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No matter how far he strays, no matter how much he changes—the islands will always call to Roxas, imprints of Sora dragging him closer and closer to a haven that now only exists in bitter reality.
The call comes, and he answers; sometimes he holds off for weeks, sometimes for only hours, but it’s the same every time. Something inside him always expects to find Sora there, sitting on the paopu tree and kicking his legs with a smile no one can replicate, but all Roxas can do is wander and wander and wander as he searches for something that he may never find.
The void Sora has left behind is a heavy burden that has been returned to everyone he once befriended, each one of them paying an unexpected toll. So many people had banked on a future that was never guaranteed; they laid upon him a fate that they were sure he could fix, and of course, the fool took it upon him… and now there’s nothing left. A chance was taken and a chance was lost, and all there is to show for it is a princess who believes it’s her fault.
Honestly, Roxas wouldn’t be able to take the crushing reality of this loss on his own, so that’s why he’s here once again, settled by the shore of the Destiny Islands mainland and surrounded by those who know him best. While Riku and Kairi may have been Sora’s best friends, only the ones most fundamentally shaped by him could understand a fraction of what Roxas is dealing with—they’re a saving grace that he desperately needs.
Though none of them talk about it, Roxas is sure all of them can hear the call, evident in eyes staring vacantly towards the play island and fingers absentmindedly kneading into the sand. Because of this, Destiny Islands has become their place to hang out—their place to feel close to their missing brother-in-arms.
This often helps, but at times it’s even harder for him to ignore the yearning when he can’t help but see fragments of Sora within his best friends, no matter how much he values them as their own people. As hard as they try, they’ll never patch up the gaping wound gouged into his very core that’s slowly bleeding him out, memory by precious memory of their time together trickling away into the abyss surrounding his heart.
It’s only after the fiftieth time he hears Sora in Vanitas’s voice that he realizes he can’t take it anymore and needs to get away as soon as possible before he makes a total idiot out of himself and cries; unfortunately, wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes are no longer a stranger to Roxas even when he thought he’d be happy by now.
“I need some fresh air.”
Roxas suddenly stands up and stretches to the sky to avoid looking at his friends, and Xion glances at the others while Ventus gives her a look and Vanitas simply shrugs, so in tune that the message reaches each heart with ease. None of them comment on the fact that they’re already outside, instead just nodding in response—and for that Roxas is grateful.
“Back soon,” he continues before shoving his hands in his pockets and then turning on his heel to walk away.
He doesn’t look back as he walks—well, trudges—through the sand towards his destination, but within a minute he hears familiar steps darting up behind him and crunching through the sand. At that moment, if it were anyone else, he would probably keep going and just brush them off, but he’ll always turn around for her, for his best friend, for the only one who could ever understand him on such an intimate level.
When he looks back at her, he stumbles back a single step, caught off-guard by red hair; after a few moments the borrowed afterimage fades, and that’s how Roxas knows that the pull to the play island is becoming more insistent.
“You sure you don’t want any company, Rox?” Xion asks once she catches his eye, as gentle and caring as always; Roxas has the distinct feeling that she knows exactly what he just saw, and he wonders if she ever sees Sora in him.
“Nah, I’m fine,” he replies with a raised hand and a small smile. “I like the quiet.”
Xion raises an eyebrow at him and crosses her arms, trying her best to look disapproving despite her perpetual puppy face. It does strike Roxas in the heart a little, but he’s had enough time to grow immune to some of her tactics.
“You can call me if you’re worried, Xi! And tell you what, if I’m not back by…” he hums as he pauses to look at his gummiphone, “7PM, then you can come get me. Promise.”
His heart warms at the soft look on her face, and he truly appreciates how much she cares for him. This is the connection between their hearts, their souls—a bond forged despite lost memories and erased existences.
“I’ll see you later, okay? Let Ven know I’ll be back soon!” Roxas calls out as he slowly walks backwards, shooting her a reassuring smile.
“What about Vanitas?” Xion asks with a wave, and the small snort that follows shows that she probably already knows the exact answer.
“He doesn’t care! Bye!”
That’s met with raucous laughter, and he runs the rest of the way to the docks with an even bigger smile on his face… but the further he goes, the more out of place the smile seems because it’s one that belongs on a tanned, freckled face—not on a substitute far too pale and grief-stricken to compare.
The docks meet Roxas with a feeling of unease, but he holds it back behind his ribs and unties one of the canoes, fumbling over the knot just as Riku, Kairi, and he—Sora, not Roxas, he has to remind himself—did with much smaller hands many years and many adventures ago.
A quiet determination pushes him until he’s sitting in the boat, an oar in each hand and a tide sucking him towards his destination. As strong as he is now, his muscles more honed than his once-borrowed body’s, he makes it to the island within a matter of minutes, cutting through the water with the same ease as a blade through darkness.
(Not here, not anymore. That darkness is gone—it has to be.)
For some minutes, he sits there in the boat, watching overlaid images; one part sees children running on the beach as they always did, and another part sees lost hearts brought together by fate. The only thing that manages to jostle him out of his daze is a more forceful wave that makes it to shore and roughly shoves the canoe. It clatters against the dock so suddenly that before he knows it, his feet are on the wooden planks as he takes a defensive position with his hands open and ready to summon his Keyblades—waiting for a storm that isn’t coming.
Several tense moments pass until a short bark of laughter disturbs the silence, and then Roxas sighs. “Stupid. That didn’t even happen to you.”
He runs a hand through his hair in mild exasperation; sand still remains in it, a reminder of the life that waits back for him at the opposite shore. For now, that’s on pause while he remembers another time with warmth on his skin, sun shining through the sky that never clouded. He can almost taste sweetness on his tongue, feel ocean spray against his skin, smell the sun on the ever-damp greenery. In his mind’s eye he watches Xion sit on the paopu tree; Ventus stand ankle-deep in the water; Vanitas shout from the tree house.
And then Roxas comes back to the present, and he realizes his feet are already on the ground and his shoes are off with the sand crunching between his toes. It’s a state of being that’s entirely natural and settles down to his very bones—but everything still feels very wrong. This island feels empty without Sora; maybe it always will.
He turns to look out towards sea where there should be nothing but an expanse... but something waits in the distance: a coming wave too big for shore, blue and yellow and blue, an outstretched hand reaching out but not reaching enough—
All of a sudden Roxas is hit with a feeling so potent and all-consuming that he’s back in the past in an instant with Shadows popping up from the sand and swirling around his feet. On instinct, he summons his weapon and begins to cut them down, but annoyance overcomes him when they don’t fall as they should; instead of being slain in one fell swoop, it takes multiple hits and leaves his arms aching as if he’s never trained for this. Somehow he’s incredibly breathless and almost… panicked at the sight of things that should be painfully familiar.
It’s then that he sees his weapon out of the corner of his eye as he swings and realizes it’s simply a wooden sword, familiar and unfamiliar in his hand all at once, and then a voice that is not his own leaves his mouth unbidden.
“Riku!”
And then Roxas is back, panting on the beach, Oblivion in his hand and score marks in the sand from where he had been erratically slashing against nothing but air.
“What the hell?” he breathes out, dropping his weapon and staring at the ground. After a few seconds, his gaze swoops up towards the sky, and he outstretches his arms like he’s proffering himself to the endless blue, leaving himself bare to be exchanged for the one who belongs here.
His surroundings go completely quiet, and another past rings in his mind: a paopu outstretched by a familiar hand, before the vision disappears like mist.
“All these stupid memories coming back…” he scoffs, dropping his arms back down to his sides. Frustration and forgotten memories moving his feet, he paces the shore with his hands loosely curled into fists and yells, “They’re yours! Come on, Sora, just get them!”
But no matter how loud he howls and screams, there’s no answer; there’s never an answer, just an empty island that used to protect so many and a yawning sky that holds nothing but silence. Roxas is alone, but he should’ve expected that, right? Why in the world would he think that just coming to this place would give him some epiphany, some hint, some inkling that his other still exists somewhere out there?
“I’m losing it.” Roxas shakes his head at himself and runs a hand through his hair as he wonders if stress is truly driving him over the edge. “I can feel you less and less everyday…” he quietly muses to himself as he sticks his hands into his pockets and slowly proceeds to the secret place. The call of that cave echoes in his mind and crawls under his skin like bugs, so he doesn’t resist any longer; it’s a place where everything began, where clumsy drawings begot a strange and winding future. The wind picks up the moment he enters, and something else comes from his mouth and echoes in his ears.
“Kairi!”
“Sora…”
At once, a weight slams into his chest and settles deep within his heart—and then in an instant lifts back up again. It’s as quiet as before, no princess hiding inside him, and he shakes his head like a dog trying to shed water before he continues inside. As his eyes trace the walls, he finds that things are the same as they always were. His fingers absentmindedly trail over each image, unintentionally smudging the dust and chalk as he goes. When he notices, he pulls his hand back, but the damage is done, and his heart grows heavy with the feeling that he’s obscured Sora—doomed him to a fate he can’t change.
Spontaneously, he finds himself crouching and staring at the picture that draws him the most, and in a moment he’s Sora reaching out and drawing a rock across the stone: Sora with his laugh echoing and mingling with those of a girl and a boy who would also trade anything for it to be real again.
This time, it takes a few deep breaths—in… and out; in… and out; in… and out—before Roxas is back, blinking hard in the dim light of the cave. His hand fumbles with the ground before he grabs his own rock and begins scratching at the wall simply because it feels like the right thing to do.
Even he doesn’t know what or why he’s drawing. Maybe it’s the pieces of Sora still within him resonating against the emptiness of this place; maybe it’s the pieces of Ventus remembering carefree children who once played here; maybe it’s the pieces of Xion searching for the place whence their hearts came; maybe it’s the pieces of Vanitas staring at a childhood he never got. All Roxas knows is what now sits before him.
He blinks—once, twice, thrice.
Only a little bit away from the original etching now sits one of Sora’s and Roxas’s faces—his drawings a little better than Sora’s, but messier than Kairi’s—and paopu fruits connecting them together in a similar fashion. For a moment, he wonders if she would think he’s intruding on their bond, but he’s as connected to Sora as she is to him, right?
And then it hits him—
He’s as connected to Sora as she is to him.
That’s been there the whole time, obviously; it sits in the memories that have come back to him, in the call that constantly pulls him here, in collected seashells and unbreakable connections and borrowed faces. That connection lays deep within his heart, perhaps the strongest thing he’ll ever have. It’s in his bones, sinking down into his marrow, and it feels right, like coming home after an extended period away.
Distance may strain their connection, the line pulled so taught that it seems to barely hold, but it’ll never truly be broken. It wouldn’t matter if he walked to the very ends of existence—he’d still be Sora’s Nobody, and Sora always his Somebody, for there’s no possible way to snip the tie that binds; the loss of one heart and birth of another was the sole end to that particular journey, and now there’s no way to wind back time, to undo what was both lost and gained.
With an exasperated sigh at himself, he shakes his head at the now obvious revelation. All his worrying had gotten him so caught up in what he’s missing that he didn’t realize what’s still there. Sora would want Roxas to stand on his own two feet, would believe that he’s enough—more than enough, really—so maybe Roxas should believe him too.
“I feel like you’d make fun of me if you were here right now. I did get some of this airheadedness from you, though,” Roxas laughs, reinforcing this new habit of talking to Sora, one that he might not mind.
Briefly, he trails his fingers across the depiction of his own face, smudging it a little in turn, before he stands up. He turns and sweeps his eyes over the rest of the cave with a new ease; the fragments inside him still beckon him here, but he knows that the fragments lead elsewhere. Maybe it’s a place he can’t touch, but Sora is somewhere out in the cosmos—even if he doesn’t come back, Roxas still holds him in his veins and knows that his imprint will always remain.
After exiting the cave, he lifts his hand to cover the setting sun and blinks at the bright rays of light, and once his eyes adjust, he pauses to watch the sea consume the sun.
“I feel like I haven’t said it enough—thanks for keeping me safe. For keeping everyone safe. This wasn’t my home for very long compared to everything else, but… your heart will always feel like home,” he admits in an uncharacteristically earnest way as he folds his arms behind his head, a reminiscent gesture. “I hope you can find that feeling wherever you are.”
Those heartfelt words hang in the air for several achingly long moments, and then the pressure eases. The call quiets down: not entirely gone, but no longer a constant, unbearable keen. Not binding or painful—just a reminder of what still connects him to his other.
A buzz comes from his pocket, and Roxas pulls his phone out to be greeted with a text from Xion proclaiming, “FIVE MINUTES!!!” While perhaps a little pushy, it reminds him of the people who are there, who would wait for him no matter what.
After a quick ‘omw’ message, his feet carry him to the docks, and then he turns back and trails his eyes across the play island. This isn’t a goodbye like the many he’s said before; it’s a ‘see you later’. Roxas is sure it’s just his imagination, but as he turns away, he can almost hear a quiet voice, full of smile and song, ring through his head.
“Yeah, Roxas, I will.”