Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Riku arises from the water and feels the warmth from the sun, his heart eclipses. 

Sora looks at Kairi, smiling, and Riku feels himself pulled under. 

“You gotta leave your room at some point, Riku,” Sora is telling him, gazing up at him from the foot of Riku’s bed, and Riku knows this. Painfully well, actually. It’s not even as though he doesn't want to because he does. He’d like nothing more than to see their friends again and pretend like everything is okay. The problem is, everything isn’t okay. It’s all awfully wrong, and Sora is the one pretending like it’s not. 

He hasn’t even mentioned any of the awful things Riku has done, as though they don’t matter, as though because he and Sora had defeated Xemnas, every despicable act he’d committed was undone. As though sitting on that beach, resigning themselves to the darkness had untangled the knot; Sora had smiled at him with such adoration and relief, and Riku had hated it. Because despite being back home and feeling the warm breeze on his skin once again, Riku had done all of those things, he had hurt Sora, hurt Kairi, and destroyed their home. It wasn’t as though some kind words and forgiveness could undo any of that. 

“Riku,” Sora jabs a finger into his chest, “stop thinking so much.” Frowning looks bad on Sora. 

“I’m picking up your slack,” Riku deflects. Sora doesn’t bite. 

“Not funny. I’m worried about you; you haven't even spoken to Kairi since we got back.” An ugly shade of guilt festers inside his throat. He doesn’t mention that he has only spoken to Sora because his friend won’t leave him alone. 

But what can he say without sounding like a victim? That he’s truly and utterly sorry for every awful and irredeemable thing he’s done, that he really fucking hates himself right now? Like that would blow over well. 

Sora had all but broken into his room to speak to Riku, and something about the whole ordeal makes Riku feel awfully sick inside. It’s because of his mistakes that he’s feeling this way now. There’s no other way to put it. 

“I know you’re saying mean things to yourself up there.” Sora rests his head in his hands, smiling all too kindly and all too forgiving, and Riku hates it because he should be so mad. “You can tell me to leave if you want, I don’t mind. I just—” He doesn’t finish the thought. 

And does Riku want him to leave? Perhaps it’s selfish to want Sora to stay, but he’d always been terribly selfish. That’s why it all went wrong. He imagines what it would have been like if they’d stayed on that beach, eternally bound to that darkness. He wonders how he even became so bitter in the first place, how awful of a person he must be to let something like that fester inside of him. 

Sora stands up and paces around his room, and Riku tries terribly hard not to remember sleepovers that turned into week-long stays playing video games and watching shitty VHS copies of all their (Sora’s) favourite movies. When did it all become so foreign? He doesn’t feel safe here anymore, even surrounded by band posters and books he has read countless times. The clothes in his closet no longer fit, and the game discs sitting neatly above his console no longer interest him. When Sora was sad, he’d let him win, feigning bitter defeat under a badly concealed smile. 

They’ll never be like that again. This irreparable damage cannot be repaired. He has tainted and scarred them, and perhaps this cloaking sadness is all right if it means he has the opportunity to pay for everything callous and spiteful he’s done. 

“Seriously, Riku,” Sora says, flicking through a photo album Riku had forgotten about. “You can’t keep shutting everyone out. I know the others won’t understand, but you can talk to Kairi and me.”

Riku clenches his fist. He doesn't think he’ll ever be prepared to have this conversation. 

“I know,” Riku forces out, hating the way his voice sounds. 

Sora turns to look at him, putting the album down on the bed. It’s open on a photograph of Sora, Kairi and him, smiling, the sun setting behind them in awful nostalgia. It’s another reminder of everything he had ruined. “Then, why won’t you?”

“I can’t.” 

Sadness looks bad on Sora too. Riku knows Sora’s hiding it better than he is, but he knows Sora’s feeling this sadness too. He sees it, sees Sora’s face when he thinks Riku isn’t looking, blank and sad and awful because he never used to make that face when they were kids. It’s awful, Riku thinks, because they’re still kids. It’s been less than two years, but Riku’s grown far too big, too big for this island, his clothes, his emotions. Part of him tells him he shouldn’t feel like this, but the greater, larger part of him knows he deserves to feel like this. He deserves all of the sadness and regret building uncomfortably inside of him. 

But Sora doesn’t deserve any of this — it’s Riku’s fault he looks so sad when he thinks no one is looking; it’s Riku’s fault he knows too much for his age; owns far too many scars for a body so young. 

And so Riku knows it’s only right that he feels this way. He can’t undo any of the pain, but perhaps his own will be repentance. Not enough. It will never be enough. He’ll never feel small again. If he could, he’d sap Sora of all the pain and sadness he knows, absorb all of it into his bloodstream. Perhaps then it’ll be enough. 

“I wish I could make you understand,” Sora sighs, and wistfulness is a bad look on him too. He doesn't give up because Sora doesn't give up, but his shoulders sag, and he smiles that awful smile again. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“You’re staying?” Riku asks before he can stop himself. 

“Unless you really want me to leave?” But Sora is already sifting through Riku’s VHS shelf, leaning over to turn the monitor on, flashing him a grin. 

It’s not quite genuine, but Riku offers Sora one too. 

The bass from a rock song echoes in Riku’s ears. Maybe he should feel bad for leaving, but having to recite that stupid fake story to everyone who asks is eating him from the inside. Maybe he shouldn't have drank that much either, but the buzz is already settling into his skin, and Riku finds he doesn't mind it; it’s wrong, totally wrong, but the lightness inside his head acts as a little reprieve from the volatileness of his emotions. 

Kairi had looked sad when he’d excused himself in the middle of their conversation with Selphie, but he hated the way every prepared sentence is coming out in shades of bitter and mean. 

Sora has followed him, of course, and is sat next to him, responsibly drinking a can of soda. 

“You were wrong, you know?” He says. 

“Huh?” Riku has been wrong about a lot of things. 

“About Santa.” 

Out of everything, Riku was not expecting that. “What?” 

“He’s real,” Sora grins, “I met him.” 

Riku remains silent. 

“And he said I was on the naughty list because you told me he didn't exist.” Sora is smiling, but Riku feels that guilt pool inside him again, which is stupid, because this whole thing is stupid. He shouldn't be feeling guilty about Santa. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can think to say. He takes a sip of his very irresponsible cider. 

Sora must sense his remorse, “I’m only kidding, Riku.” He sets the can down on the pavement. “Not about the Santa thing; he’s totally real, but I don’t care about the stupid list.” 

It all becomes very apparent then, with Sora still smiling and laughing like it doesn't matter (because, really, it doesn't matter; the fact that Santa exists does not matter), that Riku is the only one left behind. Because it all must have affected Sora, Riku knows this, so why does it feel like he and Kairi are the ones breaching the water whilst Riku’s the one getting dragged under? He takes another (longer) sip of his cider. 

“I suppose I’m on the naughty list too,” Riku says, completely realising how surreal this conversation is and how insane it must sound to anyone happening to eavesdrop. 

“I didn’t ask,” Sora replies plainly. Riku nods. 

Before, sitting out here with Sora, with the rumbling from the music inside, the moon accenting Sora’s soft features and warm smile, it would have felt nice. Riku’s never been good at social events — that much hasn't changed, but it had never felt so wrong before. It feels wrong, he decides, because he’s not all completely back. Some part of him must still lie on that beach, decaying, drenched by the darkest of tides. 

“I don’t really wanna go back inside either,” Sora sighs, gazing at the moon. 

Riku is gazing at him. 

Sora continues, “It’s like — I’m happy to see them again, but they don’t understand, do they? We can’t explain what happened, have to say we got lost, and it feels like they’re missing out on such an important part of our lives.” 

Riku swallows. “They shouldn't know what happened.” He knows they don’t remember the storm, but if they knew the extent of Riku’s mistakes, he’d never be able to show his face again.

“I know that.” When Sora looks at him, Riku averts his gaze. “It just feels like we’re lying to them.” 

He wants to go home. 

Though, upon standing up, Riku finds his legs aren't quite working the way they would do sober. 

Sora, of course, catches him before he can fall. “Hey,” his touch burns, “how much have you had to drink, Riku?”

Did the moon look this blurry before?

“Not enough,” he mumbles, apparently too drunk to retain any filter. 

“Riku…” Sora frowns, steadying him against the wall. “Maybe we should go home.” Yep. That’s why he stood up. Sora’s looking at him in the eyes, that awful frown situated upon his face, and the bitter kindness seeps its way into Riku’s skin. Dreadful, dreadful kindness and Riku can’t help his own frown, unable to seal his emotions behind a stiff exterior as the liquor passes through his veins. When will he stop being so horribly stupid?

“I’m going to get Kairi,” Sora says, and Riku's retort isn't heard as he pushes his way inside, leaving Riku in the cold. That’s okay. He likes it better out here. The moon glares at him as if to say otherwise. Kairi shouldn't have to leave just because Riku’s feeling weird again. He shouldn't have even come, but between his mother’s and Sora’s nagging, it felt easier to succumb. He couldn't take that sadness on Sora’s face any longer. That had always been the problem too. 

Kairi’s sympathetic smile is equally as unwanted as Sora’s bright grin. He wonders what it might have been like to be a teenager. A proper one. To go to late-night parties and worry about trigonometry and chemistry. He’d always liked school, liked knowing he was good at something, and that that talent was preserved in high marks and teacher’s appraisal. It all seems a little sickening now. Had he always been so awful? None of that even matters; the high mark on his literature test is dust between shaking fingers. 

The walk home is awfully silent. Kairi clings to his arms, giggling about something or other, as Sora walks ahead. That terribly full moon still stares down, and Riku wishes he could rip it from the sky. 

Or, perhaps, he wishes he were somewhere else, somewhere without a bright moon, dazzling stars, Sora’s smile and the scent of Kairi’s perfume. 

“I’m glad you came, Riku,” Kairi whispers into his shoulder. “I know you didn’t want to.” 

He doesn’t rebut it because it’s true. “It’s all right,” he says instead. 

He realises a little sadly that he hardly knows her at all anymore. She carries herself differently and smiles a slightly different smile. 

And smiling that smile, she runs towards Sora, whispering something in his ear. They both stop, looking back at Riku with equal mischief and concern. 

“We’re going to have a sleepover!” Sora beams. Riku feels something churn in his gut. 

“It’s not really a sleepover if…” he sighs. “Fine.” He doesn’t particularly want to go home right now, not when it feels like another person’s house and another person’s bedroom. He wants to completely leave this plane of existence if you asked him; go to a place where there are no thoughts and regrets. Maybe Kairi has some beer stashed away somewhere. It’s a good enough substitution. 

They reach her front door, and Riku stills, acutely aware of the way the trees seem to spin and swirl into foreign objects. 

“You coming in?” Kairi holds the door open, smirking. 

Riku nods, leaving the moonlight. 

“Man, you’re so drunk,” Sora giggles as Riku struggles to take his shoes off. 

“‘m not.” 

Kairi appears from where Riku presumes to be the kitchen with a disappointing glass of water. Riku takes it, nonetheless. “Don’t worry about being quiet,” she adds. 

They begin to settle into something all too familiar as Kairi and Sora lie on the sofa whilst she fiddles with Riku’s hair. A movie plays on the TV, something old and unrecognisable, but Riku doesn’t really care. It’s odd, he decides. It’s very odd because it does feel nice. It feels warm and homely, as Kairi’s home had always been. The room is eclipsed in darkness, but Riku does not feel cold. Kairi’s hands are warm as she braids, and there’s something to be said in the way that Riku doesn’t care. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the year without the touch of a friend, but he finds himself leaning into it. Fretting can come tomorrow. Now, this feels nice, and it’s terrifying. 

Can someone forgo happiness for so long that they forget what it feels like?

Sitting up suddenly, Kairi offers, “I’m getting a drink, anyone else want one?” Sora shakes his head, and Riku starts to stupidly nod before, “not you, silly.” Right. That makes sense. 

“This is nice,” Riku speaks to the TV. Sora slides down the sofa ungracefully to sit beside him. He leans his head against Riku’s shoulder (cease, beating heart, cease), and Riku catches a slither of a smile, warm and happy. Happy for him. It feels a little wrong, but in the fuzziness of the room and the pressure on his shoulder, Riku finds that he can shelve that wrongness if only for tonight. 

“We’ll get better at it,” Sora seems equally uninterested in the movie. Riku frowns. “At being kids again.” 

Something gets stuck in Riku’s heart; he can feel it. That same feeling that he’d had to push down upon seeing Sora again and realising how much older he and Kairi looked. Only a year, he’d reminded himself—only a long, arduous year, and one that Sora hadn’t even seen. But Riku had seen it; felt every excruciating day. 

“It’s my fault.” It slips out. Oops. 

“Riku.” Any waning interest in the film is now devoted entirely to Riku. “Don’t say that, you know it’s not true.” He doesn’t want to argue, not with Sora, but the weight of that statement carries shades of deceived and untrue. How could it be anything else?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, hands finding the loose braid in his hair. 

“Don’t say that either,” Sora pouts, “you have nothing to apologise for.” 

It’s incredibly laughable how eager Sora is to forgive, but that all dissipates once Kairi returns to the room, giddy, with a bottle of something clutched in her hand. The look Riku gives isn’t pleading, he doesn’t do pleading, but Kairi glares at him with a soft, “No,” all the while. 

He can’t help the floaty laugh that escapes, and for now, as they fall back into that nostalgia-infused familiarity, he doesn’t mind. 

He minds now, though not for the same reasons, as he grumbles whilst Kairi holds his hair after he’d rather disgustingly emptied his guts. 

“Mr. I’m not drunk,” she muses. Riku grumbles again. 

“I wasn’t,” he says petulantly, but their position on the bathroom floor paints a wholly different picture. 

She laughs, “You’re not a very good liar, Riku.” 

“Where’s Sora?” His head hurts, which is fantastic. She points to the corridor. That’s right, they’re at Kairi’s house. 

“Did you…?” 

She nods. “I called your mum last night and explained we were having a sleepover,” her smile turns sheepish, “though, I wasn’t exactly sober myself so…” 

Absolutely fantastic. “I’m never drinking again.” 

“I thought you said you weren't drunk,” Kairi teases, though she pulls Riku’s hair back again, petting the strands absentmindedly.

Riku mumbles, “I hate you,” before feeling rather sick again. 

He slips back into his room through the window, not prepared to face his parents. He feels a great deal of shame whenever he averts their eyes, explaining that he’s tired, but it’s that guilt that keeps him from spilling out everywhere. He hates the way they treat him like glass, as though he’ll disappear again if they let him out of their sight. Perhaps their worries are warranted though, as the heavy feeling of dread clings harder to Riku’s skin as each day passes. 

His mother had cried when he’d appeared on his doorstep for the first time in two years. He doesn't blame her, but all he could find to say was sorry because what else does someone say after disappearing for that long without saying a word, without letting anyone know they you’re still even alive? And that damn stupid story they’d pulled out of thin air makes Riku sound like a blameless victim. Whenever he tells it he feels something inside him squirm. We got lost, he’ll have to say, and it’s so painful, knowing the reality of what caused their departure. 

Because Riku is not blameless, no matter how hard he tries to think about it, or how many times Sora tries to tell him. He can’t help but feel like he’s the catalyst for all of this. Maybe not the years-long plan of heart-stealing and general doom, but their involvement in all of this can only be pinned on Riku. If he hadn't been so angry, so jealous, so mean, and if he hadn't caved and opened that door, Sora wouldn't know such hurt, and he’d look at Kairi like a close friend and not someone who’s become distant and changed. But then he thinks of that promise he’d made as a child, so unaware of anything on the outside, but so eager to know of it. A promise made, with his hands clasped around that key, under a waning sunset and calm tide. He hadn't understood the weight of it then. 

Riku finds himself wondering if any of this was an accident, or if it was prewritten the whole time. 

He can’t look at himself in the mirror without seeing someone else. It is him who stares back, but everything has changed. His hair is longer, and he’s lost weight (he hadn't exactly been looking after himself in the year he spent drenched in darkness). He looks older too, in all the ways he shouldn’t. There’s a braid still in his hair from when Kairi was plaiting it, loose and falling out. It’s too long. 

Maybe he should chop it all off. It’s a silly thought, but perhaps once it’s gone he’ll feel a litter lighter; maybe he’ll no longer worry about feeling five sizes too big for his skin, and his clothes will fit again, and he’ll want to read all that stupid manga and listen to those same stupid bands. 

What a stupid thought. 

Does he even want those things again, now he knows what’s out there, what’s at stake, and what kind of person he is. Because he can no longer associate himself with that reserved, kind child, worried about the small things — a little quiet, but sure of himself, clever and quick. He always knew what to say when Sora had been sad, angry, or scared. (A spattering of stars, a quiet whisper of a childish fear, a promise made with a wooden sword.) 

It would feel… wrong. Wrong to return to such a life of normalcy when nothing about their lives is remotely normal anymore. He knows Sora feels it, the little niggling that this is far from over. Perhaps Kairi feels it too. 

But Riku wants to feel different. He’s not sure he can keep on feeling this way, so hollow, so empty but filled with all the wrong things at the same time. 

Maybe he should cut his hair. 

Maybe he should stop acting like a melodramatic teenager. 

Maybe… he should stop this all. 

It’s a few days later that Riku finds himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He swirls his finger through the gathering dust. That reflection that should be his, but isn’t. Not quite someone else, but not quite recognisable either. He doesn’t even really know what he’s doing, just that he wants it gone. The length had been a fine way to hide from the world, but it’s no longer doing him any favours. 

It’s very simple really, just cut it all off. 

Riku doesn’t understand why he feels as though his heart might claw its way out of his chest. It’s just hair. 

But he can’t do it. For some reason, his hands begin to shake, and the scissors he had been grasping clatter inside the basin. He exhales a shaky breath and steadies himself against the sink. What the fuck is wrong with him. It’s just hair… isn’t it? 

But he’s feeling awfully violently right now, as though days of feeling nothing much at all are catching up with him all at once, and Riku isn’t sure whether he wants to cry or scream. He shouldn't do either. He should calm down and stop being overdramatic and childish and cut his hair and go to sleep. Continue pretending that none of what he feels matters. Continue acting like a victim and shouldering more blame than he can carry. None of it makes any sense, anyways. 

Riku finds it’s becoming a little difficult to calm down, though. He begins to laugh, but all that comes out is a sob. 

How terribly embarrassing. 

Riku is bleeding, he notices. When had that happened?

It’s a shallow gash, but it’s unmistakably not an accident. 

The evidence of it all lies gracelessly in the sink, a cobweb of blood spilling down the drain, the scissors stained. 

He had done it to himself. The realisation makes Riku very sick, and suddenly he doesn't care about cutting his hair anymore. 

For some reason, Riku doesn’t use a cure spell. He watches as the bleeding slows to a trickle, then a drought. He wipes his skin with a towel rather listlessly, noting to throw it away instead of putting it in the laundry basket. But he doesn’t seal the wound. He stares down at the redness of it, blinding like a car light. 

And his hair is no longer a priority, confronted with this act of violence. 

He cleans the sink, pockets the scissors and sits uncomfortably on his bed, eyebrows furrowed and chest impossibly heavy. 

It is, of course, not long until his introspection is interrupted by a mess of brown hair and an over-enthusiastic smile, knocking repeatedly at his window. Riku tugs a pillow over his arm, hoping it looks somewhat inconspicuous, reaching to open the window with his right one. “I do have a front door, you know.”

Sora beams at him and it shouldn't feel bad. It doesn’t. It doesn't feel bad, it feels very very good actually. Riku’s the one who feels bad. 

“I know,” Sora smiles, clambering inside.

“Why go the extra effort then?” Riku sighs. 

He tumbles onto Riku’s bed ungracefully, glancing up at Riku sheepishly and Riku hates how he feels himself fall in love again. It’s stupid and never going to happen. 

“It’s more fun,” Sora stands up, pacing a little. “Do you wanna play Mortal Kombat?” Riku frowns a little at that — the sudden shift in conversation indicating that something must be up. For now, Riku decides against pointing it out. 

“Really? You’re the one that squeals at the fatalities,” Riku tries to smirk, but he worries it comes out more sad and less suave. 

Sora pouts indignantly, “I do not squeal.” 

“Whatever you say,” Riku laughs, and it’s not all a fallacy. “I’ll set it up.”

“Oh, just so you can pick your character first.” Sora all but whines, falling into a beanbag at the foot of Riku’s bed. 

He finds the disc and boots up the console. “Don’t worry I won’t take Sonya Blade.” It’s so easy, Riku can’t help but wonder what he was worried about those hours ago. 

Sora sputters, “I’m not picking Sonya Blade.” 

“No?” Riku asks as he inserts the disc. “I thought you liked her?”

“I see what you’re doing, Riku,” he huffs. “I won’t fall for it.” 

Riku settles down beside him, handing Sora a controller. “And what am I doing?”

Sora doesn’t reply, frowning. “Riku?” He pauses. “What happened to your arm?” 

Oh. 

“I slipped.” The lie comes out far too easily, and he can see that Sora doesn’t believe a word of it. 

Sora frowns, and Riku feels terribly exposed, wondering how he can escape this conversation or if it’s actually time to talk about things. (What even is there to talk about, though, when everything has already been said?)

“What were you doing?” Sora asks hesitantly. 

Riku makes a fist, gripping the controller with his other hand. “Cutting my hair.” 

Sora tilts his head to look.

“I didn’t get very far.” 

He nods. “Riku,” his frown slips further, and Riku both sees and feels the wispy green tendrils seep into his skin.

“Don’t —” but the spell has already disappeared, and instead of a dangerous red, the cut seals into a neat white line. Riku wishes he could have watched it heal. 

There’s a heavy patch of silence hanging between them. Sora’s eyes bore into the scar as if looking at it for long enough would give him all the answers. Riku doesn’t think about the scissors in his pocket or the bloodied towel in the bin. He doesn’t think of how the pain had been almost grounding and how he’s scared that he might accidentally do it again. 

But then Sora picks up his controller from where it lies next to him and grins. “Best of five?”

He definitely picks up on the sigh Riku lets out but doesn't mention it, and for that Riku is grateful. Riku does the same, opening the game and selecting his character. 

“No fair, you always win with him,” Sora pouts. 

“Wonder why I chose him,” Riku attempts his own smile. 

And when he absolutely thrashes Sora in all five games, that smile is a lot more genuine. 

It almost feels like it did before. 

Kairi stands behind him in the bathroom, the scissors much safer in her hands. 

“How short do you want it?” She asks. 

Riku sighs. “I don’t care, just cut it off.” 

The reflection that gazes back at him is happier, but Riku feels exactly the same. 

The moon still chastises him, its crescent smile turning sly as Riku gazes at the sky. It’s late, but he can’t sleep. He should have joined Kairi and Sora today — they said they went out; did something, something other than sitting in their rooms which Riku has gotten very good at. He tried reading a manga today, but the words read all wrong; the illustrations mangled and corrupted. He made it five pages before feeling sick and awful. 

He thinks about the line on his arm and an expression that should never wander across Sora’s face. But he also wonders if he’s being incredibly stupid and selfish. 

Nothing about any of this makes a semblance of sense, Riku decides, and perhaps it’s no use worrying himself silly about things out of his control. Though, that doesn't change the mistakes he’s made that were in his control. 

It’s Kairi that interrupts him this time, walking towards the shore and sitting beside Riku. She rids herself of shopping bags. “I missed the sunset,” she sighs. 

“They all look the same,” Riku replies. They always did. 

“That’s why I like them.” Kairi rests her head on his shoulder. “When everything is changing, it’s nice to have something that stays the same.” 

The moon casts an incandescent shadow on the sea. 

“Sora not with you?” He asks. 

Kairi shakes her head, “He went home.” She pauses. “I think he’s worried about you.” 

The reply gets caught in Riku’s heart. 

“I think I am too.” 

“You think?” The ocean looks cold. It’s the perfect place for him. 

“Riku… you should talk to him. I mean, really talk to him.” She says it as though it’s not a request, but a demand, as though she knows something that she shouldn’t. 

He finds it almost funny how easily she seems to read him. With Kairi, it always feels as though he’s been opened from the inside, all his secrets bare and blue. It’s surprising, but he finds he doesn't mind. They’re safe with her, he decides. 

“Did you have fun today?” Riku asks. 

She nods, and her hair tickles Riku’s neck, “Yeah, Sora wouldn’t stop talking about you, though.” She giggles, “Oh, Riku would love this; should I get this for Riku?”

It makes something inside him squirm. He laughs, a little embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve come.” He feels guilty but not quite guilty enough. 

“It’s okay.” 

“I know it’s stupid, the way I’m feeling.” 

Kairi sits up straight. “Riku, it is not stupid.” 

He swallows, unable to say something dumb and self-deprecating at the severity of her words. 

“I mean it; you should talk to him, say what you really want to say.” She stands up, collecting her bags. “You can’t keep pretending you’re okay keeping everything inside, both of you.” 

The moon glares at him as she leaves. 

The ocean looks awfully inviting. Riku wants to crawl inside. 

He’s knocking at Sora’s door. 

“No window entrance for me?” Sora grins as he pulls Riku inside. 

“Unlike you, I am not a child.” He says, and Sora continues to pull him until inside his bedroom. 

Sora scoffs, “Maybe I’m just undeniably cooler than you.”

“Maybe,” Riku teasingly agrees. 

It’s the first time he’s been inside Sora’s bedroom since they got back, and, much like his own, it feels awfully the same. Smaller, and that pang of nostalgia hits him. It’s different, though, because it’s Sora, and well, everything feels different with him. He wonders if Sora feels nauseous when reading his old books and listening to his favourite music or if Riku’s just a complete and utter mess of a person. 

“I’m guessing you have something to tell me,” Sora lies back against the pillows. Riku stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

He shifts uncomfortably, “What? I can’t just come to…” He stops, Sora's unimpressed expression halting his shaky train of thought. 

“It’s okay, Kairi said you might come,” Sora leans over to close the window. 

“Oh, great,” Riku mumbles. 

Sora pats the bed, “C’mon, sit your butt down.” 

Riku obliges. It’s very silent. “Did you… want to watch a film?” 

The look Sora gives him reminds Riku of the one he gave… after Riku’s mistake. 

“Fine,” he stands up, clambering over the duvet to jab his finger into the on button, all but tumbling off the bed to find a VHS. Riku doesn’t care which he chooses. “Fine, but only if you actually tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Riku nods dumbly. 

Not even three minutes into the opening credits, Sora says, “I know it wasn’t an accident.” 

“It wasn’t.” Riku doesn't even attempt to lie. 

He hears Sora sigh, and when he inches closer to Riku, something inside his heart stops. It’s different with Kairi, and Riku knows exactly what that means. (He doesn’t want to confront it, not totally, not right now.)

“I don’t get it,” Sora says, frowning. 

The glare from the TV illuminates Sora’s features just like the moon. “I don’t expect you to.” 

“I wish you’d talk to me.”

Riku focuses on a mess of blues and blacks on the screen, “I am talking to you.”

Sora looks at him exasperatedly, “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

But how can he explain this to Sora again? It’s the same stuff. He should be over it all by now, and it feels selfish to still feel broken and exposed when he knows Sora is hurting the same. 

“It’s bothering me too,” Sora says, voice small. “You can’t just save the world and expect to come out feeling fantastic.”

“But I didn't save anything,” Riku explains. 

Sora stiffens, sitting up and turning to completely look at him, “You can’t seriously think that, Riku. You — you have scars to prove it.” 

The wound on his ribcage burns at the mention. It hadn’t healed properly and faded to a jagged white line, thick and sickly. He pretends it isn’t there. 

“If I hadn’t —.”

“Stop it. I know what you’re going say and none of it is true.” It’s painful because Sora only ever sees the good in him, even when he had been off playing the role of callous villain, Sora’s trust hadn't waved. He doesn’t want to abuse it like that again. 

But it is eating Riku from the inside; this guilt, this festering poison of responsibility. “I have to shoulder some blame.”

“But it’s not your fault, Riku,” Sora grips his arm, blue eyes blinding and sincere. Riku wonders how he can spill his guts when Sora won’t believe a word of it.

“It is,” he retorts because the truth is hard, but it must be said. If Riku had never opened that door, then, sure, Kingdom Hearts would still be pulsing, and the darkness would still be damning the worlds, but Sora would be completely blind to it all, they could be still trying to build that damn stupid raft and dreaming of far off lands. It’s a sad thought, but sometimes dreams are far better than reality. 

Sora, of course, seems to read his mind. “That wasn't — you weren't. Riku, c’mon…"

Riku takes a shaky breath. “Sora, I can't pretend that I'm not to blame for at least some of this.” The door, Kairi. Everything. 

“You made mistakes but —.”

Riku is glad for the film still playing in the background, not sure he could do this in complete silence. “Exactly,” he says solemnly. “I made mistakes, and those mistakes hurt people. I can't just forget that.” 

Sora flinches, eyebrows drew tight. He looks sad and Riku hates it. “But we all forgive you. The only one that hasn't is you.” 

That’s just it though. Riku can’t understand why. He shouldn't be met with warm smiles and empathetic words because he made such an awful mistake, and people who do things like that don’t get forgiven in a day. It doesn’t make any sense, none of this does, and Riku wants to cry, but he can’t, he shouldn't because crying is for people who have been wronged, not for those who have done wrong. 

“I wasn't a good person, Sora.”

It’s hurting Sora, and Riku wants it all to stop. 

Sora’s eyes go impossibly wider, as though everything Riku is saying is absurd and not the cold, hard truth. He furrows his brow, and Riku feels a little sorry for all the films that never get watched, doomed to be the backdrop to hazardous conversations. 

Riku wonders if there’s just something wrong with him, and that’s why this all hurts so badly, that maybe he’s marred, cursed to feel this bad forever, because Sora’s words, no matter how wonderfully genuine, sting like knives. “That’s not true! You — you did a bad thing, I get that. But that doesn't make you a bad person,” he says, and Riku wants to believe every word, but he can’t. 

“I feel like I was,” Riku admits, because how can he feel anything different? Only bad people do bad things. 

Sora sighs deeply, eyes cast down to his socks. “You can’t keep hating yourself for it.”

“I know — I know that. But, I did it, and I can't undo that. I have to live with the consequences.” And Sora will argue that he has lived with the consequences, but it doesn't feel enough — will it ever?

“Not if it's hurting you,” Sora pleads, expression expectant. Riku would believe every word he says if he could, because despite how optimistic and wonderful Sora is, he doesn’t lie. 

“It's not…” 

Sora’s eyes turn bewildered and Riku winces. A gunshot rings from the TV screen, and Riku realises he doesn’t even know the plot of the film. A character on the screen is bleeding and it’s almost laughable how ironic that is.

“It is!” Sora asserts. He takes one of Riku’s hands in his own. Something thick settles in Riku’s throat. “Riku, you're hurting — you’re hurting yourself. You don't have to make up for someone else's hurt by causing yourself pain too.”

Riku can’t help how his eyes drift down towards his arm. He hadn't bothered to hide it — it’s no different from any of his other scars from battle, but he knows, and Sora knows. A small reminder of a lapse in judgment, and, if he were of a better mind, a sign that perhaps he isn’t as much of the monster he thinks he is. Not when he bleeds like that, hurts like that; not when Sora looks at him like that. 

But it’s confusing and awful, and Riku can’t untangle this mess of righteous hurt and unneeded guilt.“How else am I supposed to…” he begins, but Sora grasps his hand tighter, pulling it into his lap. 

“You don't see it, do you? You don't have to make up for anything. You've already done so much. You saved me, and I know I don't remember but you did, and you saved everyone else — I couldn't have done that on my own. So you can't move on if you keep searching for ways to redeem yourself because you already have.” 

It can’t really be that simple. This isn’t one of Sora’s fantasy stories where the villain does something good and becomes a hero. 

Sora continues, “It hurts seeing you like this, Riku, and if you don't feel like you're ready to forgive yourself, I'll do it with you.” 

He can’t do that. Sora already has to carry so much pain, and a great deal of that pain is Riku’s doing. He cannot make him shoulder any more. 

“You don't have to bear my pain.” He sees himself in Sora’s eyes, cold, different, so much older and so much sadder, and he wonders where it really all went wrong, because he wouldn't have opened that door if he wasn’t already feeling sad. He knows that now, knows that the darkness doesn't just pick and choose, that you must let it inside. Was he always like this? Did falling so low make him realise how terribly bad he had been feeling? Could he have prevented it all if he just sucked it up? Or would it have grown and grown until he did something truly awful? 

It makes him wonder if this all was inevitable. And if it was, fate is a terribly evil thing. 

“Like you did mine?” Sora smiles, and Riku knows Sora can’t remember it, but Riku does. He wishes he could forget the days spent staring at that awful pod, wishing for Sora to awaken because maybe Sora is right; he can’t do this on his own.

“That's different Sora, I had to.” If Sora hadn't woken up…

“It's not,” Sora says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You did it because care about me, right?”

“Of course.” It was nothing else. Life was painted in greyscale without Sora by his side. 

Sora leans into his side. Riku swallows that thickness, wishing his heart to stop beating, just for now. “And you think I don't care about you?”

Riku frowns, “That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know, but you can't keep doing everything on your own.” It has been that way before, hadn't it? It was always he and Sora, together, and then it was not. He had pushed him away, and spent so long trying to get him back. And it’s not the same as it once was, they don’t lie looking at the sky, unaware that each star is a different story, but they can lie in that wet sand again. It’s something Riku will never take for granted again. 

“Plus, we make a good team,” Sora grins, looking up at Riku. (He could kiss him. He shouldn’t.) 

“I guess we do.” Fighting with Sora feels like an elegant choreography, one that only they know. 

Sora nods. “So, if you carry my pain, I'll carry yours, okay? It's my turn to help you, you just need to let me.”

But it cannot be that simple, Riku knows that. “It’s not that easy.”

“I'm not saying it is! But if you keep thinking you deserve bad things, then you'll never see that you deserve good.”

It’s not as though Sora can cure him of this angst and brooding with some kind words and motivation. His heart still aches, and he doesn’t think he has it in him to completely recover from this. Maybe he’ll always harbour some darkness, but he’s found that that’s okay. 

If he is truly a bad person, perhaps bad people can do good things. 

He coughs, suddenly aware of how thick the air has become. “We, er — we forgot about the movie.” 

Sora laughs, and Riku had missed it so dearly, “We did.” 

And suddenly Sora is hugging him, warm arms wrapping tightly around Riku’s stiff body. It… doesn’t feel bad. It feels… safe, as though in Sora’s arms nothing else exists apart from the constant of his beating heart. He feels his body shake with unshed tears, knowing that he’s not sad enough to cry, but not happy enough to stop them. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Sora whispers into his chest. 

An ineffable sensation crawls its way into Riku’s stomach, and he bites his lip, eyes watering. 

“I missed you so much.”

Riku’s voice is wobbly when he speaks, “Sora…” 

He clutches the fabric of his jeans and cries quietly. 

Sora doesn’t mention it, holding him tighter. 

“I missed you too.” 

The week after, the final week of summer, Riku joins them shopping. He doesn’t buy anything. 

He feels those fears resurface when Kairi suggests rowing out to the island, but he suffocates them with a smile. 

And, as they lie in the fading light, and Sora holds his hand in his own, Riku wonders if good people can do bad things, and perhaps that is okay. 

The sun sets, and the moon smiles.