Work Text:
Thebes is one of Sora’s favourite worlds to visit. Not so much because of the city, but rather who lives in it. Strong, valiant, admirable Hercules, one of the first friends Sora made on his travels and showed him the ropes of heroism. His life hasn’t been an easy one, but among all the chaos of his journeys, Sora always found joy in his battles inside the Coliseum. A respite from intrigues and philosophical conundrums about the heart that tormented him under Xehanort’s ever-present, distant gaze.
Here, Sora can wreak havoc and simply worry about the enemy in front of him. In the arena, problems are solved with keyblade swings and well-timed spells. And if that isn’t enough, the solution is merely getting stronger, strike harder, cast faster and block sooner. Sora likes the straightforwardness, an opportunity for his brain to catch a break. Nothing inside his head has been the same since he stepped into that white pod and he likes the reminder that he is still capable, even with scrambled eggs for neurones.
Admittedly, things have gotten better since Naminé relinked the broken chains in his memory after his return from Quadratum, even so, Sora can’t shake the feeling that the worlds used to make more sense when he was younger. His friends comforted him, saying that thoughts like those are a part of growing up, but Sora doesn’t fully believe such a pacifying explanation, although he smiled after receiving it.
Being erased from reality and then brought back hasn’t helped either to dispel the distress buried inside his bones, but Sora is coping like a champ; Hercules’ reassurance and awe at his newfound abilities are proof enough of it.
Riku has been giving him weird looks the whole time, though. That has him a tad concerned. After feeling like a fish out of water for weeks while the others strategized and planned and theorised about the Master of Master’s next move, Sora wanted to return to his element. The combination of a restless body and an overwhelmed mind left him jittery and there wasn’t a better way to calm his nerves than to beat up some adversaries in battle. Sora wanted to feel useful and strong and accomplished and he wanted to show off, so he asked Riku to accompany him.
(Sue him; he wants his boyfriend to find him cool. It’s probably the most teenager-like thing he has done in months.)
The problem is that ‘impressed’ isn’t the word Sora would use to describe the face Riku is pulling. It isn’t a bad expression; it is just that he looks like he is considering the solution to one of those algebra formulas Sora dropped too soon out of school to learn. In addition to that, he has been giving him side glances and, in general, been standing around like he is still in one of those ‘Masters only’ meetings that will decide the future of the worlds or something as grand-sounding as that.
It's concerning.
“You good?” He asks once they bid Meg and Hercules farewell.
They have been training under Phil all day—a coach who could find faults in even someone as dedicated to his workouts as Riku—and Sora finds himself in dire need of food. He has no idea how Hercules can still be running circles in the training grounds, but luckily the satyr dismissed them after Sora complained that his growling stomach sounded louder than the clash of their blades.
At this hour, the streets around the Coliseum are almost devoid of people, the only noise coming from the open windows. Muffled conversations and the clicking of pots and plates remind Sora of his apprenticeship under Remy and cause his hunger to grow.
“I’m good.” Riku answers and his voice is sincere, his posture satisfied. “It was about time I changed my workout routine; I got too used to the old one and didn’t even notice.”
As much as he would enjoy hearing Riku rant about how much weight he can lift and how many miles he can run, he is still a worried boyfriend before he is a gushy one. “That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“You have been looking at me weird all day.”
Yet again, Riku gives him that contemplative side-eye that is starting to drive him up the wall. At least, this time he follows it with a “Hmph…” that gives Sora some hope of getting an answer.
“So you didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t notice what?”
“That you were ogling Hercules.”
Sora stops, the world stops, time might as well freeze itself in place. Riku, two steps ahead, also stops walking and turns around, expression as composed as ever, despite the bomb that he just threw at him.
“I wasn’t ogling at Hercules!” He exclaims, too high-pitched to sound as outraged as he feels. Now he seems like he is bluffing his way out of an argument. Damn it.
Riku, on the other hand, has the audacity to chuckle at him and what Sora assumes is his beat red face. “You were, Sora.”
“No, I wasn’t!” He steps closer, making direct eye contact because the next part is important. “Besides, I’m dating you!” Which, in Sora’s opinion, is explanation enough of why he wasn’t ogling his friend. Does he take him for a cheater? He isn’t! Sora is nothing if not devoted to Riku.
“Sora, it’s okay.” Sora doesn’t think anything about this situation is okay, and Riku finding it amusing of all things just worsens it. That little, lopsided smile he is wearing spells trouble for Sora specifically. “He is your type, I understand.”
That throws him for a loop, the second one in less than five minutes of conversation. “My type?”
“Yes, your type.”
“I don’t have a type!”
“You do.”
He is about to complain and defend himself when Riku puts both hands on his hips—his signature pose of ‘I’m going to talk and you are going to listen’ that shuts Sora up immediately—and outrightly leers at him. It wouldn’t be so much of an issue if not for the fact that Sora is a weak, weak man that gets all hot and bothered whenever his boyfriend decides to be a little mean.
“You like them tall,” he starts, his words velvety soft in a tone Sora hasn’t heard him use outside of the bedroom and is making him feel things that would get him arrested if he succumbed to them in the middle of the street, “you like them strong and you like that strength to show, like it does in Hercules.”
A protest arises in his throat, but it dies on his tongue when Riku cups his chin, fingers closed firmly around his jaw and thumbing absently at his bottom lip. The expression on his face is, in Sora’s opinion, downright sensual diabolical.
“You like them manly, but not in an overly brawny way. You prefer pretty faces, like Eugene’s.” Riku moves his hand to his cheek, Sora is expecting a caress, maybe a kiss from the pretty mouth he is looking at so attentively. “You like capable, decisive leaders,” what he receives, though, is a pinch. He yelps and his menace of a boyfriend laughs at him, “who are also a little mean, like Shang.”
“I don’t-” He tries, flustered from head to toe.
Yet, Riku continues, merciless in his onslaught. Sea glass eyes brimming with gleeful mischief. It’s a good look on him, even if it’s at Sora’s expense. “You like astute, goodhearted guys that get into trouble as easily as they get out of it, like Aladdin.”
“You are just making stuff up!”
“Am not.”
The smile curving Riku’s lips is a self-assured one; Sora has to squint to see it. There is no electricity in this world besides Zeus’ lightning. Everything, from the streets to the houses to the local dinner where they are supposed to be because Meg recommended it, is lighted by lamps, candles and small braziers. Their warm shadows reflect on the white stone and turn the city bronze. An imitation of the golden Olympus above the clouds. A perfect place for Sora to be, ordinary boy that he is. Riku, however, would fit better among the gods, his soul atop an altar of the sun, as precious as any other divine treasure made with ichor and gold—Sora has to shake his head to dispel the thought.
“You are making it sound like I have a crush on all of them.” He pouts, hands on his hips, because now he is the one doing the talking. “And I don’t! They are just my friends and you are the only one I’m in love with.” Riku blinks twice, like it catches him by surprise. It’s a little offensive, to be honest. “I’m no cheater.” His statement is punctuated by a glare and the crossing of his arms; he means serious business here.
“Oh, Sora…” Suddenly, all of Riku seems to soften, the teasing tilt to his posture melting off like winter frost under the spring sun. “I’m not saying you are.”
The fight abandons Sora too; a stomach-churning uneasiness takes its place. “I don’t want you to think that- that there could be anything between me and-”
He promised himself, a long time ago, that he would do anything in his power to prevent Riku from feeling like that again. Inappropriate, discarded, replaced, left to rot in loneliness. Especially now. Especially because of him. What kind of boyfriend would he be? A horrible one, that’s for sure, even worse than when they were both dumb kids trying to outmatch each other.
“Sora,” Riku steps closer and puts one warm, comforting hand on his shoulder, “I’m not jealous or feeling insecure.” The small smile he gives Sora is so beautifully sincere. “Actually, I’m relieved.”
It’s in moments like this that Sora feels extra stupid. “You are relieved that I could like other guys?” He asks, almost not believing his own words.
“Yes.”
The whirring of a broken record plays off in Sora’s head. At least, amidst the chaos of his disconnected thoughts, he manages to grab Riku by his cheeks and pull him closer. This deserves a thorough examination of his face, Sora is definitely missing some clue here. “Who are you and what have you done to my Riku?”
It’s not like he is trying to reopen old wounds, but the blood that poured from them while they were fresh—ragged and throbbing, deep enough to mark his bones with corrosive grief—painted a clear picture of Riku’s worst fears. Sure, he has changed, moved on; matured. Turned into a dependable, level-headed, wise-beyond-his-years Keyblade Master. However, Sora doubts anyone can make this much of a turn regarding something that generated enough Darkness to cover a whole planet.
If someone could be capable of such a feat, though, it would be Riku. He has witnessed him doing things far more impossible. Still, Sora remains sceptical.
His concern doesn’t seem to faze Riku at all, judging by how he rolls his eyes and pulls his hands away.
“I’m glad that you could like them hypothetically.”
“You lost me.”
Riku gives a little shake of his head, his mouth forming the start of a word that Sora never gets to hear. His lips close, his gaze drops to the grey cobblestones and his fingers entangle with Sora’s, a habit of his whenever he is having trouble opening his heart. Riku told him—once, in Quadratum, when Sora was none the wiser about who Riku truly was to him—that Sora made him a brave coward. “We didn’t get together in the most normal circumstances.” He says to the ground, a curtain of silver hair obscuring his eyes. “There was a lot of world travelling, reality jumping, curse breaking, dead threatening and memory altering magic going on.”
Sora grimaces at the memories and swiftly pushes them down inside a strongbox that he doesn’t plan to open any time soon. That wasn’t a fun year; still better than entering a coma after being magically lobotomised, though.
“I was afraid something of that might have misplaced or confused your feelings.”
This time, it’s Sora who’s shaking his head; what a silly thing to worry over when Sora had—as Yozora so charitably put it—spent the entirety of their journey making goo-goo eyes at Riku.
“Riku, I love you.” Even the statement leaves a sweet aftertaste, it makes him giggle, like it tickles his lips. It certainly does warm his chest; syrupy affection drips from his ribs. “In the same way you love me.”
He steps to the side and tilts his head to catch Riku’s eyes, as teal as ever, the same colour as the shallow, cool tide of their sea, where the water is clear enough to watch pearl-hued fishes roam the coral reef. The sight of them nearly as precious as the smile slowly curving Riku’s lips.
“I know that now.” One second, Sora is standing in front of his boyfriend, appreciating the quiet happiness tenderly settling on his features; and the next, he is spinning, held in the air by strong, secure arms around his waist. “Because you like handsome men who can sweep you off your feet!”
The world becomes a blur, Riku’s playful expression the only thing his vision can focus on. Bubbly, giddy laughter tickles his throat and Sora finds himself, not for the first time, stupidly in love with his best friend.
“Hey,” he chides, once Riku stops twirling, “have you been praising yourself this whole time?”
Instead of an answer, Sora receives a raised eyebrow and a badly repressed smirk. “Do you think I’m handsome?”
“I think you are beautiful.” Riku blushes immediately, his smugness crumbling after being hit by the wrecking ball of Sora’s sincerity. It’s always a funny thing to witness. “And exactly my type.” He delivers as final blow, resting his arms across Riku’s broad shoulders and threading his hands in his hair, the fingers of his left one gently cradling the back of his head.
The statement sounds a tad peculiar to him; Sora isn’t completely sure about the whole ‘having a type’ thing, but he notices Riku’s heartbeat drumming against his ribcage, where they are pressed together—Sora’s feet still dangling in the air—and that’s enough reason to use it as teasing material.
Besides, the more he ponders about it, the more comfortable he gets with the idea. Sora does admire Hercules’ muscles and does get infuriatingly flustered each time Eugene manages to charm him into going along with one of his schemes. And maybe (just maybe) he did put on more effort during training when he felt Shang looking his way. And perhaps he liked a little too much when Aladdin would conspiratorially wink at him as they sneaked their way into the palace. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t say that he likes likes them, the mere concept sounds like a weird mess to him.
“Now I wonder.” Riku’s voice has recovered its teasing tone; Sora braces himself for impact. “Do you like me because I have all the qualities you find attractive? Or do you find those qualities attractive because I have them?”
“You are getting way over yourself.” Sora admonishes, glaring at him even if he knows his cheeks are becoming tomato red.
That gets him another low chuckle, this close, it feels like a purr.
“I know, sorry.” To his credit, he appears slightly apologetic. Although Sora can’t see much of his face once Riku lifts him up high enough to bury it against his chest. In this position, he can sense Riku’s smile through the fabric of his tank top. Crown necklace probably digging into his cheek. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we can banter like this.”
Sora gives a smile of his own; sometimes he hardly believes it himself. If little him had been told that he and Riku would end up like this, the news would have put his brain out of commission. “You better believe it, then, because I’m getting back at ya.”
“We will see if you manage.” Mutters Riku, confidently, to his sternum.
Sora’s retaliation comes after dinner once they get inside their gummiship, ready to fly towards the Land of Departure. As usual, Sora is at the wheel (heart? Heart-wheel) while Riku occupies the right passenger seat. They are both pleasantly drowsy, with their muscles too tired out to tense up, their bellies full of warm food and their mouths sweet from the figs they ate as dessert on their way back. Riku’s lips are still painted a soft red from it, unperturbed by Sora’s previous attempts at wiping out the colour with lazy kisses; Riku had to grab Sora by the shoulders and redirect him to the pilot seat, knowing that if he didn’t put his foot down, they would end up sleeping on the uncomfortable ship bunks instead of their own bed. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Sora had to admit that his exhausted limbs demand something softer than the thin, plasticky mattresses in the gummiship.
Still, the abrupt ending of their make-out session reminded Sora that he had planned to get him flustered as payback.
“So,” he sees Riku’s head tip up through the windscreen’s reflection, “you said it’s normal to have a type. Does that mean you also have one?”
The gummiship takes off smoothly and soon, they are surrounded by the quiet, infinite darkness of space and its many, many lights.
“I do.” He answers easily. “My type is you.”
Oh, well, that backfired quickly. Sora had expected a bit more resistance; now he is the one blushing.
“Does that mean that Terra…?” He prods, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
That does get him a reaction; the interior of the cabin echoes the squeak of Riku’s seat as he jolts up. “Wha-? No! No, not him.” The puzzlement is so obvious in his voice, Sora needs to bite his lips to not guffaw. “Where did you even get the idea?”
“We both have blue eyes, brown hair-”
“You are putting too much weight on the appearance.”
“You aren’t dating me for how I look?”
“Of course not,” Riku scoffs and something inside Sora shrivels up and spoils the sweetness on his tongue, “you thought I was?”
His fingers stop their tapping; Sora tightens them around the wheel instead. Silence falls over the cabin not unlike bitterness fills his mouth and, when Sora tries to swallow it down, it descends his throat like a sour clump.
“Ouch.”
He can feel the scowl weighting on his face, almost as clearly as Riku’s instant regret.
“Sora,” his name is followed by the sound of heavy combat boots on steel floor, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
His presence at his side is warm once he sits sideways on the armrest, one hand sneaking behind his back to cup the curve of his ribs. Normally, Sora would lean towards him, but now, not even the kiss to his temple improves his mood—maybe it does, a little bit, perhaps it makes him smile; he is hopelessly smitten, after all—although it does prove that Riku is thorough in his apologies when said gesture turns into a nibble on the shell of his ear. That has Sora’s breath hitching.
“You being a catch is a plus.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sora huffs and bumps Riku on the side with his shoulder, “good save.”
“I’m being honest.”
“I know.” He really does, Riku hadn’t been lacking in compliments and adoring looks once their relationship became official, and even before that, Sora could catch the occasional appreciative glance sent his way. But he had issues of his own to sort through and it didn’t help the many times someone in Quadratum pointed out how out of his league Riku was, no matter how much Strelitzia reminded him that they were only trying to push his buttons.
“Do you?” Riku asks in a serious voice; it unravels the knot in Sora’s chest.
“I do, I promise.”
Another kiss, this time to the crown of his head. “Good. Cute saviours of the world like you shouldn’t doubt how good-looking they are.”
“So your type is ‘cute’?”
“Cute and brave” the words tickle Sora’s ear, he can almost feel the shape of Riku’s grin against it, “and charming and stubborn and strong and considerate and with pouting lips.” He finalises squeezing Sora’s cheeks. The image that his reflection shows him is too ridiculous to not laugh at; he looks like the tubist fish at Sebastian’s orchestra.
“Okay, you are forgiven.” Sora shifts enough to kiss the underside of his smooth-talker of a boyfriend jaw and although he would like to remain there, Riku is quick to nudge his head away.
“Eyes on the road.” He warns, like he isn’t the one actively distracting him.
“We are in space; there is no road.” Is what he says, but he does look forward. The Ocean Between is as void and unamusing as it was when they got out of Thebes. Not a heartless in sight. What a bore.
“Even more of a reason to pay attention.”
There is nothing that Sora can say to that without coming out like a reckless, thoughtless pilot, so he accepts the advice and focuses on traversing the distance; the path is clear enough, so Sora activates the boosters. The momentum feels like a hand splayed over his chest as it pushes him against the seat, yet Riku, perched as he is on the armrest, barely reacts.
“Then…” it seems he can’t let the subject die; he isn’t sure why, “besides me, who would be your type?” He asks it airily, sneaking a glance at his profile.
Riku doesn’t think twice before answering, like he isn’t about to rock Sora’s whole world off its axis. “Ven, for example.”
The gummiship does also jerk off its axis, executing a sharp turn to the right that has Riku clinging to the seat with both hands, but Sora’s brain is too overwhelmed to properly think about that, he has a tropical storm wreaking havoc inside his skull.
“Roxas is your type?!” From where is he supposed to start processing that from?
“What did I say about appearances?!”
Oh. Sora stabilises the ship with shaking fingers and a nervous chuckle. “Right, right, sorry.”
At his side, Riku exhales a relieved puff of air and in the periphery of his vision, Sora notices his hands unclenching from the backrest before returning to his lap. There are still a million thoughts racing across Sora’s consciousness, none of them something that he would like to dwell on for more than a second. What he knows is that his stomach is twisting itself into sailor’s knots tight enough to hold a cruiser. A grumbling in his chest that dies out when Riku’s face appears in front of him, raised eyebrows and a searching stare distracting enough.
“Are you moping?”
Sora averts his eyes to the side. “No…”
“Sora,” his name is called in playful reproval (one half sweetness, one half concern) and, before he can start to question it, he has a lapful of boyfriend to deal with, his favourite type of problem, “were you expecting me to say that you, only you and no one else in this realm or beyond but you, could ever be my type? Because I’m, was and will always be just yours?”
A peek at the windscreen shows him their reflection, a hilarious image, for sure. Riku is twice his size and splayed as he is across the seat—his back against one armrest, his long legs dangling from the other, fitting snugly in the open space between Sora’s thighs—that fact is comically blatant. His best friend looks every bit the spoiled prince sitting arrogantly on his golden throne and it’s funny to think that Riku would never pose like this in front of the King. This side of him is for Sora only. The pressure on his guts lightens.
“Maaaaaybe.”
When Sora looks at him, Riku is smiling complicitly, like they are about to share a secret. “Well, the second part is true.” Riku nuzzles his head against Sora’s neck, his grin is caressing his skin in a joyful kiss. His blood starts boiling under it. “I don’t think my heart could ever belong to anyone but you.”
Calm settles in Sora’s being and it feels a little ridiculous how at ease his body becomes, relaxed enough to melt on the seat. Riku has way too much sway over his mood, but when he steals another glance at him and catches him fiddling with his necklace, cuddled close to his chest, all he can think is: what a cutie. That’s something Riku neglected to mention about his type, maybe he doesn’t realise how cute Sora finds him at times.
“What about the rest of you?”
“What do you think?” He asks, a teasing tilt to his question.
One of Sora’s hands lets go of the wheel to cradle Riku’s back and squeeze, palm flat against the skin and bone covering his heart. “That you are all mine.”
That gets him another laugh and another kiss on his cheek before Riku returns to rest on his shoulder.
“I do like when you get possessive.”
Yeah, that is a conversation that remains mostly confusing to him. Something about Riku not wanting to lay claim on Sora, but relishing in Sora marking him up as his in any way possible that didn’t quite fit together months ago, and still doesn’t make sense now. Whatever—is what Sora said to himself then—as long as Riku is happy, he doesn’t mind not understanding the nuances.
It's also something he can use to his advantage.
“Does that mean that you wouldn’t mind if I flew us to the Mysterious Tower instead?”
“It means that I won’t allow you to make a mountain out of a molehill, we are going to spend time with Ven.”
Damn it. Sora deflates. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Sora.”
“Just joking!” He chirps. Straightening up his posture, he squeezes Riku one last time before returning his hand to the wheel. “I’m giving you a hickey, though.”
“Fine by me.”
Somewhere in the Land of Departure, a shiver runs down Ventu's spine.
"Are you cold, Ven?"
With his hands busy rubbing his arms, Ventus has no way to pet his Chirithy's head and reassure them. Another problem might be that he needs reassurance of his own.
"It's not that." He mutters, checking his surroundings. "I got the feeling that something... bad is about to happen."
His Chirithy brings their paw to their chin in thought, before trilling with the cadence of chiming bells.
"Sora and Riku are on their way, we can ask them if they saw something strange."
For some reason, the idea of meeting Sora isn't comforting at all.