a/n; gift fic for pixie paramount. :) hope you like it, dear.
- x -
heart. ache.
- x -
The suffering scream of static fills the television screen, blanketing the room in a pale blue glow that makes everyone in it look like they're drowning. And of course, the funny thing about it is that they are. Drowning. Drowning in the sort of darkness that can't be stifled by the stark white walls or the mirthless smiles. It covers each member like the coats on their backs, shields their eyes as the lies they won't tell.
(A closet full of puppets just waiting to die.)
It takes the man with eyes bright like flames only thirty seconds to turn the damned thing off. "This is what sucks about living in a world inhabited by monsters," he mutters just loud enough for the same world to hear, "there's nothing ever good on TV."
Lightning laughs with a certain sneer in her voice, but the rest of the evening is silent. Only the constant rain hitting the windowless room is heard while the shadows of others slowly file out. Each drop beats furiously against the wall as if begging, pleading to be let inside.
The puppet by the corner suddenly frowns at the feeling of wanting nothing more than to be let out.
But of course, he later reassures himself as he closes his ocean-green eyes, there's nothing to worry about. Because he can truly feel nothing at all.
- x -
"He's here."
The puppet never asks, never pries. A good toy knows when to sit still and shut up
"He needs to be taken care of."
Orders given, strings pulled. Dance and grin and bow.
"You know what to do."
Encore.
- x -
The boy is a memory that the puppet never had. Blue eyes, dark hair, round face. In his hands is a weapon disguised as an answer, and the question drags him down.
"Riku?"
White teeth flash in a feral grin, and the puppet notices that his hands are shaking as they tightly grip the key. Unlike another fake boy (imitation child), the robot by the doorway is not forbid to tell a lie. But something in the way the hero is standing causes it to reply with more truth than it knew it had.
"Almost."
And once the blade is headed toward its throat, the puppet realizes that almost isn't nearly enough.
- x -
"You're not Riku," the young man (with the name like the sky) repeats for a third time, letting a single hand come up to run through his mess of brown hair. "You're not Riku... so where is he?"
With a grunt, the not-Riku pushes itself upward into a sitting position and idly rubs the ghosts of would-be injuries decorating its arms. "He's waiting for you, Sora," the puppet smirks, reaching out to grab the boy's waist. "Why don't you come and find him?"
Their lips crash together, hard and bruising, but neither of them move away. Desperate hands pluck at each other greedily, too far gone to stop anytime soon. The replica pulls him closer, swallowing the soft moan that Sora reluctantly lets loose, and deep inside the maze of wire, something stirs.
("...Sora?")
- x -
A witch sits in silence, sketching life onto her wrist in the form of technicolor veins. Branches spin and spiral to the dainty pad of her fingertips, and the imposter smiles in sympathy.
"It doesn't hurt as much the second time," she whispers from her perch inside her cage, pale blue eyes staring fixedly on the blinding white of the marble floor.
Not-Riku starts at the flow of words, and doesn't pause to ask her what she means. In a way, what she said is disappointing to the poor puppet boy with his weakening strings. The pain means he -- it -- can feel. The pain means one step closer to living, one step closer to being who Sora wants. One step closer to Riku.
- x -
When they meet again under the guise of battle (the bruises on his skin having nothing to do with a keyblade), the robot sees that she was right. Every whimper, every breath, every time that it feels his quickening pulse underneath his jawbone, the hurt falls away.
Once the game is up and the deal is done, Sora looks at the imposter with watery eyes. The metal is cool as it tears through the circuitry in place of a heart, and it yells to see if maybe it will bleed.
But the boy walks away and the witch simply sighs and as white fades to black, the puppet burns.