x. dreaming:
by checkerboxed.
disclaimer: every single thing in here is property of those people over at square-enix and that wonderful wonderful disney-man.
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Sometimes, Sora wonders whether this is all just a dream; if he'll jolt awake any minute now and find himself back in his own bed, his island in view outside the window. But then he remembers the look on her face when he found her, passed out on the floor, and he couldn't shake her awake: peace, but the purest terrified peace— like the last thing she saw was something truly forbidding and gloating that made her want to run, far away. He knows that he has never, and will never, ever, see something so purely heart wrenching as the silent message her closed eyes portrayed. Help me. He also knows that there is no way his mind was just playing her face in his head while he slept.
This is for real.
And sometimes, this is terrifying. Like the moment when he really, truly understood that he had lost her, or when he woke up in a back alley and his whole world was gone. Or when he tried to fight, but couldn't, because even though he knew how to use a wooden sword, his meager skills were nothing compared to the stoic, silent man who stood before him. Or when he finally found her again, and he realized that whatever he had promised her, he had changed, and the bond that had gone beyond just boy and girl had morphed into something ten times more terrifying than all the other times put together.
He remembers a fruit, and he remembers a little girl in yellow who sat at the end of the dock and swung her legs wistfully and smiled up at him, her voice sweet. And he remembers racing, and he remembers building, and he remembers sparring. And he remembers a best friend, who he lost, and a best friend who he found again. Despite this, there's still a long period of hazy confusion that hangs in his head, of taunts and running and chasing and— well, he remembers a best friend.
Sora knows that he's got another person inside of him— but it's not a split personality, because they're more alike than either one wants to admit. He fits right inside Sora's skin, fingers and toes and eyebrows and sometimes, she tells him, whispering, his eyes change color— but really those aren't Sora's eyes, they're the eyes of the boy inside of him.
And throughout all this there's only ever been two people who remained constant, unchanged, and even then he's not sure if they're still the same. And he's not sure where his loyalties lie— in fact, he's not really sure of anything anymore, except that he's still mostly Sora and
he's not dreaming.
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thank god midterms are over for the week. i wrote this after i finished my biology test-- which i passed with flying colors. not that the teachers' even graded it yet. call it intuition.
if you liked it, please review.
if you didn't like it, please review and tell me why. politely, of course.