he and Riku used to play with. But tonight, it was a bludgeon, meant for crushing and denting and brute force.
Still the wrath did not abate. He wanted more. He didn’t know why he was so angry but there was so much to be angry at. Grudges years old and slights that happened yesterday. The open gate pushed for more, more. The remaining statues came to life and Sora gave in.
The rest of the night was a blur of flickering shadows and the taste of smoky darkness in his mouth, under his claws. Flashes of heartless that soon dissolved and a brief reflection of bright yellow eyes in a window. It was a mess of rage and feelings, emotions he hadn’t thought about and avoided. It felt so good.
When Sora woke up, he was on the steps of the castle, sweaty and out of breath. His muscles ached in that “good workout” way. He felt so utterly satisfied and relaxed. Tired, too. Actually, he was really tired. He wanted to curl up and sleep right there. But the first rays of pre-dawn light had begun to show and he knew he had to go back to his room. Donald and Goofy would be worried.
With a grunt, he forced himself to stand up and dragged his feet back into the castle. He felt surprisingly light, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Creeping up the stairs as softly as possible, he cracked open the door to their room. His companions were asleep, sprawled over their mattresses. He smiled, a true, genuine one this time.
Not even bothering to take off his clothes, slumped into bed and pulled the covers up. They felt delightfully soft. He was so warm and comfy. It was easy to drift off.
In the morning, Donald and Goofy looked at him worriedly and made him promise to take a nap on the ship. He agreed without much protest. Belle and the Beast saw them off with a grand breakfast and goodbye hugs. (Mainly from Belle, but Sora scored a surprise one on the Beast.)
Later, on the ship, drifting off to the hum of the engines, Sora wondered about the night before. But, conceded his tired brain, it only lasted for the night and nothing really bad happened. It was probably nothing. Confident in his no doubt unflawed sleep-deprived logic, he drifted off again. Besides, he didn’t have time to think about it.