My Little Seashell
Sora always had a great fondness for seashells. He could sit for hours on end just studying the different shapes, complex swirls or detailed patterns. On the days when he wanted to be by himself he would go for walks along the shore of island in search of the smallest shells with the most imperfections, only so he could take them home and care for them. He could recall certain times when he would find an exceptionally beautiful shell and he would completely abandon his detached state. He would hurry it over to Riku's house so he could clean it up, punch a hold and create a necklace to add to Sora's collection. He would then smile and tell him he looked beautiful wearing it, but it would always go right into his trinket box for safe keeping.
These were back in the days when Sora was not alone. Back when he would lie on the warm docks with Riku and watch the clouds lazily drift by, making sarcastic remarks about each one that looked like a sentimental object. Or back when he would wrestle him in the sand over something so juvenile that they'd forget about it in a matter of hours. And no matter how frustrated he got with him, he would always just end up getting lost in smiles and hand gestures, enamored by the kind of peculiar beauty that made him fall in love all over again.
With each passing day Sora fell under the impression that he wouldn't be able to stand without each precise feature that made him who he was. Without those exotic blue-green eyes, which he found himself utterly fascinated by and would affectionately analyze for long periods of time. His lips, which he sincerely loved to touch and felt the same delightful urge to do so each time he saw him. And his slightly muscled body that seemed to broadcast his overt masculinity, making Sora feel feeble in comparison. Though Riku could always make him feel like he was the only one in the world, and he wanted absolutely nothing more than to cradle him and protect him from all that could harm him. And when he acknowledged this, Sora couldn't seem to hide the pure need to be close to him.
They were caught in something so mundane yet so complicated, and it had always baffled Sora. It baffled him how he was always recognized for his hypothetical perfection, when in reality he lingered on the borderline of awkwardness. It baffled him, realizing how he was full of so many contradictions, but he also enjoyed it in a sense. He enjoyed his simple complexities which puzzled him to the point of exhaustion but made him come back for more. Like when he would brush aside the hair from Sora's nape, carefully knot the thread of a necklace and place a soft kiss on his right shoulder, then afterwards start teasing him about being short or having big feet. Or when he would find some way to get Sora alone, gently touch his thigh and press his lips closely against his ear, then afterwards go out to the beach and brag to Kairi about how he beat him again in some sort of contest. In the end of it all, there was always that secret desire deep inside of him that brought him back to Riku's bed every night. A mixture of the same longing to be enfolded in his comforting arms again and float away into a pleasant sleep and the longing to twist his long silver hair around his finger and lure him into a passionate open-mouthed kiss.
It was those beloved memories that came rushing back to Sora's mind, as he searched through his trinket box, pulling out each necklace one by one and placing them neatly in separate rows on the floor. Now that he was truly alone he could finally appreciate the real beauty of the seashells. How each shell had its own inane uniqueness, whether it was one's pearly luster or one's dull, black shade, he found each beautiful its own meticulous sense.
Sora delicately ran his fingertips along the ridged crevices of some and the smooth china-like surfaces of others. He traced his thumb along the curled edges being careful not to miss a single articulate detail—and he loved it. He loved the strange and intricate folds that seemed too perplexing to follow. He loved the faded colours, the contrast of light and dark that seemed to blend together into some exquisite design. It made him feel good, arranging all the tiny shells and throwing out the chipped or dirty ones. When he was finally finished, he stood up and fell short of breath at the sight of the absurd beauty before him. This never ending stretch of perfectly ordered necklaces, all of which had a long record of being cast aside and forgotten. And as Sora gazed over the hundreds of necklaces he had at last realized just how familiar they really were.