Chapter Text
The night is quiet out on the balcony, one among many nooks and crannies in Disney Castle, big enough for Riku and the consequences of her own actions to stand elbow to elbow. Overseeing the extensive verdure of the gardens, she can discern the shape of tall, artfully trimmed bushes within labyrinthine twists and turns. If she weren’t capable of seeing perfectly in the dark, trying to figure out what they are supposed to represent could have been a good distraction from her dejection. Alas, Riku is alone with her thoughts and they are cruel enough to conjure the image of a little, gleeful, precious figure running across the dirt path.
I have to find a way to stop, she chastises herself, yet, a tune forms in the back of her throat, a little hum, a discreet melody. She knows the lyrics of this song by heart, they have been branded on her bones as deeply as the sigil on her back, almost at the same time. A baptism by fire.
Humming to herself, Riku’s mind goes back to the celebratory ball and all the cherished people there, along with the reason why she left. The motive behind her running away, again and again and again, never able to remain where her heart begs to stay.
“Then tell me, Maria.” She chants to the full moon, candid confident of lonely fools. “Why I see her dancing there.” A flame flickers between her fingers, as dark as the night and just as serene. “Why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul.”
Flashes of past adventures rush behind her eyes, a river of memories recent and still long past. The security of a roof from where to watch without being seen, a window carefully pushed open and the visage of a wolf in sheep’s clothing imploring for salvation in the same breath it demanded damnation. Fire creating illusions of lust, unreachable dreams, forbidden desires.
“I feel her, I see her.” Her own fira starts moving, flickers of dark light shifting into a lithe frame. The tempting curves of full hips following a narrow waist, the dazzling silhouette of personified joy, beaming even in the colours of doom. “The sun caught in her auburn hair. Is blazing in me out of all control.”
Back then, it felt like looking at a mirror. An old self being reflected back at her. It wasn’t hard to realise that the only difference between her and Frollo was that he had no one dumb enough to reach for his hand as he fell, believing that he could change. They had both been driven mad by the same obsession. Hunger for possession. Prideful monsters that they were, Riku has no doubt that they would have gotten along, had they met when she was acting as Maleficent’s errand girl.
“Like fire. Hellfire.” The magic tickles her fingers, little pinpricks of warmth that spread into a solid weight over her palms when she cups the flame. This way, oscillating shadows slither throughout the balcony, as much of a reminder as they are a warning. “The fire in my skin. This burning desire.” One flaring arm coils around her thumb, the other beckoning her in. Jump, it seems to say, let me consume you. If Riku were any weaker… “Is turning me to sin.”
A creaking noise disturbs her concentration and the blazing dancer disappears in a puff of smoke.
“Riku!” Please no, Riku laments, anyone but her. “It took me forever to find you. What are you doing hiding here?”
She flattens her hands over the railing; the coldness of the stone stings her hot skin. “I wanted some air.”
“Good call, it’s starting to smell like a barn in there.”
The sound of steps hammers at her ears and then, Riku senses her presence next to her. Inside, a cord pulls insistently at the wretched heart within her ribcage and Riku isn’t as strong as she needs to be, because she sneaks a glance to the side.
She regrets it immediately.
“What happened to your dress?”
Because, at the beginning of the event, Sora’s dress was red. A solid scarlet starting from her straight neckline that turned darker at the puffy skirt, its layers of fabric and tulle different hues of crimson that made her appear a fugitive rose that had escaped to bask in the ballroom’s light, dancing with her petals unfurled until the gardener gave her chase. She looked stunning in red, as she always does, the colour of passion and determination and blood and love. The colour of Kai’s hair, too, and of his formal suit. When they stood next to each other at the castle’s entrance, there was no doubt that their attires had been designed as a set. A clear signal to everyone with eyes that they were a pair. Riku had to avert hers to not grimace.
Resigning to Destiny’s reign doesn’t make its blows any less painful. And, once more, Riku wonders if the sight before her is another of Destiny’s games. Cruel irony that it would be, Riku knows Destiny isn’t above jokes like this.
Besides her necklace, everything in Sora’s appearance has gone from formal gown to abstract artwork. The red is completely gone, replaced by an assortment of blues and purples as undertones to a dominant teal palette on the skirt that becomes darker as it climbs up her top until becoming inky black at the neckline. Her flats, in contrast, are a bright periwinkle, and those added to the rest of the assemble have Riku leaning onto the railing for support. She would recognise that combination of colours anywhere (she is half convinced her heart is painted in them), yet, it is impossible to dare and voice the connection.
The last time Riku saw Sora, she was surrounded in magic sparkles that changed her dress from red to blue and then to red again, just for blue to reaper. It needn’t to be said that Flora and Merryweather were putting on quite the show with their quarrel, all the guests stopping to stare at the fireworks taking place over Sora’s outfit. Riku, of course, used the commotion to make herself scarce. Although she only managed to corner herself.
For that to end like this, though, Riku wonders if Sora is the cat about to devour the mouse or the lure in the trap that will snap Riku’s head off.
“Fauna got into the fight, for once.” Sora laughs sheepishly, swaying from side to side, hands behind her back. “She won.”
“Anyone with eyes could tell.” And judging by the rim of untouched blue at the bottom of the skirt, right above Sora’s knees; Merryweather ended in second place.
“I also got” in a quick movement, Sora puts what she was hiding on her head, “this! For the trouble.”
It’s a hefty crown, a stained-glass mandala standing proud among Sora’s untameable mane of brown spikes. Whatever order imposed on them at the start of the night disturbed by the magical squabble.
If Riku thought that Destiny was poking fun at her before, now she is sure that the bastard is laughing its ass off.
“They gave you a crown.”
“The Fairy Godmother did.” Sora steps closer. Riku can’t step back; the railing is digging on her back.
This might be her fault, then. Of course she would be the one digging her own grave; when has it been any other way?
“You asked for a crown instead of your dress being fixed?”
Sora’s blue eyes are staring straight at hers, something soft and playful in them. “I like the dress like this.” Her hands pat the skirt and magic dust falls from the tulle, like stars raining down her legs. “It reminds me of Nightmare’s End.”
A knot tightens in Riku’s throat.
“The crown too, it looks like the teeth.”
“I thought glass slippers were her whole thing, not tiaras.” Blurts Riku and Sora appears confused for a few seconds, until her lovely lips curve into a smile and then a chuckle.
“Not even enchanted heels would stop me from twisting my ankles.” The tip of her right shoe pushes against the stained glass of Riku’s, as colourful as a rainbow. “Unlike someone else.”
Riku huffs and averts her gaze. The designing of her own attire had been quite the experience. When Cinderella told her that the Fairy Godmother would grant her the dress of her dreams, she didn’t expect it to be that literal. She is wrapped in gold, its metallic shine merging into green on her chest and consolidating into teal on the high neck. Riku had no doubt what had inspired the choice.
“I couldn’t say no to her.”
“Who would have thought that you had a soft spot for grandmas.”
“Grandmas with Dream Eater treats.” She punctuates and the fondness in Sora’s expression disarms her heart. Any more of that and Riku is going to jump out of the balcony.
“Is that the way to bribe you into doing anything?” Riku doesn’t like her tone; it foretells mischief.
“I have standards, you know?” The words come out too sharp, too hostile, but Sora is too close and Riku is so, so weak. “I’m not some mutt.”
“No, you aren’t.” Her voice is tender and her movements careful when she sets her hands on either side of Riku on the railing, trapping her. What a gentle cage. “You are the prettiest Dream Eater there is, Riku.”
The sigil on her back throbs, punching the air out of her lungs. “Sora…” She groans.
“I have been trying to tell you all night. You look” her eyes take a slow, thorough journey across the length of her mermaid dress, gaze heavy and intense, a blush blossoming on her cheeks before she arrives at her face, “really good, Riku.”
Riku takes a deep breath, beet red herself, “Sora.”
“I wanted to ask you for a dance, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” The flush darkens as her smile widens, her hands grabbing Riku’s hips and dragging her forward when she steps back. “Dance with me, Riku.”
“Sora, I-”
“I will bake you a Royal Cake.”
The image of a gloriously creamy delicacy appears in her mind and her mouth salivates; it’s as instinctual as it’s embarrassing and Riku shoves Sora away, but her grip is firm and she brings her close again. Both of them laugh, Riku isn’t exactly sure why, it’s simply impossible to not be happy around her. “Don’t bribe me with food!”
Sora sneaks one hand behind her back and lifts two fingers with the other, her expression coy. “Two Royal Cakes.”
“Sora.” Riku laughs harder; she is actually getting hungry.
It’s ridiculous how much of a sway Sora has over her. How easy it is for her to turn her darkness into light. Riku has never been able to cry around Sora, because the mere sight of her shadow was enough to chase away the fear. No sadness can survive in Sora’s presence. She is the moon high in the night sky, sacred guardian of dreams, more radiant than any star. Her pull attracts Riku to her, like the raising of the tides, and Riku lets herself be careened.
What Sora is doing can’t be called a proper dance, it’s more of a giddy jig that involves hopping from one foot to the other and moving her shoulders in absurdly fluid movements. All the way dragging Riku along around the balcony, whirling in circles that sometimes have them at arms length and others close enough for Riku to feel dangerously hot. Sora’s smile is the igniter that has started all her fires. This is no different than when she had dark firaga dancing on her fingers. Temptation waiting for her to give in, yet the smile can’t leave her face. How could it? When Sora is right here, being so captivatingly herself.
“See? It isn’t that bad!”
This time, Riku is the one drawing Sora to her. “You are a clown.” She declares, voice strangled by laughter, and Sora beams.
“The circus’ star, mind you.”
“Sorry for not recognising you without your humongous shoes, Hotshot.” She extricates herself from Sora’s hold—the adorably tragic pout she makes sets fireworks loose in Riku’s soul—to twirl her with their still joined hands and Riku swears she hears the stars giggling along. A chorus of silver bells.
“It isn’t fair,” says Sora, both feet again on the floor and returning her free hand to Riku’s back, the touch as burning as before. “I want to do that to you too.”
“If you had glass slippers maybe you could.”
A sparkle appears in Sora’s eyes. Riku’s shoulders square up on reflex.
“No need.” It sounds like a threat.
It’s in moments like this that Riku is convinced that Sora is a force of nature. A hurricane trapped in a slender body. Because in less than a second, without letting go of her, Sora jumps onto the railing and starts spinning her like a windmill. The world becomes a blur of shapes and colours, Sora’s glee her background song. Her heart follows the dance, caught in the tropical storm. It never wants to leave; only this cyclone sets it free.
But, as all things do, the storm passes, the world recovers its coherence and Riku is left lowered in a dip, staring directly into sky blue eyes, the same hue as her homeland. The colour of summer.
Sora is kneeling haphazardly on the white stone, holding her with both hands—one firm between her shoulder blades, the other cupping the arch of her spine. Both feel way too intimate. Hot as embers in the fireplace—and smiling between pants. Her face is red, the crown is somehow still on her head and she looks impossibly proud of herself. “Ta-daa~.”
The grin forming on her lips is inevitable, so she hides it against Sora’s chest, right next to the hanging silver chain. Riku couldn’t be more in love with her. “You are gonna fall.”
“Into your arms, hopefully.”
Riku’s heart, treacherous bastard that it is, dares to hope and she is quick to pluck those weeds out.
“Sora.” Riku rightens herself and, for once, they are standing eye to eye. “Corny pick-up lines make for pretty lame jokes.”
“I’m not joking, though.” She half-shrugs, looking suddenly really abashed, if painfully sincere. “I’m just not very good at this flirting thing.”
Riku jumps out of her skin, she must have heard wrong. There is no way.
“Flirting?!”
Sora chuckles self-consciously. “I thought I was being obvious.”
The world abruptly imploding around her would make more sense than this.
“Why would you flirt with me?”
“How couldn’t I? When you look this beautiful and you are so you.”
“What does that even mean?” She can feel the scowl weighing on her face. This is impossible.
Her accusatory tone seems to make Sora nervous, because she squirms in place until she ends up sitting on the railing, feet swinging in the air. There are a few charged seconds in which Sora lets go and the night feels mercilessly cold, but then she holds her hands, as if they were made of porcelain and Riku notices hers being clammy even through her gloves. “I didn’t plan to say it like this.” She mutters to her knees.
It has been ages since the last time Riku saw her this jittery. Still, there is a known hopefulness in the way she tilts her head, sneaking a glance at Riku through her long eyelashes and turning her mouth as dry as the desert in Agrabah. When she gulps, it feels like swallowing a rock.
“Say what?” This can’t be true.
Then, Sora smiles and the shine in her eyes could rival the sun. “That I’m in love with you, Riku.”
NO.
“No.”
“Riku-”
“Sora,” she pulls herself away. Away from those hands, away from that warmth, away from this lie, “you are not in love with me.”
Sora looks so dejectedly lost. Riku feels the confusion strangling her heart, the pull of a Dreamer asking their Dream Eater for comfort. “Yes… Yes, I’m?” She says, sounding as unsure as she ought to, because nothing of this should even be happening.
“You think you are, but you are really not.”
“I think I would know my own feelings.”
“Would you?” Riku snarls and the venom in it burns her own tongue. “After everything you have been through, everything that has been done to you and the others. Can you be truly sure that what you are feeling comes from you?”
Sora flinches like she has been slapped and regret clutches Riku’s guts. It doesn’t matter how much time might have passed or how many redemptions she may have gone through; she still reacts like a rabid dog when she is on edge; she goes for the throat. She makes Sora bleed.
Riku takes a deep breath, calming herself. This isn’t a fight; this isn’t even an argument. Sora is just immensely disoriented. “Where is this coming from?”
“My heart?”
“The heart is so easy to mislead.” Her hands clench into fists. It must be said. “Someone planted the idea in your head.”
“What? No!”
“Then, can you pinpoint when it started? The exact moment you ‘fell’ in love.”
That makes Sora stop and think, Riku can practically see the gears moving inside her head, searching for an answer that isn’t there. “Well, no,” she concludes with a guarded posture and validation has never tasted this bitter to Riku, “because I have always been-”
“You certainly didn’t act like it, did you?”
“I was a kid.” Sora grumbles.
“That never stopped anyone from showing off their puppy love.” She thinks about Kai and his thalassa shell charm and about herself and a paopu thrown into tan hands. Memories of a sunset-lit dock with only place for two and the drawing of a promise carved into stone. “There would have been signs, Sora, and there weren’t.” Her left wrist protests at being forced. “This is coming out of nowhere, because those aren’t your real feelings.”
“There were signs!” Sora jumps from the railing. Indignation clear in all her gestures. “I looked everywhere for you! Twice! I was desperate!”
“Because you are a good friend, who never gives up on those who need help.” You looked everywhere for Kai, too. Another zap of pain goes up her arm, so Riku relents and unclenches her fists to start massaging her left wrist. Magical padding can only do so much. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have done the same for the others?”
There is no immediate answer and, when Riku looks up at Sora, she is focused on her wrist too. A mix of guilt and wonder on her face, the same as the first time she saw the scars marring Riku’s flesh. They are proof of how far she will go for Sora, of all the things she would sacrifice for her to reach her happy ending. Even at the cost of her happiness. Even if it kills her. It would be a meaningful death.
“I was always thinking about you.” The confession comes out in a whisper. “Do you know how many times Donald scolded me because I was texting you constantly? Goofy and he laughed because I couldn’t shut up about you.”
“I was in mortal danger; you were worried and frustrated.” With a final press to the pinprick of pain, Riku unlocks her fingers. “It’s normal.”
“In Quadratum-”
“You didn’t remember me.” She cuts and now the ache is within her ribs. “I was some random stranger who presented herself as the saviour who would take you back to the home you missed.” Her eyes meet Sora and the distress slowly creasing her features is a claw torturously scratching her throat. “Admiration and infatuation are to be expected in that situation.”
“Our Combined Keyblade, then!” Sora steps closer, her voice as determined as it sounds desperate. One of her hands is closed around her crown necklace and it might as well be around Riku’s heart. “The Master of Masters said that it could only be created by the union of light and darkness. That it was the true X-blade and it existed because we love each other.”
Oh, the Master of Masters, what a scumbag of a man. He had monologues for hours and plans for centuries and a strange definition of what could be considered a ‘no casualties’ solution to the imbalance in the worlds. Righteous, lunatic, cunning defender of light who exposed all of Riku’s deepest secrets to Sora as another step towards his goal. He called it a favour, saying how Sora could use some explanations since she was apparently too oblivious to figure out what was right under her nose. Riku thought that she would never hate someone as much as she hated herself until she met him. And yet, to this day, she still wonders if she made the right decision when she refused the position of sacrificial lamb. Insane as he might be, the idea of trapping all the sentient forces of darkness into a single resistant vessel to end them at the same time did sound tempting.
That is in the past now. Riku turned down his proposal, she managed to get both Sora and Strelitzia into the Realm of Light and their friends are ready to confront whatever the Lost Masters will come out with. Life is as stable as it can be when you wield a keyblade and Riku knows by heart the road Sora must take to obtain her deserved happiness, what she always wanted, even if the vision of said future is now unclear.
“And Xehanort created another X-blade by opposing light and darkness.” She says, stating the obvious, and Sora’s bravado seems to crack. “There is obviously more than one way to get it. Maybe it comes from the Dream Eater link, maybe it’s something we picked up at the Mark of Mastery, maybe it’s a normal thing to happen between friends that keyblade wielders have forgotten about. After all these years, we still have no clue how half of these things work.”
Something inside Sora crumbles, Riku can’t be sure of what, just that its absence leaves Sora speechless. The gears inside her head are turning again, slowly, slowly, noticing the mismatched pieces that replaced old ones and are causing the machine of her consciousness to be askew. Riku watches her put a hand to her chest, her lips close in a trembling line and her shoulders sag and raise in a shiver that makes her look so small. Precious queen of her heart, shining in the colours of Nightmare’s End, Riku would do anything for Sora, including stabbing her old wounds.
“And I doubt we should believe a single word that comes out of that madman’s mouth.” She digs her finger on Sora’s sternum, where the dress is more teal than black and Sora looks at her like she is about to cry. “He is the one who split your heart and put half of it inside Yozora. Are you really trusting what he said while he was trying to keep you trapped there?”
Sora opens her mouth, then closes it and her brows furrow deeply, eyes downcast. Riku moves the hand to her bare shoulder and Sora feels unsteady under her fingers.
“He wanted to confuse you so he could catch you off guard.” This time, she speaks softly; the words taste copperish. “Nothing of what he told you or whatever he planted in your head is real. It’s just another one of his sick games.”
“But, Riku, it feels real.”
“Like I’m sure your love for Naminé felt when he screwed with your brain.”
A low blow, she knows, she is aware of how deep it cut. Castle Oblivion is still a hazy hallucination for Sora and a sensitive topic to touch. Riku knows, perhaps even better than Naminé himself, because she has lost count of how many times she has dropped into Sora’s nightmares just to appear in the white labyrinth of roses and ghosts. Fear festers inside the reassembled links in her memory and Riku doubts it will ever be dispelled.
“We don’t know what he gets out of tricking you, but we can’t let him win, Sora.” For a second, Riku worries that Sora isn’t listening, a strange hollowness in her gaze making her seem lost, not present anymore. But when Riku grabs her other shoulder, she gulps and lets out a held exhale. “We have to stay strong and resist his influence, no matter how powerful.”
Sora is staring into her eyes and Riku’s guts shrivel up and become a heavy mass of grief that poisons her veins, because there are signs of tears in the corner of those sky blue marvels and she is unworthy of being in her presence.
“Riku,” her voice is so small, thread-thin, like she is pleading, like she is afraid, like she is about to break and begging Riku to not push her the rest of the way, “was you being in love with me a lie too?”
That breaks Riku beyond repair.
Her heart shouts; it revels, its punches and kicks at her ribs and screams for her to back away, to finally yield. Sora is imploring for her love and every fibre in Riku’s being is quivering in the need to give it to her, to pour out the overpowering adoration and the all-consuming desire to be hers, only hers, nothing but hers. Her fingers graze Sora’s soft cheek and that single touch is enough to fill her chest to the brim with overwhelming love.
But Riku has never been known for listening to her heart.
“I will always be your best friend.”
The sentence settles between them. It becomes reality, a tangible weight. A barrier formed around themselves to protect Sora from Riku and Riku from herself.
“Okay.” Sora inhales, sounding choked. “Okay.” She repeats in an exhale. Her hands press over her forehead. “My head feels weird.”
“This is a lot to take in.”
“I have a headache.”
Riku guides her back to the railing. “The fresh air will help.”
With both of them facing the gardens, Sora slumps over the white stone. Elbows doing a poor job at keeping her up and hands supporting the face she is covering with her fingers. If Riku pays attention, she can hear a groan forming at the back of Sora’s throat and knows she must leave her alone.
She is already opening the door when Sora calls “Riku-” and something terribly similar to a sob gets tangled in her words before she can continue, “I’m really confused right now.”
“Give it time.” Her reflection glares back at her in door’s glass, so Riku closes her eyes. “It’ll pass.”
Later, after Riku has traversed half of Disney Castle to reach the entrance and sag over the stairs like the most deplorable sack of rice to ever disgrace this world with its presence, she finds the strength to whisper to the mocking stars. “It’s not my fault. If in God’s plan. He made the devil so much stronger than a-”
“I didn’t know you sang.”
It seems Destiny also has something against Riku finishing her self-pitying hymns. Fuck her life.