A/N:

I put angst. I probably shouldn't have put angst, but Riku does enough teenangsting for a lifetime. XD

My tribute to the AkuRiku fics of this world. I love them. They own soul :D Please continue to own soul, AkuRiku! XD

Disclaimer: Don't own Riku, don't own Axel. I'm a sad panda.

Riku's mother heard her son enter the house, swearing, as he did almost every evening. She heard him kick off his shoes, mumbling angrily to himself about problems he would never share with her. She continued to stand there, preparing a dinner her son wouldn't eat, and awaited the next part of their evening routine.

Then she heard it. A crash. Riku had flung himself against the wall, his breathing quickened. He stayed like that a moment, watching in horror as air passed by him. Then he freed himself from the wall and began shouting at the air, in an almost accusing manner. His mother sighed inwardly, as to not let her son hear. But her sigh was drowned out by her son's loud footsteps on the stairs, then the slam of his door.

She had cried only once about this routine, which had started a little after her husband had left the two of them. For her son's seeing the deceased had torn the family apart, seam by seam, until her husband could no longer stand it.

"DAMMIT!" Riku cried, punching a dent in the wall. He always punched that spot, ever since he had realized it wouldn't break. He wanted the dent to get to the point where yes, it did break, at which point he would probably run away, or something worse.

"Damn Sora, damn Kairi, damn island..." he said, walking to his bed, and falling into it. "Damn Nobodies, damn darkness, damn...!!" He turned on his light, luminating the room. "Damn it all..." He sighed lightly, trying not to get to angry. "No," he said after a moment. "No..." he closed his eyes. "It sucks to be the odd man out."

"Tell me about it," a female voice said, of a young girl. Riku's face immediately shot up, glaring fiercely.

"GO AWAY!" He demanded. The girl giggled, then passed through. She was thirteen. Meaning she died at thirteen. Ghosts never aged. She claimed--merely claimed--that she was supposed to be Riku's age, of seventeen. Riku knew all of this, and a bit more, because she always seemed to show up at the most unreasonable places, stalking him.

He sighed again, and closed his eyes. I think I'm hungry... he thought, but fell asleep.

When he awoke, there wasn't a ghost in the room. Usually one or two would be asleep themselves, or be awake, ready to smother Riku in their problems. He shuddered at the thought of another night where his insomnia was taken advantage of.

His stomach growled. He looked down; this was a rare occurance indeed. "Food?" he asked, still groggy, as though the aspect was foreign to him. He opened the door of his room, and peered out into the hallway. Still no ghosts. This was even rarer than the aspect of being hungry. He took a relunctant step out into the hallway, as though one false move would send a horde of uncalled for ghosts raging at him, bearing down with their problems, swallowing him in a midst of lonely words and neon-white skin. His breathing became shallow as memories flooded his mind, of his childhood, of ghosts coming up to him and taking advantage of his uneducated mind, scarring him with their tales.

He drowned in the darkness of night.

This also happened to be the first time he watched a ghost materialize in front of him. It was a simple spectacle; the ghost just seemed to fade into his field of vision. He stared at it, long and hard, a young man with a spiky mess of hair and tattoos under his eyes. Then Riku realized that this was just another ghost, another soul come to bear problems upon and take advantage of him. He shook his head and darted around the ghost before it had a chance to open it's eyes. His eyes. The ghost was undoubtedly male.

Bolting down the stairs, Riku's first thought was not to trip, soon followed by the fact that he was going to have to get back up to his room by some means. He slowed his pace, and sighed--he'd come to that matter when he'd have to.

He zapped some leftover lasagna in the microwave when he entered the kitchen, and placed it into a bowl. As he turned to get a fork, he saw the ghost who had appeared in front of him standing in front of the silverware drawer.

"What do you want?" Riku asked, voice dripping with hatred.

"What the hell is this place?" The ghost asked, looking around. "Who the hell are you?"

"This is my house," Riku retorted, reaching through the ghost and opening the drawer.

"What th--stop that!!" the ghost cried, side-stepping to get out of Riku's way. Riku turned to him, unfazed. The ghost sighed. "It's very uncomfortable."

"I'd assume," Riku muttered, getting his fork and turning to walk away.

"Wait a tick," the ghost said, walking--or whatever it is ghosts do--after him. "I'm dead, right?"

"I would assume," Riku replied, wandering into the den, where he flipped on the TV. "If not, I'd have had charged your ass with breaking and entering already." He took a bite of the lasagna.

"Well you're...pleasant," the ghost muttered, sitting in a chair. He noticed the clock on the DVD player. "Wait, it's almost three. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Riku pointed to himself. "Insomniac," he said, not taking his eyes off the television.

"Don't they have medication for that?" the ghost asked. Riku nodded.

"They have anger management therapy, too. I've never taken a class in my life."

"So you're an angry little insomniac?"

"To put it bluntly, yes."

The ghost shrugged, though Riku didn't notice. The TV was the only thing lighting up the room, and Riku's eyes were glued to it.

"...why am I here?" the ghost asked when the program cut to a commercial. Riku turned to him.

"Feeling philosophic?"

"No, not like that...I mean," the ghost paused for a moment, "why did I come to this place? I thought there was an afterlife,"

"To some, yes." Riku said, finishing the lasagna. "You must have done something you needed to fullfill, or been a bad little bastard or something."

"You really are angry,"

"Yes. I am." Riku sat up, crossing his legs. "You probably were directed here due to the fact that I can see ghosts, and they like to pour their little problems onto me. So go on, the therapist is ready."

"You don't sound like you like the problems being poured onto you," the ghost commented slowly.

Riku smirked. "No, go on." His smirk melted into a grin. "I'll crush you."

The ghost returned his smile. "My problems aren't your's, kid, and you don't need more."

Riku's grin faded instantly. He stared at the ghost, who was still grinning. Riku then found himself shaking his head, slowly at first, then quicker. He stopped, and stood. "D-Damn," he muttered, and went to the kitchen, lasagna bowl in hand.