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The sprawling landscape beyond him makes Sora feel a little better about everything. He dangles his legs a little carelessly off the steep drop of the tower, now promptly abandoned and becoming more decrepit and overgrown than it once was before, and he thinks that the scenery is so much more beautiful without the faces of a hundred Heartless.
That part always saddens him, the fact that he’s always visiting such marvellous places without the time and space to appreciate them for what they truly are.
The tops of the tallest buildings in the Kingdom peek their eyes over the sprawling trees, and their gaze seeps into Sora — he feels almost peaceful. Almost being the key word here, because peace never feels stable, never feels safe or comforting; always feels like the unnerving calm before the storm, the silence before an explosion. But, Sora tells himself, he can’t keep fretting over something inevitable. Damage will happen, at some point or another, and his only role is to let it happen and deal with the ruins.
He sighs and lets his mind wander. He won’t be alone for much longer — loneliness is a privilege Sora’s never become too acquainted with, and yet feels all too strongly, and he thinks that maybe sometimes, the feeling of loneliness is strongest when you’re not actually alone.
Donald and Goofy are down there, somewhere, maintaining ‘order’ and other inconsequential things that Sora can’t even pretend to care about at this present moment. He feels… No, not quite sad. Melancholy maybe. Wistful, or another synonym that doesn’t at all accurately portray the twisting and turning emotions writhing inside of him, and he’s never been too great at sentences or words in the first place. Maybe it’s stupid of him to presume he even knows a word that describes all of this if there even is one at all.
And, yeah, he’s definitely stupid, because why is he moping and acting all gloomy when the threat, for now, is so stagnant? He’s nothing to worry about, on paper or in the words of his companions. They’re all… placated. The worlds are as they should be, no overwhelming impending destruction of everything light and good, no need for them to be ready to risk everything.
But, oh, he does have the right to worry and worry Sora does, which is probably unlike him. Although, and he exhales pointedly, leaning down to watch the water glisten below, he’s not all too sure what is like him recently.
He doesn’t remember much from the past year, and part of him doesn’t want to. All he does know is that Riku (always Riku) dove in and saved him once again. And it’s not as though he feels bad about it, because he’s not sure he could ever feel anything even resembling a negative emotion towards his best friend. But he doesn’t feel good about it either.
At some point, he’s going to have to get down, and stop with whatever melodramatic existential angst his brain’s decided to entertain him with this sunny afternoon, but up here, above the world, he feels as though he could touch the sky.
And if he could, he wonders what he would ask it. We all share the same sky. It must know a great deal then; must know of all the wars and all the hardships the worlds have ever fought and survived, fought and died; it must know of every person’s light, every person’s darkness, their love, their hatred, their grief, and it’s upon this somewhat delusional thought experiment that Sora starts to feel a great deal of pity for the sky. The clouds, the stars, the sun. Did they ask for any of this? To watch whilst a great earthquake takes over an already virulent storm?
Ok, whatever. Stop it Sora. He knows he’s being lame and sappy. Whatever.
Shaking himself a little, he glances back down, the task of actually getting to the floor unfurling in front of him.
He decides to just jump, and the exhilaration from the fall snaps him out of whatever depressing stupor he was in before.
“Where have you been?” Of course, he’s met with a lecture as soon as he returns to his friends. Was he expecting anything else?
Sora leans back against his folded arms and smiles, “Appreciating the scenery,” the smile morphs into a smirk, “something you don’t seem to be able to do.” Though he thinks quietly, he finds it would probably be impossible to not be a little in awe at their ever-changing surroundings. Sora does not voice this though in preference for being petty.
Donald grumbles and mutters something about wasting time, which strikes Sora as sort of silly, as isn’t exactly what they’re doing now that everything has somewhat blown over 'wasting time’. Sora doesn’t mention this either. He’s not looking for an argument right now.
He shuffles back, facing the grove, taking one last glance at the tower, and within his pocket, he fumbles for his Gummiphone. He’s become familiar with capturing his journeys once getting used to the features of his (now not very) new gadget, but each time he takes a photograph he can’t help but feel a little melancholic. Even now, they never seem to stick in one place for long, so the photographs are all he has.
He sends them to Riku.
And Sora doesn’t care if they receive any response either, but he wants Riku to be able to see everything wonderful and bright that he sees. Photographs don’t hold a whole story though, the memories become wilted through a digital lens. You can’t feel a photograph; can’t smell a photograph; can’t look around and feel the sun hit your face, feel the iciness of fluffy snow; can’t taste the street food from kind vendors. It’s not a grand realisation that Sora sends all his photographs to Riku because he wishes he were there, that much has been evident from the start. But he thought that maybe now, they’d finally be able to travel together like they always hoped they would.
Of course, though, Riku’s away, doing something equally as inconsequential as Sora is. Checking in on people, making sure that the threat truly is buried, and waiting until it rears its ugly head again.
Sora aims his camera at the sky, the tips of the trees peering out from the bottom of his screen.
He sends it to Riku and shuts his Gummiphone off, tucking it back into one of his pockets; awaiting the buzz of a response.
Sora slouches into the pilot’s seat of the Gummi Ship, making an effort to not look as displeased as he feels. The drive is mundanely uneventful, and it’s not as though Sora wishes they would crash into an incoming meteor, but even the great open space of the distance between worlds feels dull and uninteresting now. He remembers when he first rode through the stars, gazing around in awe of how much sheer universe he had the privilege to explore. He remembers crashing and wincing at Donald’s peeved jeers, at Goofy’s attempt to maintain some peace in the trio, and he remembers not really caring about what either of them had to say.
It’s sad, he thinks, how something so striking can become so bland with intimacy. He misses the way he would find childlike wonder in everything his eyes struck. And it’s a little stupid because he’s still a child — that’s something that he’s awfully aware of. But he also feels so painfully mature.
Too much thinking makes Sora’s head hurt.
But thinking is all he really has now.
Huh. It should be nice to have the free time to actually think, but thinking means decompartmentalising, and that’s too big of a word for any time of day.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Sora tries to miss the fuzzy feeling of anticipation he feels deep within his heart. Taking his hands off the gears, he begins to reach for it, only to be interrupted.
“No texting and driving,” Donald grumbles from beside him.
Sora pouts, “C’mon! ’s not as though I’m gonna crash.” He petulantly folds his arm, glaring into Donald’s eyes. “Plus, what if it’s important?” he adds somewhat faux seriously. In all likelihood, it’s very definitely not important. It’s also most definitely Riku.
Donald tilts his head to the ceiling, and Sora stifles a giggle. “No buts.” It’s devastatingly final, and Sora bites his tongue so as not to point out he didn’t even utter a ‘but’. He averts his gaze to Goofy, seeking out the support of his other companion with pleading eyes. Reasonably, he knows Riku can wait another thirty minutes for a response, but Sora doesn’t think he can wait (and he doesn’t confer with the implications of this fact, not right now).
Goofy is of absolutely no help, offering a shrug, and then a look that Sora can’t quite place the emotion of before returning to gaze out of the window.
He lets out an exasperated sigh, pouting even further, becoming intensely aware of the weight in his pocket, but obliges and stares out at the stars, wondering if Riku is looking at them too. “You guys are no fun,” he mutters, sinking further into the chair.
His hands twitch around the gears as he counts down the minutes to landing.
Thirty minutes feels like a long time when all you’re doing is waiting, and Sora’s not exactly perfected the art of patience quite yet, so the fact that he springs out of the ship the second they touch ground shouldn’t be surprising.
San Fransokyo is as overwhelmingly spectacular as it always is. The lazy sunset paints the tips of the greying skyline red. He stretches and thinks perhaps he truly could get used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. (But images of something not quite lightness, not quite darkness — a muted grey, cloud his memory, neon lights and iridescent puddles, and Sora immediately redacts those thoughts).
His Gummiphone is in his hands before his legs reach the asphalt.
— Wish I was there with you… :/
And all his anticipation dissolves to dust, as well, he was sort of hoping Riku wouldn't feel the same way as he does; hoped he was enjoying the time spent somewhat freely. The weird contradictions in Sora’s fluttering heart don’t help to quell his earlier existentialism.
“Hey, no sad faces,” Donald appears from under his phone, and Sora sort of wants to smack the feathers out of him because he’s heard this so many times before. Sometimes Sora doesn’t really want to smile. Is it that much of a crime?
Though, maybe he shouldn't feel so dejected by a frowny text-face. Riku uses them a lot. A texting quirk that Sora finds totally endearing, because of course Riku would be put off by the plethora of built-in faces (the ones that Sora uses to a somewhat concerning degree), preferring to express his emotions in little sideways slants, colons and brackets. But some part of him was hoping that Riku wasn’t feeling the distance as much as Sora does.
He briefly wonders if there’s an unsaid reason as to why he misses Riku more than any of his other friends, but he’s a feeling that it’s less unsaid than he supposes it might be.
“Something happen?” Goofy is asking, and Sora feels a little embarrassed at the prospect of explaining what’s causing his frown.
“Nope!” He grins; it’s not all a masquerade. “Nothing.”
And if Donald and Goofy share a look, one that heavily resembles the same one Goofy gave him on the ship, Sora pretends not to notice.
He catches himself calling Riku before the realisation of what he’s doing properly sets in, and before he can go back on this rather rash decision, Riku’s eyes light up his screen like the early afternoon sky.
“Everything okay, Sora?” His voice is muffled slightly through the receiver, tinny from the space between them, but Sora finds himself melting at the sound of it all the same.
He must look like an idiot, expression surprised when he’s the one that made the call.
“Riku,” he smiles, “you picked up.” Sora tugs at his jacket sleeve.
“Of course, I did?” It’s phrased like a question. Riku tilts his head a little, obviously amused by the interaction.
Sheepishly, Sora laughs a breathy exhale, hoping that his cheeks aren't tinted an embarrassing shade of red. “Yeah, ‘course you did…”
“Any reason you’re calling?” Riku runs a hand through his hair.
How is Sora to explain that the only real reason was to see Riku’s face without sounding like a complete and total sap? He laughs again and scratches his cheek, and Riku’s expression turns from amused to painfully fond.
“Sora?” It’s playful; teasing. Sora thinks he could sleep for another year with the sound of Riku’s voice as his lullaby.
“Right,” he nods, shuffling on the park bench he’s perched on to get a little more comfortable. “Well, I just wanted to see how you were?” His voice tilts at the end, phrasing it like it’s a damn question, and he wonders when he became so utterly idiotic and lame.
“Right,” Riku repeats, smirking like he knows something Sora doesn’t.
Sora nods again, “Right.”
Riku leans back, and Sora’s pleasantly greeted with still Riku-esque, but much more casual, less battle-y clothes. He argues internally that the dryness in his throat is most definitely because of a lack of hydration and doesn’t entertain the possibility that it could be anything else. “So, how are you?” Riku asks.
“You haven’t even told me how you are yet,” Sora pouts, regaining some semblance of composure.
Riku’s laugh emanates from the receiver in a light major scale. “I’m fine.”
“Good. That’s good. I’m glad you’re fine.” Oh man, this is so awkward.
“And you?” Riku’s eyes dazzle equally brightly through ones and zeros.
The question makes something in his heart sink a little, and it confuses Sora because he’s talking to Riku in the middle of a bright and lively city whilst the sun sets over the Golden Gate Bridge, and there are birds singing on the street lamps; mundane yet happy conversations pass through his ears; a dog barks at a squirrel hurrying up a neatly cut tree, but Sora doesn’t know how he feels. Why is that? Isn’t this the epitomised picture of what happiness should be?
He tries not to frown, he really does, but his chest is just so damn messy and dense, like the tangled ball of a thousand flimsy wires, all tied together in knots.
“Sora? Are you okay?” There’s that hilt of worry ever present in Riku’s tone. An uncertainty that he can’t seem to completely let go of.
Sora nods, knowing that he’s not exactly being very convincing.
“Don’t lie.” And that causes Sora to laugh a little. He can’t get anything by Riku
“It’s nothing really,” he says, “just feeling a little down, I guess.” It’s because I miss you, more than I could ever say, more than you could ever know.
“And that’s the truth?” Riku’s asking and Sora finds he can’t look him in the eyes without seeing a vast ocean, that deep aquamarine blue inescapable even in the deepest of sleep.
“Riku, I…” he sighs. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” He rests his head on the back of the bench, the wood digging a little into the back of his neck, but Sora finds that the pain is kind of grounding.
“San Fransokyo?” Riku asks, breaking the tension Sora hadn’t realised was there until it was gone.
“Yeah,” Sora smiles, eyes wandering to follow a pigeon picking at the scraps of some discarded fast food on the pavement. It flies away the moment someone walks past. Sora watches it as it soars aimlessly into the dimming sky. “I wish you could see it.”
“I will,” Riku sounds sure. “Soon. I promise.” And has Riku ever broken a promise?
“You’d love it. It’s so metro — cosmo — uh,” he laughs, “It’s big.” He sounds like a fool.
“So eloquent,” Riku supplies with no hint of malice in his tone. “You there long?”
“I dunno. Depends what trouble’s around.”
“Trouble?” Riku asks, yawning a little. Sora’s always been confused at the time differences between worlds, never quite knowing when it’s day where he is, and night somewhere else.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? There are these bug things, like, well, uh, computers? I don’t know, it’s confusing,” Sora relays, “But I think Baymax and the others have it under control. They’re pretty strong, you know?” He’s gushed about Baymax enough that it’s gotten old, told Riku all about how helpful he is and how when they’d ended up with two he’d begged and pleaded with Hiro to take one with him. A failed attempt, and perhaps a little rash one at that, but it would have been nice to have a friendly marshmallow assistant to keep him company.
Sora pauses, awaiting Riku’s response, but nothing comes. Instead, he’s smiling at Sora like he’s gathered all the stars in the sky in a bag and tied it with a bow. Something gets caught in Sora’s throat, something big and heavy and unsaid, unthought, something grand to be reconciled with.
“Riku,” he begins, scared he’s about to cry, which would be stupid, really stupid. “I wish I was home.” It’s funny because ‘home’ lost its meaning a while ago, and when Sora pictures the word in his head, there’s the fuzziness of palm trees and sun-coated sands, vast oceans and the blazing sun, but it’s dim, faded.
It hits him, and it’s dreadful because the implications set off blaring red alarms in the depths of his chest. But it does, it hits him.
Riku feels like home.
Sora swallows that urge to collapse in on himself back tenfold. “I want to go home,” he whispers.
“You will be,” Riku says, and Sora can only take his word as gospel. “Soon, Sora.”
Riku feels like home.
He’s a little dazed when he wakes up to the sun slipping through the blinds of their hotel room. Donald and Goofy are already awake, sharing pleasant conversation. Sora blinks, eyes adjusting to the light. Emptiness has never felt so passionate before. He makes out the words ‘report’ and ‘tower’ from his still sleep-swept state until the voices cease and he’s being slapped lightly on the head by a feathered hand.
“Finally.” A few more hits and the slapping stops. Sora mumbles a yeah, yeah and yawns, stretching his arms.
“We’re heading back to Master Yen Sid, Sora,” Goofy says knowingly, but Sora doesn’t know what he’s so knowing about.
He’s reminded of his conversation with Riku yesterday, and perhaps all this knowing makes some sense after all.
It’s not right though, is it? Riku’s his best friend, and surely that’s enough. It should be, and since, well, forever, it’s felt enough. But Sora keeps catching himself yearning for more as if the only thing that could heal the holes in his heart is Riku’s smile, Riku’s eyes, Riku’s touch.
“Earth to Sora!” And then he’s reminded that this is all getting a little bit out of hand.
“Sorry,” he mutters, composure returning to him all too easily.
This is all very, very, bad, and Sora is so very, very, confused.
He lets Donald pilot the Gummi Ship this time over which grants him two equally puzzled looks.
A thought occurs to him. It should have been painfully obvious from the start, but what if this isn’t right at all? He thinks about it, about all the worlds they’ve visited, all the love they’ve seen, and the unmistakable sticks out like a sore thumb. He thinks of the princesses, the princes, the kings and queens, and something sickly settles in Sora’s gut.
What if this is all so very, very wrong?
He thinks about the way Eugene looked at Rapunzel with nothing but admiration in his eyes, something glistening and bright underneath his smirk, and he thinks about Aladdin’s dedication to Jasmine; of King Mickey and Queen Minnie; of Ariel’s transcendent love for Eric, and it’s all becoming very clear now, the image crystallising painfully in Sora’s mind.
But he also thinks about Anna and Elsa, of Belle and her undying and unprejudiced adoration of Beast, and he’s taken back to Notre Damn, and fuck, nothing really makes any sense.
He holds his head in his hands, cursing himself out for being so miserable and confused. At least he doesn’t have to worry about anyone bothering him, what with his hiding away in the back of the Gummi Ship, and sure perhaps it’s not making his terrible turmoil very inconspicuous, but Sora doesn’t even know how he’d even go about voicing these concerns. Because, well, they shouldn’t even be concerns in the first place.
He’s being juvenile and stupid, as he always has been.
Riku is his best friend, and who doesn’t feel a deep, insurmountable dedication and connection to their best friend?
Hell, who is he even kidding, and Sora laughs despite himself, feeling a little silly for working himself up so severely. Who would have thought, after everything that’s happened, he’d be running his head into hysterics about love?
Perpetual sunsets and the possibility of Riku should be comforting, but Sora feels like he needs a little more time in his head to figure this whole thing out. A year maybe. Or two. Or forever. Hell, maybe never.
This is silly, he repeats like a verbatim.
But instead of Riku, it’s Kairi that waits at the door. He’s happy to see her, he truly is, but her smile feels saccharine and his eyes glaze over with something he hopes aren’t tears.
“Sora!” She runs to greet him, and Sora’s glad he’s gotten good at pretending everything is okay.
“Hey, Kairi,” he greets her back, “is everything okay here?” That’s right, make some normal conversation because you’re totally feeling so normal right now.
She nods sweetly, “Yup! But how are you?” She’s ushering him inside. “Tell me about your adventures!” The geography of the tower is forever confusing to Sora, but they end up sitting on Kairi’s bed, in Kairi’s room, and Sora realises belatedly that it is, in fact, his turn to speak.
He ruffles his hair awkwardly, “They were, uh — they were the same as usual.”
“Awe c’mon, spare the details, Sora,” she flops down onto the mattress, hair forming a halo. (Perhaps he could have fallen in love with her if he tried.)
“Well, it was pretty uneventful,” he sighs, already falling back into something familiar. (He does love her, he reminds himself. He does.) “Life’s pretty boring when you’re not trying to save the world,” he jokes, but it falls immediately flat.
“You’re bored? But there’s so much to do?” She questions, fiddling with a zip on her dress.
“Dunno, feels like I’ve got no purpose anymore.”
Oops.
It makes Kairi jolt up in surprise. “You’re kidding right.”
Sora lets out another awkward laugh. “I mean…” But what does he mean?
Kairi frowns, and Sora thinks it looks bad on her face. “Sora,” she takes his hand and Sora swallows thickly. “You don’t need to have a purpose to matter, you know that right?” Jeez, what is it with people saying things that make Sora want to curl into himself and scream?
The laugh is even less believable now, but he’ll probably start sobbing like a kid if he relinquishes this happiness, pretend or not. “Yeah, I know,” (does he?), “just — doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”
Kairi’s grip on Sora tightens. “What’s going on?”
Oh, and what isn’t?
“Just… working out some stuff.” He looks down at his shoes, scuffed and dirty.
“You don’t need to do it alone,” she says, peering at him from under his hair. Sora bites the inside of his cheek. Damn it all, he really needs this.
His voice is wobbly when he speaks, “Kairi, I’m sorry.” He’s not sure why he says it.
“Sorry?” She repeats, “Sorry for what?” Her other hand comes to join its partner on Sora’s, stroking softly. She doesn’t break eye contact, and Sora wishes to every God he knows that she’d look away. Eyes don’t lie. “Sora, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
But he does. He’s so much to be sorry for, but he can’t put anything into words right now. They’re all so jumbled, like a foreign language being shouted at him, screaming. And so he doesn’t speak. He collapses.
Kairi catches him before he can fall.
“I’m sorry, I’m being all messy and weird,” he mumbles wetly into Kairi’s shoulder, and oh, she’s hugging him. It’s nice.
“That’s okay,” she says. Sora doesn't think that it is okay, but it’s hard not to believe her when her touch is all Sora can feel, and her sweet, flowery perfume is all he can smell. “What’s bothering you?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but he hasn’t the words to describe it. Eloquence never got along well with Sora. He tries again because beginning with something is better than never beginning at all. “I feel… weird.” Already said that, Sora. “Sorry, let me try again.” Third time lucky.
A deep inhale. “Kairi,” his trousers are suddenly very interesting. “Kairi, what if you — you liked someone, and I mean, like someone, you know?” She nods, and Sora continues. “Okay, so what if you liked someone, but you weren't sure if you’re allowed to like that person in, um, in the way that you do? And if you liked someone but weren't even sure you like them in the way that you think you do.”
Kairi is silent, and for a moment Sora wonders what it would be like to love her. She’s so close, though, and he decides that girl’s perfume smells all wrong.
“Oh,” she doesn’t sound sad, nor particularly surprised. “I think I get it.”
“Huh?” Sora stares at her through his hair.
“Well,” she smiles, and something in it takes Sora back to the past, before any of this. A pang of nostalgia hits him like a death blow, and though he doesn’t wish for everything to be undone, he wonders what life might have been like if that night had never happened at all. Would he still be feeling like this? “I don’t think love can be so easily defined.”
He nods, knowing there’s more she wants to say.
“And you really love this person, right?”
Sora’s cheeks flush pinker than Kairi’s dress, “I never said it was about me!”
Kairi deadpans, “Sora.”
He apologises meekly, fully aware that this is no time for denial. “Yeah,” and oh, he hadn’t realised how much it means to say it aloud until now, “yeah, I really do.” As vast as the ocean, as bright as the island sun.
“Then that’s enough.” She put it so simply that Sora is sure there must be more.
It can’t be, though. It’s not right. “But what about the princesses —?”
“Oh, Sora.” There’s something in the way she says it that makes Sora’s retort dissolve in his throat. “Sora, if you love them, then it’s enough.”
It’s enough.
Huh.
It’s a few days later, on their way to confer with Hercules about general ‘order’ schmuck, that Sora decides it’s relevant to blurt it out.
“I think I’m in love with Riku.”
Whatever possessed him to say it in the first place is very gone now that the mortification of his confession colours him a ghastly green.
The Gummi Ship is very silent, and Sora is very, very afraid.
“That’s nice,” Donald says, not even sparing Sora a concerned, a disgusted, even a shocked glance.
“Awe, that’s swell, Sora!” Goofy exclaims, and if Sora was to look back at this moment nostalgically, perhaps he would feel a little bit relieved. But he is living in this present moment, and it’s all quite surreal and not at all what he was expecting, so he’s completely not relieved at all.
“Did you hear me?” He spins around in the pilot seat, exasperated and incredibly confused.
That gets Donald to look at Sora, blabbering something about keeping his eye on the gears.
“We heard ya’ Sora,” Goofy says, leaning forward in his chair, “just thought ya’ already knew.” It’s the utter nonchalance dripping from his tone that sets Sora back five worlds with whiplash. All his existential rambling, all his worries about princesses and princes and the complexity of his own emotions, was it all so obviously written across his face? He feels as though everyone, Donald, Goofy, and Kairi, has known about all this before he did.
“You knew?” He asks, tentatively.
“Knew what?” Donald asks, arms still folded with mock anger. “That you’re in love with Riku?” Oh, and he does not have to say it like that!
“Hey! I never said I am, I said I think,” he splutters out, feeling a blush tint his cheeks. He squishes his hands on them, warm and soft, and he doesn’t think about what it would feel like to have Riku’s hands in their place. The look Donald gives him makes Sora scared the mage can read thoughts. “Fine…. Fine, okay… is it that obvious?”
Sora supposes he’s not exactly difficult to read, but it does posit an inkling of worry inside Sora’s stomach. If everyone else seemed to know of his… crush, (could you even call this a crush?) then the idea that Riku might’ve caught on too doesn’t seem all that farfetched.
He realises a little too late that he’s completely zoned out of the conversation, eyes glazed over with thoughts, and thoughts filled with Riku, because suddenly Donald is screeching at him, and there’s a rather large and rather on fire meteor heading straight for the ship.
He swerves harshly left and then plummets down, breathing a sigh of shaky relief, an almost half laugh, when the ship averts the crash unscathed.
“Sora! What’s gotten into you?” Donald gawks. Sora laughs awkwardly.
“Give him a break, Donald,” Goofy says, and Sora almost thanks him, but he doesn’t, and he’s glad because Goofy’s next words are, “he’s in love.”
Mortification never felt so sweet. But he grimaces into his hands nonetheless, letting out a silent scream of frustration. “Why do I tell you both anything?” He questions listlessly through his fingers, and like a child, he hopes that if he can’t see them, they can’t see him. “I’m literally never telling either of you anything ever again.”
“I don’t understand what’s the big deal,” Goofy ponders, and Sora almost scoffs.
“The big deal is that neither of you thinks this is a big deal!” His embarrassment morphs into exasperation and he no longer has any interest in anything that’s happening or going to happen in Thebes. If it were up to him, he’d be rushing the Gummi Ship to wherever Riku says he is with little care.
“Do you want us to make a big deal out of it?” Donald is asking, and Sora truly doesn’t know anymore, but this is nothing like any of the conversations he’d run through his head for nights in a row. He’d been expecting something a little more… shocked? Disbelieving? Not total indifference.
Sora pouts “I don’t know.” He rubs his temples, “Just thought that maybe you’d be a little more surprised.”
“Well, you’re not exactly discrete,” Donald folds his arms, “Riku this, Riku that.”
“Just stop already,” Sora groans, wishing that he had crashed the ship moments earlier. But, his heart had always been both his most potent strength and weakness. “Forget I said anything.”
Luckily, they’re almost at their destination, and Sora breathes a sigh of genuine relief, looking forward to when he can scream into the wilderness and bury this conversation, deep, deep underground, only to be unearthed in a full-body shiver of cringe nights into the future. Goofy laughs that stupid laugh and Sora realises that they’re never going to let this go until the day he dies.
But, as he stares out into the vast cosmos, he wonders if it really matters that much at all. It’s nice to have someone else who knows, even if they probably already knew. Saying it aloud did alleviate some of his worries, after all.
“When are you going to tell him?” Donald asks, and Sora decidedly redacts any earlier sentiments of friendship and kinship in exchange for another, rather loud, scream.
A few days after the incident, as Sora is affectionately calling it, they’ve been asked to do some reconnaissance at Twilight Town. It should be nice, and it’s been a while since he’s caught up with Hayner, Pence and Olette. The sunset always is rather beautiful, too.
He’s got quite good at thinking too, and if those thoughts are made up of sea-green eyes and silver hair that looks violet under the warm summer sun, then who else needs to know? If those thoughts are made up of smitten confessions under the stars, under a full moon, or under a pinkish sky, then, really, who else needs to know? They’re more pleasant than thoughts of turmoil and impending doom, of self-sacrifice and regret.
And Sora watches the sky as they land, wondering if he could collect the colours of the sunset in a bottle, an ombre of something so wonderful; would it would be enough of a display of his love? He watches the pinks morph into oranges above the railway, and fade into lush forested greens. If he could collect it all, would it be enough? If he could bottle all the beauty of all the worlds, the verdant valleys of the Kingdom of Corona, the arid deserts of Agrabah, the icy diamonds of Arendelle, would it ever be enough?
They land, and Sora still feels the warmth of a home that was never home once his feet touch the ground. The busyness of towns and cities has always been alluring to him, but now, he sort of wants to be alone. They’ve come here for nothing much at all, and Sora’s taking any chance he can get to be alone with his thoughts. Donald heads to the Bistro, Goofy following tail, but Sora remains at the entrance, cracking his knuckles and stretching his legs.
It’s then, through his thoughts of intimacy and sunsets, that Sora spots the strands of silver hair that occupy his very daydreams.
“Mind if I join you?” Riku says, leaning against the tower housing the Moogle Shop.
“Riku! You’re here?” Sora’s voice gets caught in his throat, and he realises that he’ll never perfect the art of subtlety.
Riku laughs, a soft exhalation in minor 7th, a mellow low octave C, and the light catches almost poetically on his hair. “Don’t sound so disappointed,” he teases, and Sora wonders if he can fall in love all over again.
Sora’s never had to masquerade confidence before, it’s all come so easy to him in the past, often to a fault, but now, faced with the prospect of being more true, more genuine than he’s ever been before, the lump in his throat is a little harder to swallow, and the clamminess of his hands evaporates a lot slower than he wishes it would. But he has to do this, and so he makes his decision, promising himself he can’t back out of it now.
He runs over, giddy, and Riku’s incredulous look does nothing to deter his decision, “Riku, I need to tell you something.”
And perhaps that phrasing wasn’t the best, because the concern on Riku’s face becomes potent.
“Nothing serious! Well, maybe a little serious, but nothing bad!” Sora clarifies.
“Okay,” Riku deflates, smile returning and Sora must be reading into it when he feels the fondness of it all. “What is it?”
“Not here,” Sora says, becoming very aware of the people in the streets, privy to anything and anything they may say.
“Okay,” Riku repeats, slowly, “lead the way, then.”
Sora takes them to the small forest between the mansion and the town, a sure reprieve of privacy for the conversation to come. The sun shines down through the trees in little parallel bars, casting light on Riku’s face (beautiful, wonderful, handsome) and Sora hopes the sunset hides the dusting of pink painting his cheeks. Riku’s looking at him expectantly, and Sora has to remind himself of his promise, the reality of it all becoming a little overwhelming now that the two of them are alone, and Riku’s waiting, and well, Sora’s not saying anything and it must all seem rather cryptic.
He takes a deep breath, “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he begins, his voice shaky but sure, “probably more than I’ve ever thought before, and I’ve been thinking about you, Riku. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and,” he sighs, every practised conversation falling flat and tumbling to the grassy floor with a splat. “I don’t know how to say this…”
“How to say what?” Riku asks, and he looks scared. Why does he look scared?
“I don’t care what you say, and I know I still have a lot to learn about love. And well, there’s not much I’m sure about anymore, but, Riku, I’ve never been more sure about anything when it comes to the way I feel about you.”
The sun sure does bring out the colour in Riku’s eyes, wide and confused, expecting, waiting…
He swallows it, swallows it all, that fear, embarrassment, anxiety. Swallows any doubts, any fears of rejection. Sora swallows it, “I like you, Riku. I like you a lot.”
All of the worlds, all of the people, all of the light and all of the darkness, fade into distance and obscurity. Time stops and the wind’s breeze falters.
“Sora, you…” Riku breaks the silence, breathlessly and wetly, and it’s with some level of sadness that Sora realises he’s never seen Riku cry.
Time begins very quickly again. “Did I say something wrong?” He exclaims, suddenly worried that it might have been best not to say anything at all. He can deal with some unrequited emotions, after everything else that’s happened.
Riku reaches for his arms to stop him from tearing the seams of his gloves, and when Sora’s eyes reach Riku’s he sees the ocean, vast and wide and inviting. Consuming and unknown, Sora wants to dive deep into its depths, dive headfirst into Riku's love, darkness and all. He wants to explore every inch of it, every reef, every wave, and let the current take him wherever it wishes. And Sora thinks that, yes, he could fall in love again every day if it were Riku.
It’s always been Riku.
“Sora, you mean it?” Riku asks, tentatively, worried, as if Sora could lie about such a thing, and he wonders if Riku’s thoughts have been as turbulent as his own. Sora wants to wipe his tears, and exterminate any fears, any doubts that plague him, but Riku’s grip on his hands is tight, as though Sora’s become his only tether. The forest continues to exist, unknowing, but the trees sway in time with Sora’s heart, unsteady, but so sure that everything else becomes hazy and unfamiliar.
“Of course I do,” he says, “Riku, I’d do anything for you.”
And Riku’s laughing, and it’s the most wonderful sound Sora’s ever heard. Riku’s laughing, and it’s woody and mellow, a dense forest, beloved and overgrown with roses and lilies, red and pink and orange. Riku’s laughing and it’s warm and airy, a calm ocean, lapping the sandy shores to the beat of a love song more sincere than any Sora has heard before.
“I love you too, Sora. I always have.” There mustn't be any darkness left in the worlds, because the light of Riku’s smile is enough to blind it all away.
Love. The word Sora has been too afraid to say, too afraid that it would make it all too real, too intense.
But it is love, the most suffocating and all-encompassing love that Sora’s ever known. I still have a lot to learn about love, Sora had said, but he knows now. This must be it. With the way Riku’s looking at him like he’s burning brighter than a shooting star, what else could there be to learn?
“It’s not a competition,” he deflects, smiling through his pout, though his expression must betray him. “I didn’t plan this far ahead,” he admits, blushing, because it’s true, none of his make-believe conversations ever got this far. He’d prepared for it all, for bitter rejection, for calm refusal, or sorry, I don’t feel the same, for everything but the words that fall so easily from Riku’s tongue.
“That’s okay,” Riku says as he places his hand, cold, but oh so warm, against Sora’s cheek, and it feels as wonderful as he had imagined, more so, and he thinks if he knew it would feel this warm he might’ve crashed the Gummi Ship into the nearest meteor in a love-silly stupor. “We can go slow, one step at a time.”
But Sora doesn’t want to go slow, he’s been waiting for so long.
“Is it too fast if I say I really wanna kiss you right now?”
“No,” Riku replies, voice wobbly, and this time Sora does reach up to wipe his tears away.
Riku kisses him, and Sora feels a little crazy because hasn't his whole journey been all about love? Every world and every person, it’s all been about love. But Sora feels a little crazy because how hadn't he known? How hadn’t he known love could feel like this? So warm, so bright, blinding and vibrant, the brightness of a thousand stars and a thousand oceans. So right. How could he have ever believed this could be wrong, when it feels like all his life he’s been waiting for this, for Riku’s lips to fall into his own, for Riku’s hands, hesitantly, as if the touch would burn Sora’s skin, to wrap around his waist.
It’s short, soft, and chaste, but Sora doesn’t mind. He feels pleasantly giddy, his skin pink and rosy, as though everything has finally slotted into its rightful place.
“Sora,” and when Riku says his name, it feels safe, like his mouth is the only place it should be, his voice is the only one that should speak it. Sora wonders if this is what love means. It’s actually very simple, he thinks and finds it almost strange that he’s never realised this before. Love is the simplest feeling of them all. Sure, he’s been confused, wracking his head for answers to questions that never really needed answering at all, but he knows that this is love, and it all makes sense now. Perhaps he should consider himself a fool for not realising sooner, and it’s totally untypical of him to overcomplicate things so much, but love is simple, and his love for Riku, he thinks, must be the simplest of them all.
“Yeah?” Sora replies, looking up, and he’s so glad they’re here, where they are now, today.
“I love you.”
Sora’s heart might actually collapse if he says it another time. “Agh, Riku! My heart can only take so much,” he professes dramatically, feeling a lot lighter and calmer, settling into something easy and familiar.
Riku laughs again in that awfully endearing way he does; loudly, yet still reserved, his eyes crinkling and hair swaying in the wind. It’s a little longer now, reaching just above his shoulders again. Sora imagines it’s soft and silky, and he knows he’ll be falling asleep contemplating how it’ll feel between his fingers that night.
“But,” Sora draws out, hands resting comfortably behind his head, “I think I’ll get used to it.”
For a moment, they’re both silent, and Sora wonders if this is as monumental to Riku as it feels to Sora. But, as Riku said, they have time, and Sora will take that time to smother Riku with all the love he has to give, touch every part of him, familiar and unfamiliar. They’ll unpack it all, spend late nights talking and early mornings watching the sunrise with the taste of home on their tongues.
And they’ll take all the time they need to do so.
“So…” Sora scratches his cheek, finding even now the blush is hard to shake, “does this mean we’re boyfriends now?” He forwent subtly a long while ago, smacking it out the window alongside his shame and fear.
“If you’d like,” the tone is so familiar that it reminds Sora of when he was fourteen and stupid, and probably equally as in love as he is now.
“Don’t make me do all the work,” Sora pouts falsely.
Riku takes his hand and Sora’s not sure his heart will ever stop skipping a beat. “Yes, Sora, I’ll be your boyfriend, if you’ll be mine.”
“Of course, I will, stupid,” he jabs softly at Riku’s chest.
It’s all so, so, simple.
“Hurry up, Sora!” Donald gawks at him from the front of the Gummi Ship.
“Yeah, yeah, jeez, give a guy a break,” he mutters as he clambers inside.
Riku smiles at him from the driver's seat. “Gonna teach me?” He asks, smirking, “I don’t want to crash like you.”
And as he leans over, breath catching Riku’s neck, hands clasping over Riku’s own on the gears, the stifled laughs of his friends, do not, in fact, fall flat on deaf ears.
But he could get used to this, he could used to the stupid looks he gets from Donald and Goofy; he could get used to the feeling of Riku’s heart consuming his own, Riku’s touch burning his skin, Riku’s smile shining brighter than any of the stars in the sky.
And as he guides Riku’s hands in a way that feels second nature to him, and he drowns out the stupid teasing of his friends, Sora decides that he will most definitely get used to this.