He loves his bed. He lives in it and even sleeps in it. Sometimes, at night, if he can't find anything else to do. There's sleep, which comes onto him horribly late, past the hour. After closing time and before the waking hour. Him and his cross-shaped bed. His coffin.
And no one has to know but him and his bed. His bed, his love, his friend, the end.
God how he'll miss his bed when he is gone. There will be another house and clothes and food and still, his friends, but not his bed. He feels safe in his bed. No one can get to him when he's there. His parents stay out and he stays in.
It's his secret haven. Sora has his secret spot and Kairi has the same but Riku has his own. And no one has to know about it but him and his bed and himself.
He can lie down and think about all things. There is the sun and what, what will he do tomorrow? He'll work on the raft and maybe gather supplies. Or will have his friends, yes, Kairi and Sora. And then they'll go and it will stay behind.
Okay, okay, something else. There are thoughts and emotions and all of them, everything, anything he wants is real. It's real and his bed makes it so. His genie, shooting star, star light star bright.
But then, but then. Then he thinks of horrible things. In his eye, he's blind, and there's blood and needles. Patch work, his quilt is old and musty. He doesn't touch it, so he covers his eyes. He shivers and shudders and trembles in his bed. The bed bugs get to him. Him and his bed and himself and the monster under his bed.
But they aren't real and he's cured and alive, kicking living breathing. Seeing the world and everything in it. With his friends, who he imagines are here, now, with him. They'll be tomorrow, standing and waiting and smiling and waving. Real and touchable but he won't do it, do that, touch and taste. He'll wait and the monster under his bed, in his bed,is slowly growing so he's glad, glad now to leave his bed behind.
Ahh- Square Enix owns 'em.