I'm saaaaawwwwrreeeeee! D: I haven't been updating Silver Key, and I'm sorry! I'm just . . . lacking inspirationg for it. D: I'm halfway through the next chapter, but I just can't get inspiration. I know WHAT I want to do, I just don't know HOW to do it.

But, anyway, enough of that. I decided, since we're doing a short story unit in English, I might as well write a ReplikuxNamine ficlet.

Yes. I do like that pairing.

In fact, I like pretty much every pairing invented.

Even ones not invented.

No joke. Kairi x Shadow Sora is my KH Hetero OTP. And I'm not kidding at all here.

Anyway, yeah, I never actually SAY it's Repliku, but that's who I was thinking of, and kinda vaguely implied, so . . . it's ReplikuxNamine.

I've also been trying new styles again, so it's a bit . . . different.

So . . . enjoy?

Paper Hearts

Her name had been Naminé. That was the only thing he had found out about her. He had met her on his way home from school. It had been raining– he remembered that most clearly, for some reason. She had been walking along the other side of the street, when suddenly she had looked up and started running towards him.

"Riku!"

But when she had reached him, she had stopped, then laughed– laughed a bright, beautiful, amazing laugh. He had stared at her for awhile in a rather spellbound way, watching her get soaked by the rain while laughing that bright, warm laugh. Finally, she had stopped and explained to him that she had thought he was someone else. He hadn't really been surprised by this– he'd been told it often. Trying to start up a conversation– he didn't really want to see her walk off, for some reason– he pointed out the obvious.

"You're getting soaked."

She had laughed again. Yes, she was, she had said. Did it bother him? No, not really, he had replied. But getting wet was rather bad for her health, and would she like to come under his umbrella? Why, yes, she would. They had walked along for awhile– in the opposite direction of his house, he might add, but he hadn't minded. They had talked for awhile, and he had found out that she was an artist, of sorts. She loved to draw, she had said, more than anything in the world. She drew all kinds of things– strange creatures, beautiful animals, people . . .

"You have beautiful eyes, you know."

He had laughed at that. That sounded more like something he would say to her, not the other way around, he told her. She had laughed too, then. She had said that because his eyes were rather captivating, and she'd like to draw them, she had explained. Could she? He didn't see why not, and so they had stopped at a conveniently nearby restaurant. Sitting at a far back table in the most secluded area of the restaurant, she had drawn him. He had to stay still though, she had told him. If he moved, she might make a mistake. He hadn't had a problem with that– all he had to do was stare at the girl in front of him, and all other motions and thoughts would cease.

"You're beautiful."

The girl had looked up in surprise at that, then smiled, laughed, and told him he was silly. No, he wasn't, he had replied quietly. She was beautiful. And not just outwardly, too. What did he mean by that? She had a beautiful personality and soul, he had said. He could tell, just by looking at her. She had smiled again, but rather sadly this time. She had looked away for a moment, then had suddenly changed the subject.

"Do you want to see some of my drawings?"

Of course he would. So, she came and sat next to him instead of across from him like she had been, and began flipping through her sketchbook. She refused to let him see the drawing she had done of him– she hadn't given it "life" yet, she had said. He had asked what she meant by that, but she had just smiled at him. She had then opened her sketchbook to a drawing of a strange, dark creature that he had never seen the likes of before.

"What is it?"

She had explained to him that it was a "Heartless", a creature who had lost its heart. It wasn't evil though. It was just sad, lost, lonely. It just wanted to be loved, and to be able to love. She had taken hold of his hand then, and gently placed his fingers over the place where the creature's heart would've been. There wasn't anything there, she had said. No heart, just a hollow, empty place. It must be terrible for them, he had said, playing along with her game. Yes, she had replied sadly. If only they had hearts, they would be happy. They would smile.

Well, why didn't she give them hearts? he had asked.

"Because the only person who can give them hearts is someone who's heart is in enough pieces to go around."

He had asked what she meant by this, but she had merely shook her head and smiled. She had gently closed the book then, and stood up. Where was she going? he had asked. Home, she had replied. It was getting late. She had turned and headed out the door, only looking back at the doorway. He had wanted to go after her– had wanted to tell her to stay, but he hadn't. He had merely stared after her as she left.

"Let's meet again someday."

She had gave him a small smile, then continued out of the restaurant and back into the street. He had made up his mind then, and stood up to go after her. But, as you probably well know, things don't always go as planned.

Screech. Crash. Thud.

Two things broke in that instant.

A girl's body, and boy's heart.

And neither one would ever be fixed.

Long after the ambulance had been called, and Naminé had been verified as dead, then taken away, the boy walked out to the middle of the road. There, lying on the ground, undamaged save for a few blood splatters, was the girl's sketchbook. He crouched down and gingerly picked it up, as though he was afraid it would disappear as quickly as the girl and entered and left his life. He lifted his head up to stare at the now-clear sky above him, then stood up, sketchbook in hand.

He took it home with him, keeping it close to him but always hidden at all times. Late that night, when everyone else was in bed, he took an old red colored pencil he had managed to dig out, then sat down and pulled out the sketchbook. He went through it quickly, afraid that if he lingered too long on any one drawing his heart might break even more. The only time he paused was whenever came to what he thought might be a "Heartless". Every time he found one of those pictures, he took the stub of carmine colored pencil and harshly drew a heart over its chest, pressing hard to make it show through the black.

After finishing drawing the heart of a particularly large "Heartless", he turned the page only to find the drawing of himself that Naminé had drawn before she died. Here he stopped, letting his hand trace over the delicate sketch lines, and the vivid shading of the eyes. Finally, he tore his aquamarine eyes away from the image of himself and closed the sketchbook.

"I gave them hearts, Naminé."

The whisper was an empty one though. He didn't really believe that what she said about the "Heartless" anyway. They were just the fanciful dreams of a girl who was now dead. Throwing the sketchbook away across his room, he rolled over in his bed and firmly shut his eyes.

If he had opened them, he might have noticed that the sketchbook he had thrown had fallen open to one of the pictures he had drawn a heart over.

A picture of a Heartless.

And it was smiling.

Review if you liked it! (Please? xD)