Sometimes Sora saw him.
He'd round a corner, and there it'd be: the same silver hair and knowing smirk, just as he remembered. The next moments would be a blur of tears and joyful exclamations and sheer euphoria, and Sora always knew it was too good to be true, recognized what was coming, but he didn't care.
And it did. He would wake up, buzzing in his ears and sickness in his throat. Goofy might wake with a, "Gawrsh, Sora, what's wrong?" or Donald with a quack of, "What is it?", but he could never answer.
Sometimes Sora hated himself.