hellohello; well here we are again! I hope you enjoy it, please review. (but flames are terrible. so no thanks.)

disclaimer: i don't own kingdom hearts. just this story.

A Nobody, and nothing but; always and forever.

It was a very true statement, and I had heard it a thousand times from a thousand people. And so had he. Except I believed it; as always, Roxas rebelled.

I spent my days lingering in the White Room, sketching faceless scribbles and waiting for company. It very rarely came, and when it did, it was almost always in the form of him.

We had a strange relationship. On the verge of enemies, but just as close to friendship. We would glare at each other in the halls, make spiteful side comments… but then again, when Axel or Larxene snapped at me, he would bravely defend me.

And he visited me too.

He would barge in, fuming about something one of the other Organization members had said or done, or something he had said or done himself, slamming the door and interrupting my lonely art sanctuary. I would very rarely listen to his rage, just watch his face. And when he left, I would copy it onto the paper from memory. His crazy hair, his brow furrowed in frustration as he yelled, his oceany eyes narrowed into thin sapphire slits. And another picture, another piece of art, was created.

Soon my angry Roxas drawings had grown to such a number there became a designated drawer for them. There were countless of them, and each one so precious to me I would hide them from sight; quite unlike my other drawings, which were scattered messily across the entire room.

Every time he would come, another drawing came to be.

One day he came in completely at ease. No fuming whatsoever. He didn't even talk.

"What's with you?" I blurted out when I noticed his peaceful expression.

Staring at me from the doorway with wide eyes, he responded, "What do you mean?"

I eyed him back carefully before speaking. "You always come in with something on your mind."

He didn't answer right away. He took his time.

"Well, today I just wanted to hang out."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything more to say under these abnormal circumstances, so I simply hunched my shoulders and drew Roxas. But this time, in a new light; a content light, a happy light. I was more than willing to do so.

The day went on in silence. I didn't know what he was doing, as I was too focused on my drawing to bother with him.

As darkness crept into my angelic room, as night drew near, I heard him summon a portal. He said, his voice sure, "I'll be back tomorrow" before slipping into the raging purple and black. His promise rang true in my ears and I was inspired. I stood up abruptly and clumsily lunged for the purple colored pencil.

Tomorrow came and so did he. "Hello," I said, and listened to him talk before slipping into an artistic state of mind again. I grabbed my sketchbook and drew him; not angry, not tranquil, but this time with his jaws parted, talking.

It went on like this since then. No more angry outbursts, just him being him, with a new expression on his face for me to draw each day.

I felt happy around him, and this confused me.

"Does it ever bother you?" I asked one fateful day.

"Hmm?"

My cool demeanor shattered then; ever since that first day when he came to me, furious, I had contemplated the way I felt around him. And that didn't make sense. I wasn't supposed to.

I exhaled, trying to grasp the words. "Does it ever bother you that you cannot feel?" My voice broke off at the end, fraying like the hem on my white dress. I turned away from him, my lavender-blue eyes cast aside, afraid of what he would say next. My lip was trembling and my hands shook as well; looking back I have no idea why my body was acting so recklessly.

When he spoke his voice was monotonous.

"Naminé, look at me."

Warily I did, and his face was unforgettable; hard, stony, blank, eyes burning with intensity. I had never seen him so alive, so like a Somebody.

"We can feel. I assure you. Or at least we could, if we tried."

I scoffed at his words. "I don't believe you."

"You should, it's the truth."

I played along. "If we tried, you say?"

"Yeah. Here, give me your sketchbook."

I handed it to him and scooted closer, peering over his shoulder as he fumbled to find a pencil and began to draw.

All he drew was a simple black line—thick and relatively regular. Boring. If it was anyone else I would've left. If it was anyone else I wouldn't have given him the sketchbook in the first place. But this wasn't anyone else; this was Roxas.

"This," he said grandly, "is the Line of Dividing."

"Dividing?"

"Yes. It's what makes us Nobodies and the others Somebodies."

"I see."

"And watch this." He turned the pencil over and dug the eraser onto the paper forcefully. Now the line was smudged and faded. "See how easy it was to make it more invisible?"

I said nothing.

He erased it some more, and then some more, and more, until it was gone. Nothing. "And it's simple to get rid of it completely. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

I frowned.

"Yes, Roxas, but it's not that easy. That's a pencil-drawn line. We're talking about life."

He smirked. "Who says a pencil-drawn line isn't life?"

"Anyone with a sane state of mind, which clearly isn't you," I teased, smacking him on the shoulder.

He laughed. He had a nice laugh.

I brushed some blond hair out of my eyes before continuing. "But if the separation between our Nobody-existence and their life really was a pencil-drawn line, what would blur it? What would erase it?"

He brushed off this question easily. "Emotion, obviously."

"How do we get that?"

He was quiet, for once. And, after a short time, he stood up, summoned a portal, said "I'll come back tomorrow", and left again. And again, I was inspired. I added "Intense Roxas" to my collection, vividly recalling his face when I asked him that question.

The next day arrived slowly, the black night dragging on and on. I brightened instantly when I saw the first hint of sunshine in the dim sky. I was so irrevocably eager to see him. At last a purple portal opened and he stepped out of it.

"Roxas!" I beamed.

He didn't address me. He didn't speak. His eyes were fixated on mine and he kept walking towards me.

"Roxas?"

He kept walking, the proximity between us decreasing by the millisecond. "Roxas—what are you—" I stopped.

His face was inches away from mine. I felt strange. "Naminé," he breathed, his cool breath filtering onto my face, his hands on my shoulders, nearly crushing them.

"R-R-R-Roxas," I stammered. My stomach was lurching. Was this emotion? (Of course it was.) My eyes began to close. I knew what was coming; I recognized instantly his intentions. And I liked the thought of what he was about to do. I liked it a lot.

He kissed me. Soft at first, but then it gradually became stronger, more vigorous. Our lips crashed against each other; my arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. His hands were tangled in my hair. And I felt like I was a caterpillar, turning into a butterfly—sloppily waving its wings, unaccustomed to the new sensation...until at last, it flew haphazardly into the sky, comfortable with the knowledge that everything was beautiful.

We parted and I knew he was right: the separation between living and existing was exactly like a pencil-drawn line, and together we had just erased it. Emotions ran thick through my body. Maybe they had been there all along; maybe I just needed him to help me see. Through half-lidded eyes I stared at him; his face was flushed and his eyes were wild. I reached for him, my eyes undoubtedly filled with a newly discovered hunger.

I drew "Loving Roxas" that day.