A/N: I got on the angst train a couple one-shots back, and I just can't get off of it. I've been wanting to do a Riku & Roxas fic, but this was not my original intention (seriously, these things just come to life and get away from me). I wanted to explore a different outcome of their clash, and this was the result. I might try again later for something a little less heavy, but until then...there's this.
Warnings for: suicidal thoughts/implied suicide, self-destruction.
Fragments
Riku's heart was steeped in darkness. He'd been drowning in it for so long, he could only barely remember a time when the darkness wasn't everything. Even then, the memories were patchy, full of holes and an emptiness that he couldn't explain. He knew something was missing, but what it was escaped him.
It was the darkness that led him to the other.
The short, black-clad boy was familiar, resonated with those blank places in his memory. He could wield the Keyblade—two of them, in fact. He was strong, agile, full of a grace that was surprising for his stature. Riku stalked him, trying to fit this other into the gapes of memory as he dispatched Heartless with a ruthlessness that rivaled Riku's. He knew there was a rivalry between them, though he couldn't place the reason behind it. Perhaps it was something to do with the Keyblade. That was significant, he remembered. He hefted the familiar weight of Souleater in his hand, imagined it replaced with one of those shining weapons. The boy, he wielded darkness, too, alongside the light.
Light. That was an element Riku couldn't access. It matched a slot in his memory, that the boy had a connection with light that Riku himself had long since lost.
But the edges didn't quite line up. The boy nearly fit into the holes in his memories, but not quite. When he confronted him, that was when he knew. Something was off, about his combat style, the tufts of blond just visible under the black hood, the way he stared at the silver-haired teen without recognition, his eyes impassive.
The shade of blue was off, the gaze a little too cold.
"Why do you have the Keyblade?"
The blond's only answer was a flurry of blades that Riku narrowly blocked, a sharp clash of metal on metal. He stumbled back, surprised at the force of it.
"Is that all you've got?" He taunted, even as the dual Keyblades rained on him; he parried and blocked, a parody of a game from childhood, when he had had the upper hand. He longed for the spaces to be filled, for the motions of this re-enacted battle to turn into more than just muscle memory.
They didn't, of course.
"What are you talking about? You're the one that's losing!" That. That clicked with the memories.
"Where's Sora?" And that was it, the name of the missing memories, the lost fragments. That was all he had left of them.
"I'm not him!" It was rough sound, a growl in that young voice. The boy was a Nobody, could never be the one he lacked. "I'm myself! I'm me!"
Riku let out a hollow laugh as he redoubled his efforts. He managed to land a blow, a backhand with the flat of his blade. It cost him: in a burst of speed, the blond danced back and knocked the blade from his hand, drove him to his knees.
He knew he could beat the blond. He had it in him, if he surrendered to the darkness in his heart completely, he could summon the power he needed. It wouldn't make much of a difference, to be consumed by it instead of just drowning in it.
Those cold eyes stared him down.
He decided he didn't care. Whether he won or lost against the blond, he'd long ago lost hope.
Maybe, he thought, maybe he would forget that his memories were incomplete, when he was torn into fragments. What would become of him, if the Keyblade ripped through him? Would Ansem reclaim him, or would he have a Nobody, too? Would his heart, free of his body, shroud itself in darkness as his own Heartless? Would he become an empty place in others' minds, like the boy that the blond resembled?
The blond held his blade stretched between them, pointed at Riku, immobile.
"What are you waiting for?" Even to his own ears, the sound was empty, desolate. "I'm useless."
The blue eyes widened, just a little; his mouth twitched into a little "oh" of surprise. The Keyblade in his hand faltered, and Riku reached up, wrapped his hand around the weapon to steady it.
"Just do it."
"Why would you toss your heart away?" The blond couldn't understand, he didn't have one.
Riku was sick of fighting, sick of being the cause of it all. Couldn't stand the thought of conceding to the darkness, only to watch everything crumble around him again. He was done with it.
One hand still on the weapon pointed at his chest, the other reached up to pull away the black ribbon over his eyes. Amber irises caught the sparse light from the skyscraper above them. He couldn't even call them his own eyes anymore. The only thing that was truly his was the raw pain in his gaze.
Riku was a step away from being a Nobody, anyway. All he needed was the final push, to unlock his heart, free him from its unwanted emotions.
It caught the blond off-guard when the Keyblade was tugged forward. That was ultimately what he would do, unlock his opponents' hearts, but never did his victims accept the fate with such willingness. And it was strange, but he hadn't wanted to do it, not to the silver-haired teen that knelt unarmed at his feet. He'd only wanted to win the skirmish, to best him, because he'd felt a familiar rivalry between them.
"Riku!" The name was a soft gasp on his lips as the blade pierced the teen's heart. But Riku was already gone, fragmented by the weapon, and Roxas couldn't explain the wet tracks down his cheeks, the resounding hollowness of where his absent heart belonged.