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They part ways at the beach, long after the orange spill of sunset has faded away, replaced with twilight, then night. A soft weave of stars glows in the darkened sky, and Riku’s sure there’s something poetic about that, about light and dark and balance, but he doesn’t have the words for it. He isn’t sure he ever will, considering all things romantic and poetic aren’t really his strong suit, but especially now, everything in his mind is hazy and muddled under so, so many layers of exhaustion. Adrenaline kept him going through the fighting, and something like grit or determination, because what else was there to do but take another step, another swing? He couldn’t stop then, so he just didn’t. No matter how the fatigue built, he kept trying, until the fight was finished.
Then, at the beach, it was the pure relief that buoyed him from sinking under. That they’d done it, they’d won, and they’d finally gotten home. All three of them, hearts and souls and bodies intact. And they were together again, on that same beach where so many childhood days were spent racing through the sand and splashing in the waves, watching shooting stars streak across the sky. And really, the reluctance to believe it all, the seemingly sheer impossibility at this happy ending (or maybe it isn’t quite the end yet) kept all the weight, all the weariness at bay. Because every blink, he was afraid it would all disappear, like a mirage, an oasis in the desert. But then, slowly, it all felt more real, more solid, more sustainable. And he settled, let the doubt flutter off to perch somewhere else, because everything was still okay. Kairi was still there. Sora was still there. And they were all still safe on the island.
Now, though, he’s tired. They all are, Kairi gone off home, and Sora heading towards his too. And that’s where Riku should go, back to his own house, his own bed, to sleep off a year’s worth of stress and trouble and adventure. But without meaning to, he strays from the path back and sticks close to Sora. Follows him down a familiar route. And maybe it’s just because he still doesn’t quite believe yet, that this kind reality won’t be stripped away from him when he closes his eyes. Or maybe it’s because his own house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore, but someone does, with his bright smiles and warm hands.
Then Riku breathes, really breathes, and realizes all the adrenaline is gone and the very last remnants of the high of being home have finally faded away. And he’s suddenly all too aware of the way his body is coming undone at the seams, stitch by painful stitch.
On the quiet path leading up to the house, his leg buckles first, and that hardly holds an ounce of his concern because there’s so many more aches hiding under his skin. Just two paces behind Sora, he crumples, all the tendons and ligaments in his knee feeling like they’ve turned to liquid. And in an instant, he’s braced on his forearms on the ground. It’s funny how, after all this time, the grit of sand on the path against his skin doesn’t seem so bad anymore. In fact, it’s nearly as welcome as the salty sea breezes blowing in from the ocean. God, he was more homesick than he realized.
“Riku!” he hears just a second later, and with a rushed jumble of footsteps that sound too loud in the quiet atmosphere, Sora runs back and drops to his side. Then there’s a hand flitting to his shoulder, an arm wrapping supportively around his back. “What’s wrong?” he asks, even though Riku’s guessing he already knows with the way he helps him up and shoulders his weight.
“It’s just my leg again,” Riku lies, a little breathless with the effort of getting back upright and situating himself with Sora so he doesn’t fall again. Hesitantly, he puts a little weight on his bad leg, but it doesn’t hold and his knee buckles and gives; he clutches harder at Sora’s shoulder. There isn’t much pain in the joint, only a dull ache, but he knows he’s done something to it with the way it gives. “I think I messed it up in the fight.” There’s a dozen other hurts too, from angry, throbbing ribs to a swollen wrist, but he carefully omits those from mention. Xemnas sure left his mark, if not on the worlds the way he wanted, then on Riku.
Still, guilt surprises him in the way it squirms around to squeeze his lungs. Lying to Sora used to be easy, back before they’d ever left the island. Petty things and false confidence. But now it makes him feel like he’s swallowed tar. Still, it’s better than making Sora worry, because there’s a lot more bothering him than just his leg, but it’s his own burden to bear, his struggle to shoulder.
With some effort, they make it inside and into Sora’s bedroom, where Riku perches on the edge of the bed, resisting the stubborn urge to just fall back into the soft blankets. He clenches a fist in them instead, grappling with the feeling of being back in his own body again, because that’s what it really comes down to. More than any injured leg or bone deep weariness, that’s what bothers him. And when Sora bustles off to another room—Riku already can’t remember why and isn’t sure he really heard what Sora said as he slipped out the doorway—he lets the feeling overcome him.
It’s a little like the entirety of him, soul and heart and light, is too much for his body. The feeling had been slowly building since the beach, and now it’s crashing over him, full force. His skin itches and runs too hot, feels ready to crack apart. Nausea roils and builds in his stomach. And everything in him presses at the seams, trying so hard to burst free. Darkness is always hollowing, always carving space, consuming like a black hole. And in Ansem’s body, Riku grew accustomed to that. The perpetual emptying of his chest, his stomach, his heart. Every vital thing replaced with cool quietness, flowing easily through his veins. Soothing, settling, dampening the stronger, brighter things. In him, there was always space to be found, to be filled, where the darkness made room. Voids and chasms and pure vacancy. And he lived like that for so long, surrendering fully to the dark to gain even the chance that Sora could be whole again. He’d sacrifice anything, everything, just to have that one precious thing.
He embraced the darkness, because it gave him that chance. And crawling inside, it stained him. It ate him out until there was little but vast emptiness, quiet as a lonely church. And while that had been… unsettling at the best of times, this was almost worse, returning to the light. Returning to a teenage body grown long and lanky in the time since seeing Sora but still so much smaller than that of Ansem’s shell. He didn’t regret it, not for a moment—it’s endlessly relieving to just be himself again—but being in his own body hurts.
With every breath he takes, ribs expanding, sparks burn across his chest. And his head throbs with the building pressure, spreading roots from the base of his skull along the crown of his head and out behind his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he presses the heel of his palm to his right eye; it feels like the only way to keep it in its socket with all the force pushing out, out, out. Rebelling against the lack of quiet, empty space.
And vaguely, with a hazy head clouded in pain and sensation and overwhelm, Riku wonders why he came back here. Why he didn’t just leave to bear this alone, curled in his own room, in the darkness he’s become so familiar with. It seems like such a mistake, one he used to be too careful to make, because there’s no way he can hide this, doubled over, one hand clutching his ribs where the bones feel they’ll crack apart and separate from each other, the other pressed desperately to his eye, and pretend that everything is alright when Sora—
Just like that, Sora steps back through the door, carrying a roll of white bandages and smiling the most kind, reassuring smile Riku has ever seen. Then the instant he looks over to Riku, takes everything in, the smile crumbles away like dust. Instead, something worried pinches between his brows, lips creasing down in a frown, and he hurries to the bed.
“I’m fine,” Riku grits out preemptively. Reflexively. Another lie that feeds the tar sticking in his throat, clumping heavy in his gut. But Sora doesn’t need to worry. Riku can’t make him worry.
But it’s too late, because Sora is already there, rubbing a hesitant hand up and down his back, concern bright in his eyes. And it feels like shit, to know he’s the one hollowing Sora’s smile and turning it down at the corners. But all the same, the warm hand at his back, even unsure as it, helps soothe the crackling pain tearing under his skin. “You have to tell me what’s going on,” Sora says, but it isn’t a command. The words come gentle, almost pleading, and Riku almost bends. Something small in him is so sorely tempted to just give in, to tell Sora everything and let him help however he knows how. Desperately, he clenches his teeth. Bites down on all the words weighing at the back of his tongue. “How else am I supposed to help?”
Sora smooths away all the smudges of concern and hurt, replaces them with a grin that seems so strong and unbreakable. Because he’s Sora, and he always keeps smiling, no matter what happens. Even if anger or grief overtake him, the smile, warm and bright, always comes back eventually. In that way, in a lot of ways really, he’s stronger than Riku will ever be.
The pressure pushing at him, the awful feeling of being compressed into his own skin, is unrelenting. He’s stuck inside himself with all the light and soul and being and it just feels wrong. So Riku presses harder at his aching eye, digs nails into the spaces between his ribs, and fights against the urge to just reach into his chest and tear. All he wants to do is rip the occupying strands of flesh and muscle, the light and heart out and make space for the darkness to quiet and soothe again. And logically, he knows it’s a vicious, devious thing, a horrible impulse born from withdrawal and the sudden change of form. It isn’t real. It isn’t what he really wants, to go back to the crippling loneliness, devoid of anything and everything as Ansem’s shell of a heartless. But with everything confused and clouded in pain, it seems all too easy to give into.
He crumples, folding in on himself, trying to hold his body together by the taxed and straining seams. And the pain just radiates, starting deep in the pit of his chest, coming in waves down through his stomach, out through his limbs, up to ring and pound in his head. It’s utterly miserable. He knows it will get better with time—it has too. But that promise is so slippery now, hard to hold on to. He just wants everything to be okay again. He worked so, so hard for this day, this moment, Sora safe and whole again, and he’d even been prepared to forfeit his place here forever, just to be sure it happened. But he didn’t have to, he got to come home again, as himself, and he just wants… He just wants.
“Sora,” he gasps as feverish heat burns fresh across his skin, something itchy and deep rooted trying to claw in underneath the surface.
“What do you need?” he asks, so earnest and eager to help. He blinks deep ocean eyes, long lashes just dusting his cheeks for an instant, and Riku can’t help but notice, even with the absolute fit his body is throwing, how much Sora has grown since they’ve been apart. Even just the way he looks out at the world, though still so full of energy and life, is a little less childish than before.
Then the shivers start up, a shuddering that starts deep in his chest and rattles his ribcage, echoing all the way out to the ends of trembling fingertips. Any notions about anything else evaporate like fog in the sunlight, and Riku shifts to wrap both arms around his middle, trying to keep himself together when the force of the shaking and feels like it will jostle him apart. Without his hand forcing it back, his eye feels ready to rupture, or fall right out of his skull and it’s genuinely a scary feeling. All of this is scary.
But maybe he’s grown a little too, in more than just height, because this once, Riku swallows his pride and asks for help.
“Just… hold me,” he manages through the embarrassment, though a flush singes the tips of his ears. And when Sora just blinks owlishly at him, stunned, Riku grits out a, “please,” too because he’s falling apart and needs someone to hold him together right now.
He desperately needs the contact, the pressure, and there’s a starved whine building in his throat and if something doesn’t change he’s going to break—he knows he’s going to break—and it’s just too much.
But in a few frantic heartbeats, Sora is there, settling himself against the headboard and pulling Riku in by the shoulder. And the instant he is tucked close against Sora’s chest, arms curled around his back, he feels like he can breathe again. Of course, it doesn’t solve everything, doesn’t even get close, but the feeling of breaking apart, of waiting for skin to fracture to pieces, for bones to come loose from their moorings, for his breathless lungs to burst, all quiets a bit.
Still shaky, he nuzzles into the crook of Sora’s neck, trying to calm his breathing, his stumbling heart, with the scent of ocean salt and sunset sand still clinging to warm skin. And slowly, the panic at coming undone starts to ebb away like the tide. Because Sora won’t let that happen to him. In that, Riku trusts. Even if there’s little else he would blindly put his faith in, Sora is a beacon for it. And slowly, gradually, all the nasty things, from headache to overheated flush, start to wash away.
“Does that feel any better?” Sora asks, the words pressed somewhere into his thick, silver hair.
Feeling far more honest and pliant than usual, Riku nods against Sora’s skin. Then swallows, and lurches a little with the nauseous heave of his stomach. Just as the shivers start to die down, easing from a violent shake wracking his frame to fine, subtle tremors, other things act up.
Riku tries to push it far from his mind, to swallow down the burning of acid that pushes at the back of his throat, because it just feels so good to be touched like this, to be wrapped up in an embrace. And even if it’s a little awkward, Riku with too much leg to fit comfortably in Sora’s lap, and both of them unsure exactly what will make things better, it’s still more than enough. He… can’t remember the last time he’s been touched like this. Somehow that made him feel safe. Not the slash of a blade or vacant brush of a stranger.
“Can you just…” Riku rasps, struggling over the words. Struggling with what he wants. “Just, hold tighter.” And with a little murmured, affirmative noise, Sora does. His arms, drawn close around the middle of Riku’s back, pull him in until there’s no room left between them. Until Riku is flush to Sora’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin, and wrapped in capable arms. The hug feels all encompassing, and it’s just so relieving.
Riku doesn’t even try to stop the embarrassing whine that comes from high in his throat. He just fists his hands tight in Sora’s jacket, desperately holding to the fabric. He can’t give this up now, can’t let anyone tear Sora away again. He’s still floating just on the right side of breaking, and he’s so tired. Pushed beyond his limits in the frantic fight against Xemnas, having neglected his needs for the better part of the year in favor of finding Sora, making him whole again, there is a deeper than his marrow weariness tucked down in him, and he’s sure he can’t be without this again.
And suddenly, with dissipating pain, fitful unease still upsetting his stomach, and a slowly returning comfort with his own limbs and skin and body, Riku can’t help but feel intensely vulnerable. He’s in Sora’s lap, clinging to him like a child with a scraped knee, swallowing down the nauseous hiccups that bring sourness up with them, and it’s nearly the first the other boy has seen of him in so much time. It’s hard, not to push away, to run and hide in his own room where he can curl, miserably, in a quiet corner, alone and hurting but free from the risk of judgement.
But Sora doesn’t judge or poke fun, only slips one careful hand up to smooth long hair out of Riku’s eyes and away from his sweat dampened forehead where it starts to stick. Presses a small, chaste kiss in the wake of his fingertips, on the freshly bared skin. And Riku chokes over a sob, because it’s so hard to be this way, to be weak and on the verge of breaking, but Sora makes it feel okay. Sora makes him feel okay and that’s worth everything right now.
“It’s alright if you need to cry,” Sora says, tightening his grip just the littlest bit more.
But Riku isn’t there yet. That’s just not something he’s ready to do; he isn’t ready to let the tears come in earnest while there’s still someone to see him. So he clenches his jaw and blinks back against the burning, welling sensation spreading out behind his eyes. And when he chokes down the knot in his throat, it’s a relief. Slow and deliberate, he shakes his head, still tucked against Sora’s throat.
“No, I think I’m…” he breathes when the tears and sobs have been tamed down and away. “I think I’m doing better now.”
“You’re sure?” Sora asks, and Riku can feel the inquisitive tilt of his head from the way his body shifts. It feels like warm honey, sweet and nostalgic. A rush of comfort right to Riku’s overwrought heart.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” It’s the truth, but his breath hitches in his chest when the hug starts to loosen around him. And though the feeling of being pushed apart from the inside doesn’t rush back in quite full force, it’s still there. “Don’t let go yet,” Riku says, and the request comes a little easier this time. “Please, it’s helping,” he adds, trying to soften any command or obligation in his words. It isn’t his intent to force anything on Sora, not even this. But he obliges anyhow, a pleased hum reverberating in his chest as he readjusts a little and loops his arms back around Riku. Holds him bodily together.
And now that he can think again, no longer so hazy with the overwhelm, he takes better stock of himself, knowing Sora’s owed an explanation too. The injuries from Xemnas have pushed back to the forefront, more than likely a few bruised or cracked ribs that throb with his pulse, and a swollen wrist that has stiffened up. And he’s sure his knee would still waver if he tried to stand. But, thankfully, that horrible urge to tear the bone and flesh from his torso, to carve away the crowded feeling with his own hands, has quieted down. And he doesn’t feel so much like an alien in his own body anymore. The long limbs and mess of hair are his, and they feel right for the first time since returning from Ansem’s form.
Sora beats him to the punch, though, in asking for answers. “Do you think you can tell me what’s happening?” he questions, and Riku is sure he’s never been treated so gently as in his moment. He utterly melts under the way Sora rubs a thumb up and down his side, just snuck under his shirt to reach skin.
“I think I’m still adjusting to being back in my body again.” It’s a strange thing to admit, even though Sora already knows he wasn’t himself for a length of time. But it’s still hard to believe, even himself, that Ansem’s face had been the one he saw in river reflections. And, after accepting the fact that he would likely stay that way forever, it’s even stranger to believe that he’s back to himself. Forgiven for giving into the dark and letting it turn him into someone else.
For a long moment, Sora stays uncharacteristically quiet; again, Riku marvels a little at how he’s matured, no longer just spitting out the first things that flit to his mind. It’s only the distant sound of waves on the sand and a lone gull still crying out long past nightfall. And closer, Riku can just barely hear the rhythmic thump of Sora’s heart in his chest, a reassuring melody.
“Is it a bad thing that you’re you again?” Sora asks, and the slight tinge of hurt in his tone is enough the shake the last dregs of fogginess from Riku’s mind.
“No,” Riku assures, quick and to the point, before Sora can doubt anything more. “No, I want to be the me that you and Kairi know. That I know.” Gently, he eases back out of Sora’s arms, just enough so that familiar eyes, so kind and bright, can meet his own. And he finds one of Sora’s hands, resting loose against his hip, and twines their fingers together. Something sugary in his chest starts to melt and drip, and Riku allows the warm, satisfied smile to reach his eyes. It’s been too long since a genuine smile has been enough to crinkle them at the corners, the way he always remembers with Sora’s excited beaming. It feels nice. “It’s just a lot of change, I think. But it’s worth it.”
Sora’s light comes back, just like the stars blinking one by one to light in the night sky. And he squeezes Riku’s hand once, something like relief written clear across his face. “It’s so good to have you back,” he says, so syrupy and sweet it makes Riku’s teeth ache the same as a bite of buttercream. “I really missed you.”
At that, all Riku can do is laugh, barely more than a low rumble, but there all the same. “You have no idea what it was like for me. You got to sleep through most of it,” he says, warm and fond and a little teasing. It still pits an ache in his chest to think about all those months Sora was caged away from him, trapped in a sea of memories. But, all the same, it’s freeing, somehow, to say it all out loud. To sweep the worst of the hurt away behind him, with Sora right here in front of him.
For a moment, Sora looks like he’ll rise to the teasing and poke a little fun back. But instead, he just yawns, eyelids falling heavier after a few blinks. “Speaking of sleep, I think I could nap for a week straight.”
Riku feels like he could nap for a year and still be tired to the bone, but he doesn’t give that any voice. He only eases farther back, out of Sora’s lap and onto soft, rumpled blankets. “I should leave you to it,” Riku says, though standing sounds like too much, between the exhaustion and his weak knee. “I need to get some sleep too.”
Before he can get to his feet and go, Sora just cocks his head, something like a confused puppy. Endlessly earnest and tugging at Riku’s heart. “Why would you leave?” Sora asks, and it’s so genuine Riku really does want to cry. Because he asks like it’s only second nature for them to be together. Like Sora wants him to be here. It’s a precious thing.
“You don’t care if I stay?” Riku asks, trying to keep the hope clear from his voice. Though, he’s fairly sure it bleeds through anyway.
Sora shakes his head. “I do care. I want you to stay,” he emphasizes.
At length, Riku wonders if this is only the sleepiness talking. Or the long span of their separation. Or if this is just Sora, just his feelings, laid bare and clear. And when he can’t quite puzzle it out, Riku decides he doesn’t care about the reason for the offer. All he cares to do is take it, even if he’d later blame it on the injuries, or the quiet, lingering feeling that he doesn’t quite belong in his bones still wearing off.
“Alright,” he breathes out, slow and a little unsure. But that uncertainty fades in a blink at how unabashedly content Sora looks with the agreement.
Sora’s bed, tucked beneath an open window with light, fluttering curtains, is small and meant for a child who isn’t quite so small anymore, but they make it work. And as Sora settles down, Riku joins in beside him, snug in the little space between wall and body. He isn’t sure worn cotton sheets, marked with pilling and snags, have ever been as inviting as they are now. And the polka dotted blanket that Sora tugs up over their shoulders is just as comforting. And within moments, warm with the heat of another body soaking into the sheets, Riku feels the weariness built over so long hit him full force.
“Hey, thank you,” he mumbles half into the pillow, already starting to drift. And he isn’t even sure exactly what he’s grateful for, because there’s simply too much of it. But Sora deserves to know, that he’s a good person, and that Riku sees it. Riku knows it, and appreciates it so much more than he ever did, back before they’d ever left the island. But saying it in so many words is too daunting when the soft glow of starlight is fading behind his eyelids.
If Sora says anything back, he doesn’t hear it. Riku only breathes deep, dusty sheets, ocean breeze in through the window, and something distinctly Sora, and it’s all too easy, safe and warm for the first time in so long, to be lulled to sleep. And the very last thing he remembers is a comfortably heavy arm draping over his waist.
In a slumber deep and dreamless and kind, Riku sleeps better than ever.