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"Do you think we'll always be like this?"
Kairi is sitting in the window seat, staring out across the sea. Riku is laying stretched out below her, his head in her lap, her fingers combing softly through his hair. He doesn't open his eyes as he speaks. She gives herself a moment to think about it.
"I don't know," she admits. It's not that she's never wondered herself— she has, all the time, really. Sometimes her and Riku, other times her and Sora, most times Riku and Sora. She imagines herself drifting, from one of them or both of them. She imagines them not needing her anymore. Not wanting her anymore.
She can't imagine not wanting them. But the way she wants is different from the way they want each other, and as selfish as Kairi desperately wants to be, she knows that when they move on someday, she'll sit back and let them.
"Do you ever get sick of it?" Riku asks her, and if he didn't sound so quiet, so painfully sincere, Kairi could have laughed. As it is, her gaze pulls away from the sea, drawn to him like gravity. Always in his orbit. "Sora and I always being here?"
Now that's laughable. Not that Kairi is that cruel.
The thing is, to her, Riku and Sora are an inevitability. She hardly remembers her life before them, and she doesn't like to think about a life after.
She'd be okay, of course. She'd move forward and make friends and meet new people, would change and grow and thrive with or without them. Kairi has been torn away and stolen and left behind a hundred times over— she can't afford to depend on others the way she used to.
If nothing else, Kairi knows with absolute certainty that if her life was once again uprooted or taken or turned on its head, she would be okay. She could lose everything and everyone she's ever known and she would be okay. It's always there in the back of her mind, an inescapable possibility. An outcome she's forever prepared for.
Riku and Sora are very possibly the most important part of her life, but they aren't necessary. Not the way she once so desperately wanted them to be. Kairi isn't here because she needs them, because Kairi can't afford to need anyone.
But oh, she wants them. She wants them like she's never wanted anything.
Smiles and laughter and warm, calloused hands. Holding and being held. Trusting and being trusted. To be known and seen but never looked down upon. To be ugly and shameful and burdened; a wild, untameable thing, and still be so cared for. Treated like something precious. Treated like something loved.
Kairi hates needing. Hates the reliance, the helplessness, the incapability. But she can never bring herself to hate the wanting. Not when it's this, not when it's them.
Do you ever get sick of it?
"No," Kairi answers honestly, easier than breathing. "I don't think I ever could."
She would take this forever, if she could. This blissful what-if, a faux future stretching endlessly ahead of them, a world where they never drift apart. Would grasp it with both hands, hold on tight and never let go.
It's enough that she's here now. It's enough that even after all that's happened, they still love her. It's enough.
It has to be.
Riku laughs, light and breathy, eyes fluttering open to meet her gaze. The corners crinkle as he smiles up at her. All she feels is warm, warm, warm. "I don't know about that."
Kairi doesn't laugh with him.
"I do," she tells Riku. Kairi knows more than anything, down to the deepest depths of her heart, that no matter how much they could argue or fight or try to push her away, Kairi could never get sick of this. Of them.
Riku's smile falters, expression sobering as he realizes she's being serious. His gaze meets hers, intent. She's not sure what he's looking for. She's not sure she wants him to find it.
"…I don't think I ever could, either," Riku admits, quiet but sincere. "Get sick of you, that is."
Kairi does smile, this time, warm to her core, bitterness on her lips. She can't help it.
Riku's brow furrows. Eyes searching, searching, searching. "You don't believe me," he murmurs, voice low.
He knows her too well.
"I want to," Kairi tells him, and it's not technically a lie.
"Why don't you?" Riku asks, as though it's ever been that simple.
They're always just a step ahead of her. Sora will hang back to wait for Riku and Riku will hang back to wait for Sora and they'll move forward together again, hand in hand, but Kairi—
Kairi is a liability. Kairi is dead-weight. Kairi does nothing but drag them down, down, down.
Some days, it's painfully obvious, and they must know. They must. Other days, they treat her so normally and so kindly that she forgets her own place: the princess in the castle, forever waiting. Bright and determined and not-quite-never-quite strong enough. Maybe next time, of course— or the next, or the next, or the next. They wander further and further; Kairi stays trapped in place.
Other times, rarely, it's as though they really don't know. The water is always rising. Kairi is the anchor, chained to the ocean floor, and every time it takes them a little bit longer to sink back down to her. Kairi can only tug at her bindings, never drowning, never rising; Riku and Sora have to work every moment just to stop themselves from floating back up where they belong.
It terrifies her, the obliviousness. The thought that they could be drowning without even knowing. That they could see Kairi, breathing easy, and follow her lead to fill their own lungs with water. That they could realize and try to save themselves, only to find the surface just out of reach.
Eventually, Kairi thinks, the water will be too high, and Kairi hidden too low. They won't be able to find her in the dark. They won't be able to withstand the pressure so far under. She won't drown, won't die— but they'll live in different worlds, then. They won't have to smother themselves just to see her. They won't have to put themselves in chains.
Without Kairi to come back to, over and over and over again, they can move forward. Grow, change. Live the life they've always wanted to, together.
Without her to hold them back. Without her to get in the way. Without her to suffocate them.
Without her, without her, without her.
Riku grows steadily more concerned as she fails to respond, not trying to hide his worry or even the hurt in his eyes as he stares at her. So… open. Unguarded. Vulnerable.
Suddenly, everything is too much. His head a heavy pressure in her lap, his hair scratchy and dry where it fills her hand, his eyes burning where they fill her vision. He's extending so much trust to her, even now. Like she's worthy. Like he's not afraid.
Kairi turns back to the sea, stomach twisting, throat tight. It doesn't help. The water, the waves, the rays of the sun— all she can see is Riku, Riku, Riku. Endless, all-encompassing, inevitable.
Except that Riku is nothing like the tides, the current, all draw and power without a hint of care. If she asked him to back down, he would. If she said she needed space, he'd vanish. If she could find a way to say, honestly, leave, leave and don't come back, she would never see him again.
She could do it. She could be truthful. She could say, here and now: I don't need you, and when you're gone, I'll live on just fine without you.
But Riku knows her so well. Too well.
Kairi wants, and wants, and wants.
There's the faintest brush of fingertips against her jaw, and she flinches. If this were a battle, a shock, a danger— she wouldn't have. She's well beyond that point. But this is Riku, and this is kindness and softness where she does not deserve it, and she flinches. Barely. She can't help it, can't stop herself, can't suppress it even though she tries.
Riku notices— he couldn't miss it, not really. But he gives her a few moments before his touch returns, and this time Kairi does not jolt. She only closes her eyes, a different kind of running.
Slowly, he reaches up to cup her jaw, a ghost of sensation. There's a moment where he hesitates and Kairi isn't sure whether it's for her sake or his, only that afterwards his touch turns firm, steady, warm. Just like before, she can't help herself, can't find the strength to hold herself back— only this time she leans into his hand instead of away, settling against his palm.
It's so gentle. So sweet. Kairi immediately feels better and she hates herself for it, for so easily giving in to something she knows she doesn't deserve.
His thumb smooths over her cheek and for one horrifying moment Kairi thinks she's started crying— but when she blinks open her eyes there are no tears, nothing for Riku to brush away. He's just… comforting her. Soothing her.
"Hey," he murmurs, barely above a breath, so gentle that it aches. Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest. Slowly, carefully, Riku's hand on her cheek pulls her down, and she finds herself hypnotized once more.
He's beautiful. She wants, so badly, to tell him that.
The words are just as bitter and heavy to swallow back as they've always been, but Kairi is used to it by now. She forces the ash down her throat, ignoring the way it settles in her stomach like stone.
"Talk to me," Riku pleads, so, so quietly, and suddenly Kairi actually is blinking back tears.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, voice shaking. Riku's thumb traces another line across her cheek, a slow, steady back-and-forth, and Kairi realizes that her hands are shaking, too. She's careful not to tug as she pulls away from Riku's hair, letting her arms fall to her sides instead. The loss of touch only makes him look more upset.
"What for?" Riku asks her, no weight, no judgment, pressure. He may be upset about it, if she doesn't answer, but not with her. He'd understand. Somehow, that makes her feel worse.
Kairi has always been a deeply selfish girl. She's tried not to be, these past few years— has tried to be better, softer, kinder. To embody the light that fills her heart and be the girl everybody wants her to be.
It hasn't worked. She's pretended, sure, but nothing has changed the way she'd hoped for. If it had, maybe she would understand.
"Why are you saying this to me?" Kairi asks him, voice wobbling. "Why— why are you telling me you want to stay like this?"
She doesn't want him to know. She doesn't want him to understand. She needs him to know— hopes so desperately that she won't have to say it. She doesn't know which would be worse. None of it makes any sense.
Riku's brow furrows, confused, concerned— searching, searching— and, slowly, he lets his hand fall, pushing himself to sit upright, twisting to face her in the process. His hair is messy like this, sleep-mussed except for where Kairi had been playing with it, and his knees bump against hers as his legs cross beneath him.
This time, Kairi can see it coming. She braces herself, shoulders drawing up instinctively, tense as can be as Riku reaches out to cradle her face in both hands. He leans in closer, gently guiding her to do the same, until their foreheads are resting against each other and they're breathing the same air and there's nowhere to look but at him.
Instead of answering her, Riku asks: "What makes it hard to believe me?"
It's not judgmental. He doesn't sound upset. Kairi is familiar with this— when Riku knows she's hurting, and all he wants to do is know how to make it better.
There is no better, here. Kairi has tried and failed to be better a thousand times over. She wants to stop. She wants to run. She wants to close her eyes and be anywhere else but here.
But she can't bring herself to look away. He's all she can see.
(She wants, and wants, and wants.)
Kairi swallows. "You're—" her voice cracks, immediately stumbling over the words, "you and Sora. You're my best friends. But it's… different, for you two." She draws in a shuddering breath, bracing herself, and says: "You aren't going to want to stay like this forever."
Like this. Shared meals and constant company. All but living in each other's homes, keeping a joint grocery list and helping to do each other's laundry. Holding her hands and holding her, being around her almost as much as each other. Shared beds and sleepovers. Taking care for one another. Existing with one another. Impossibly close. All things they want with each other, she knows.
But Kairi is different.
Kairi knows, deep in her heart, that she doesn't care for either of them the way they care for each other. The closeness she craves, the longing she aches with, the things she wants so badly it hurts— those are for Sora and Riku, with each other, alone. Kairi can't love them like that.
Riku, gaze locked on to hers with startling intensity, asks her: "Why not?"
Kairi opens her mouth. Closes it.
Riku takes a deep breath. "Sometimes," he admits, changing the subject completely, "I get clothes that are supposed to be for myself just because I know you'd like to steal them."
What?
Kairi thinks of the hoodie he brought home a couple weeks ago, the one he kept wearing to bed. Pale lilac with a little cat on the front. It hadn't really seemed his style, but he has plenty of lougewear and pajamas that don't seem to appeal to him beyond how comfortable they are.
Plenty that aren't his style, but that Kairi thinks are adorable. She'd stolen that hoodie just a few days ago— it was cozy and soft and it smelled like him, and Riku himself had been away on a dangerous mission. Kairi had been restless every night since he left, only able to sleep soundly once she'd given in and worn it, curled up in the warm fabric like a phantom embrace.
She still needs to return it to him. She'd washed it and now it smells like her and it just isn't the same.
Riku isn't done. "I've been learning how to press flowers ever since I saw you looking at a necklace while we were window-shopping months ago. I know exactly which ones I want to use and how to arrange them because they're your favorites."
…Oh.
Kairi remembers exactly what necklace he's talking about. It'd been another world, in a jewelry shop filled to the brim with precious stones, but all she'd had eyes for was that glass pendant with the smallest, most perfectly preserved wildflowers she'd ever seen.
She… hadn't realized anybody else had seen her looking. Sometimes, when they're out, she'll point out flowers— their names, the way they grow, what they symbolize, but— she's never expected anyone to remember. Just letting her talk was more than enough.
Riku has always looked at her so fondly, when she does that, asking little questions about the soil, the weather, the colors. Encouraging her to talk. Listening to every word.
"When I first spoke with Sora about moving in together," Riku continues, and all the air leaves her lungs, "he asked me whether it was him or you who'd been the first to know, because it was a given that I'd be talking to you about it, too. We've spent the past three weeks stressing over how to ask you and whether or not you'd even want us to."
Oh.
Oh.
This time, when Riku's thumbs smooth over her cheeks, Kairi can feel the tears he brushes away. She doesn't know when, but at some point her hands had come up to wrap around Riku's wrists, clinging tight even though he's making no move to pull away.
Her vision is swimming— she blinks the tears back as much as she can, unwilling to lose sight of the way Riku is looking at her, the sincerity etched into every line of his face, the way his lips move around each declaration of love.
"I don't care about whether or not you want to kiss me," Riku says so, so easily, sincerity weighing down every word. It'd be impossible to deny him, to claim that this is too good to be true. "I care about you, Kairi. I want you to stay with us. I want you to stay closer. I want whatever you're comfortable with, just so long as it's you, and Sora will tell you the same thing."
Kairi keens— a low, strangled sound that finally tears its way from her throat. She leans further into Riku, clinging tight enough that she's certain it must hurt, letting herself fall into his hands. Riku doesn't waver, even when Kairi's eyes squeeze tightly shut, even when her entire body shudders in his grasp, even when the first sob finally escapes her.
What Riku does do is move. Kairi is too busy crying to protest, and by the time it registers she's already in his lap, pulled flush against his chest. Gently, his fingers find her temple, tipping her head against his collar so that her ear rests right over his heart, able to hear every beat.
He's warm and solid and real, and all Kairi can do is cry harder. She curls in on herself, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and holding on tight. His arms wrap around her like a shield— everywhere she looks, everything she feels is Riku, and Kairi lets herself drown in it. She can only hope that her clinging and the tears seeping into his shirt manage to convey even a fraction of how utterly, bonelessly grateful she is that he's here.
"I—" she gasps between sobs, trembling like a leaf, voice wavering pathetically, "I thought you—"
Riku's head ducks down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and Kairi chokes on the emotion that surges up her throat, thick and painful.
"I know," he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear, pulling her a little closer. "I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner."
Kairi wildly shakes her head, lacking the air to protest. How can he possibly blame himself for this? This is— this is everything, everything Kairi has ever wanted, everything she's always told herself she'll never have and here Riku is, handing it to her on a silver platter and apologizing for not having read her mind to give it to her.
One of Riku's hands comes up to her hair, smoothing it back. It's more of a light pressure than anything, none of the ever so gentle tug she knows grounds Riku so much when it's his hair being played with. She hates having her hair pulled and Riku knows that, of course he knows, but to feel him putting in that care to avoid it, she— it's—
"You're okay," Riku whispers, rubbing little circles down her back. "You're okay, Kairi."
Another kiss to her hair.
His voice, barely a murmur, "I love you."
Kairi's crying so hard she can barely breathe but she forces herself to, now, clinging to him with white knuckles in a desperate attempt to ground herself, voice wet and strained and shaking: "I love you too."
She does. Her heart hurts. Her chest aches. She loves him.
Not the way he loves Sora. Maybe not even the way he loves her. But she loves him.
Kairi doesn't know how long she stays there, curled up in his lap and crying— only that he never lets go. She cries until the tears run out and then some, trembling in his arms under the strain. She feels broken, shattered, but Riku is here holding all of her pieces until she can pull herself back together again.
So she does.
It starts slow: hitching, strangled breaths turning into deeper gasps for air. The violent tremors wracking her body calm to shaking, to shivers, to only barely trembling. With every breath her lungs expand a little more and she holds on a little longer. Pins and needles spark across her fingers as she uncurls them one by one, leaving behind aching hands and a very wrinkled shirt.
Her face feels like a mess, salt on her lips, tear tracks staining her cheeks, flushed red and fever-hot. The corners of her eyes burn bright and painful, and she sniffles, head still ducked, as she reaches out silently. Riku leans over just enough to grab the box of tissues from the edge of the seat and hand them over, and Kairi begins the painful process of cleaning herself up.
"I'll be right back, okay?" Riku murmurs, not actually moving until Kairi nods, small and miserable. She curls in on herself a little further as he lets go, warmth vanishing, trying to focus on wiping her face dry instead of his absence.
It's a good thing, really. Kairi hates when he sees her cry. It's different with him and Sora— they've always been here, and where Kairi can't stand to cry at all around others, at least with the two of them she doesn't mind them being there. At her side or holding her close or asleep in the bed across the room, as long as they can't see her face.
Kairi tosses the tissues when she knows it's as good as it's gonna get, still feeling gross but at the very least less so. What she really needs is to wash up in the sink, but exhaustion has settled deep into her bones, weighing her down and keeping her pinned to the cushions of the window seat. If she were to lay down now, she'd probably just fall asleep here. It wouldn't be the first time.
Quiet footsteps announce Riku's return. Kairi doesn't look up as he climbs back onto the seat beside her, even as he reaches out, fingertips pressing gently to the side of her jaw.
"Can I…?"
Kairi doesn't know what he's asking. He doesn't sound nervous, not exactly, but there's enough hesitation in the way he trails off that her eyes flick up to meet his gaze through her hair.
He's… holding a washcloth.
Oh.
She blinks, and then nods.
Riku lets out a tiny breath, gently tilting her head up just enough to see her properly. He reaches out slowly, one hand still cupping her face as the other brings the cloth up. It's damp and blissfully cold, and Kairi allows her eyes to flutter shut as he presses it against her cheek.
Carefully, Riku brushes the tears and the salt and the heat from her face, applying just enough pressure to make her feel like she's actually clean while his touch remains soft as can be. By the time he's done she feels far more calm, head clear, settled in her own skin.
Setting the washcloth aside, Riku opens his arms, and Kairi doesn't hesitate for so much as a second to fall back into them. He catches her like he's done it a thousand times before, holding her close and steady as she leans heavily into his side, exhausted.
Kairi breathes deep, in, and out. Riku's thumb rubs softly up and down her arm, a welcome reassurance.
"I don't like you the way you like each other," she murmurs, because part of this still feels too good to be true and she needs to be sure that he understands. "You'll never have that with me."
It's not a threat, or an insult, or a challenge. Just a fact.
"So?" Riku asks, unwavering. "We're all different people. The way any of us care about each other isn't going to be the same, even when it's all three of us. Neither of us are expecting you to suddenly change your mind. We don't want anything from you that you aren't willing to give."
Kairi wants, more than anything, to believe him. He and Sora have known her for so long, and to this day they've never tried to pressure her. Not like that.
"Besides," Riku tacks on, "Sora isn't all that into kissing or sex or anything, either. There isn't really anything we do with each other that you haven't already seen us do."
Very suddenly, Kairi's mind flits back to every time Sora or Riku ever told her that they loved her. There are a lot. There's their devotion, their trust, their unwavering loyalty.
She remembers a time years ago when Sora leaned in, curious, and Kairi said no, and he leaned back and smiled and said okay, and that was that. A night she and Riku were holding each other and his thumb found her lip and the moment she tensed he backed off, only relaxing back down against her when she made it very clear that she didn't want to stop cuddling.
She thinks about Sora and Riku, holding each other. Sora and Riku, kissing in front of her— rarely, always on a whim, never more than a simple little press of lips against lips.
Both of them holding her, comforting her, caring about her. Never more than she was okay with, but also never holding back. Riku is right— she doesn't think she's ever seen them close with each other in a way they weren't also willing to be close with her.
"Oh," she says, very quietly, letting her eyes slip shut. Murmurs, before she can forget: "Thank you."
Riku moves slowly, carefully, lowering the both of them down to lay across the window seat, settling with Kairi's back pulled to his chest, an arm around her waist.
"Get some rest," he murmurs, just holding her, and Kairi hums her agreement, already halfway there.
When Kairi falls, she is warm to her core.
Her sleep is dark and dreamless.