They were his friends, only they weren't. Nobody was his friend, Nobody whose name was really Naminé, and Nobody whose name was actually Axel, with the sun-yellow and fire-red hair and the eyes that looked at him like they had known him for a million years and had never seen him do something like that and Roxas, what are you doing and why?
They were his friends, he knew thought suspected. They were his friends, until that day when his hand went through them and he thought they were ghosts but no, they weren't the ghosts, he was had always been would always be.
They were his friends, these people who didn't remember him never knew him would never know he existed. They were his friends in his memories and he wouldn't let that go ever because they were all he had left that wasn't nothing or Nobody, they were everything to him and he would never forget.
He was the boy who lived in a town of make-believe, beat the unbeatable bully, ate the most amazing ice cream with the most amazing people who never existed with him, learned how to throw darts and ride a skateboard from a best friend who was nothing more than data, fell off a clock tower and still lived and gee, wouldn't he be such a sad little boy if only he existed.
They were his friends, would always be his friends, forever and ever and never, all in his head, always in his head. (too bad he doesn't have a heart because hearts are better for that sort of thing but oh well, he's just Roxas)