He enters the room like an apparition, footfalls deathly silent against the glossy white floor, but Naminé can still tell that it's him, even from where she's seated at the gray table with her back to the door. He always seems to show up just when her moments of solitude begin to edge towards crippling loneliness, so much so that whenever she starts to feel the first telltale itch of restlessness at the tips of her fingers, she's made a habit of listening out for him, simply because she knows he's never far away. By now, she recognizes the purposeful rhythm of his stride, the quiet, almost cautious way he carries himself, as easily as she would be able to point out her own little quirks. In all the time that they've been made to stay here in this old, abandoned mansion, they've become one another's only true source of company, really, so it only makes sense that she's been able to memorize his mannerisms quite so quickly.
She doesn't bother to look up, knowing that he can't (and likely wouldn't even if he could) meet her gaze, but keeps her blue eyes trained on the island landscape she's been sketching for the past ten minutes as she greets, "Hello, Riku."
Naminé hears rather than sees him pause, can practically feel his presence where he lingers in the doorway of the white room. He's always found this room too distressingly bright, too clean for his tastes, so she doubts if he'll even fully step inside at all, preferring as always to hide himself behind the shadowy, cobwebbed corners of the derelict, eerie little place they now call home. "Hm," he says by way of greeting, and she's just started to believe that he's finished speaking when he decides to add, "What're you drawing?"
The question is more than enough to throw her off-guard; cheeks aflame with a sudden self-consciousness, she bites her lower lip and gazes thoughtfully, disparagingly, at the notebook she's balanced expertly in her lap. Her current piece of work is a wash of crisp, bright blues, cheerful yellows, and vibrant greens, something lively to contrast all the gloom she's accustomed to sketching, and she'd been quite pleased with it right up until the moment Riku had decided to inquire about its contents. She's never been the sort to openly share her drawings with everyone, particularly when they aren't finished, and she knows well enough by this point that Riku has an especially critical eye. More surprising still is the fact that he's venturing towards conversation with her at all; he's even more introverted than she (if such a thing is even an achievable feat) and in any case, always seems to be purposefully shutting away parts of himself to the rest of the world. Not shy, per se, but guarded. Careful.
"Come here and see," she finally decides, inwardly strengthening her resolve. She's pleased to note that her voice at least remains as calm and even as ever as she adds, "It's someplace that I think is very special to you. I hope you'll like it."
She knows she's won him over to the idea when she hears the door at last fall quietly shut behind them, accompanied by the soft echo of his feet as he walks over to meet her in only a few slow steps. Only now does she dare to look up, observing in patient quietude as he at last appears in her peripherals, the zippers of his dark leather cloak showing off their metallic gleam as they catch the light spilling in from the magnificent windows at the far end of the room. From where he now stands, just off to her right side, she can see that he's wearing his hood down, silver hair falling in an untamed shag down around his shoulders. Even without the blindfold tied securely over his eyes, the teal hues that had become so familiar to her in Castle Oblivion likely would have been obscured from view by his long, disheveled bangs, anyway. She can tell exactly when he's begun to peer over her shoulder by the tickling sensation of his breath, feather-light against the crook of her neck, and she swallows hard, stomach tightening with an inexplicable nervousness.
His only audible reaction is a sudden but quiet intake of breath, and yet the newfound tension spreading itself through his body is telling enough even without verbal cues. It doesn't escape Naminé's notice that the muscles in his back have tightened as if he's just had a bucket of ice thrown down the back of his robe, and though she can't see his eyes, she can only imagine the anguish that she would find written there if she could. She'd hoped that the drawing would help curb the homesickness that she knew Riku was experiencing, even though he wouldn't say so aloud, and yet she'd only made matters worse. From somewhere within her, a twinge of guilt – or what she imagines that would be like – tugs at her insides, bringing a rueful grimace to her features; she can't really feel anything, after all, so why would she put herself through all this hopeless desperation to pretend that such a thing was possible?
At last, she's mustered up the courage to send a cautious glance off to her side, doing her best to gauge his reaction. He's lowering the blindfold once again, having lifted it only temporarily to get a good look at her work, when she says with an embarrassing tentativeness, "What do you think?"
The silence between them persists for so long that she begins to wonder if he's going to answer her at all. Finally, though, he seems to reach a decision, and says in his usual calm, controlled tone of voice, "It . . . looks just like home." To her surprise, a brittle, hollow laugh punctuates his sentence. "I guess that's probably what you were going for."
Naminé has seen this act before; for as long as she's been acquainted with him, Riku has never been the overly emotional sort – or, at least, not the kind of person that shows what he's feeling on the outside, despite the fact that he's got a spectacular and often intense range of emotion hiding deep within. He's something of an expert in suppressing even his most troubling thoughts, though she suspects he hasn't always been that way. It's the circumstances into which he was placed – be it through his own actions or destiny, she couldn't rightly say – that have transformed him into someone withdrawn and repentant, always speaking and presenting himself as if he were nothing more than a nameless man with an endless debt to pay. In any case, it's made him the sort of person who prefers to hide behind his own cleverness rather than address anything that he happens to be dealing with at any given time, and though Naminé respects that, she can't help but be intrigued by what the rest of the world doesn't see.
"It's strange," she says, tracing her fingers delicately along the completed drawing, rubbing the remnants of wax crayon from her fingertips when she lifts her hand away. "I've never been to your island before, or seen it myself, but when I look at it here . . . I miss it. It feels like I've been away for such a long time, and I can't get back." Listen to yourself, she can't help but think, cheeks burning at the realization of the irony of her statements, talking about your feelings like they're actually real. You're lucky DiZ isn't here to correct you.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Riku shake his head. "Not that strange," he muses. "I used to think I'd be glad to be rid of that place. But it seems like the farther I go away from it, the more it's on my mind." He allows himself a short pause, then gives an exasperated sigh and adds, "That probably doesn't make any sense."
The beginnings of a smile touch the corners of her mouth. "No," she responds, "it makes perfect sense to me." She's unsure if she should bring this up, but eventually, she brings herself to shyly mention, "I think . . . that must have been how Sora felt, too. Before he . . . lost his memories."
" . . . Sora."
The melancholy in his voice hits her like a tidal wave; she's shocked to discover the sting of tears threatening against the backs of her eyelids, a sudden lump sitting stubbornly in the back of her throat. To her knowledge, Nobodies are incapable of true sadness, of crying, but something in the way he'd said just that simple name had stirred some sort of unnamable sensations buried deep within the pit of her stomach, and now her vision was blurred with the very thing she'd always thought impossible. Is this just another trick of her magic, a rouse designed to deceive Riku now just as she'd lied to Sora? She can't, won't allow that to happen, and with a newly strengthened resolve, swallows the swell of emotion threatening to burst inside her, taking a slow deep breath and blinking to clear her vision of those pesky tears. In no time at all, she's just as composed and calm as ever, and thankfully, Riku seems to have been too lost in thought to have picked up on her momentary loss of control.
"We can make things right again, Riku," she assures him, a firmness in her voice that's never really had a place there before. She's done being Organization XIII's plaything – from now on, she stands up for herself, and no one can make her continue to betray her friends. "I promise. I'll do whatever is in my power to help."
"I know," he replies, and his voice is so undeterred, so confident, that she can't help but trust that he knows where her loyalties lie. "I believe you. I've just gotta make sure that I'm able to do my part, too. This can't all rest on your shoulders, Naminé."
The smile returns to her features as its own hesitant, wavering little ghost. "It won't. I'm happy to do anything that I possibly can. And you know . . . we aren't terribly far away from our goal. It seems like now all that's left is just to tie up a few loose ends."
The implication hangs heavy in the air between them, and even with the blindfold, the stricken look on Riku's face is painfully obvious. "Yeah," he admits, nevertheless, "I guess so. Pretty massive loose ends, though, if you ask me." He sighs, clenching his hands into tight, shaking fists at his sides. "It's really not fair, is it?"
"It seems that way, yes," she concedes, "but Roxas and Xion are far stronger than you might imagine. I . . . I can't be completely sure, but I have confidence that they'll figure out what the right thing to do is, one way or another."
"Hm . . . maybe." Riku remains just as cynical as ever, she sees. And yet, there's a strange warmth in his voice when he gingerly picks up her notebook, looks over her drawing of Destiny Islands once again and says, "This really is a beautiful drawing, you know. Th-thank you. I mean that."
Naminé isn't sure if she's ever heard such hesitance, such vulnerability in Riku's voice before; it's enough to fill her stomach with flutters and to set her cheeks ablaze, in spite of the fact that all he's done is pay her a simple compliment. Perhaps she's merely overplaying the magnitude of the moment, but even so, she can't help but feel (there she goes again, using that word despite the fact that real feelings aren't possible for her) as if this is something of a significant milestone in their relationship. For as long as she's known him, he's been an almost ghostly figure around the mansion, a young man on a mission, with no time for sentiments or growing close to anyone. Could it be possible that, after such a long period of time, he's beginning to trust her at last?
"Oh – of course," she responds after what seems like an eternity of silence, wishing beyond anything that she could calm the crimson flush burning on her cheeks. "I'm glad that you liked it. I hoped it would cheer you up, at least a little bit." Her voice trails off when she steals a look off to her side, then notices that Riku had risen from his seat at her side and gone to stand by the nearby window. He's gazing contemplatively out at Twilight Town's nighttime skyline, the sun having finally dipped down below the horizon during the time that they'd been conversing with one another, and she's considering leaving him to his privacy when a loud, sharp snapping noise from outside captures her attention, as well.
Arching her eyebrows, Naminé curiously rises to her feet and saunters over to Riku's side, trying in vain to get a good look past all the tall evergreens that surround the manor. Her companion is calm enough, so she supposes it can't be anything so bad, and yet that loud sound alone had been enough to stir up considerable nervousness in the pit of her stomach. In no time at all, the same crackling noise hits the air, rather like a clap of thunder during a summertime gale, and when Naminé realizes what's going on, she's almost embarrassed by her initial apprehension. The sound is fireworks, she sees now, raining down in shimmering streaks of red, gold, and blue that turn the periwinkle sky of early night into a sparkling array of color. That's right – every year, this town has a celebration that rings in the summer season with an outdoor dance, day-long carnival in the marketplace, and then a fireworks show to end the day. They're absolutely beautiful, and not for the first time, the blonde finds herself wishing beyond all else to be free from this cold, dilapidated building and be able to attend in person.
"Wish we had a better view." Riku's voice breaks the silence at last, low and thoughtful as always. "They'd probably look a lot better if all these trees weren't in the way."
Naminé gives a quiet hum in response to his words. "Did they ever do fireworks shows where you came from? I can imagine they'd be just gorgeous on an island."
"Yeah," Riku answers. "Just on special occasions, though. Holidays or things like that. The three of us always sat out on that island we used to play on together and just watched them from there. That was the best place to see them; no buildings to get in the way, just the water and the sky. Nothing like this."
The superiority in his voice as he says his last sentence is enough to bring a light, soft laugh to Naminé's lips. "How is it that you're able to see these and tell a difference, with that blindfold on?" she jokes, and she's surprised at the ease with which she's able to do so. These days, their mood has been so consistently somber, their outlook so grim, that it's something of a relief to be able to lighten up, if only for a few precious, fleeting seconds.
A smirk falls into place at the edges of his mouth, and she knows she's succeeded in relieving the tension, even if it only lasts for a short time. "There's a difference. I can just tell. And anyway, this thing is just a piece of cloth – it doesn't render me completely blind, you know." His words are sarcastic and biting, but the amusement in his voice lightens his tone, dilutes any harshness that his statements might have had before.
There's a momentary flicker of a smile that breaks her calm façade, but it fades as quickly as it arrives, and is replaced by her usual contemplative curiosity. "You can still see me, then?" she asks, and when he promptly gives a curt nod of his head in response, she tacks on, "What do you see . . . when you look at me?"
He probably sees a pair of blue eyes, she thinks, resigned, the same blue eyes from his childhood, that belonged to a girl with bright red hair. He looks at me and sees Kairi, she realizes, and she's shaken by how disheartened she is to come to such a conclusion.
Which, of course, is why she's taken by surprise to hear him say instead, "I see you. Someone who deserves a chance just as much as everyone else."
She jerks her head upward, wishing in vain that she could do a better job of keeping the stunned expression from her features, and when her gaze falls upon him, she sees that he's turned to face her now, his demeanor just as studious and analytical as ever, even with the blindfold covering his eyes. It takes all her strength to keep herself calm, her shoulders shaking in protest to her newfound resolve. It's the first time she's heard herself described that way – or at least, the first time that she's dared to believe it. She's always felt that Nobodies such as herself are doomed, fated to nothing but the nonexistence from which they were born, and yet he's just so plainly stated the exact opposite that she can't help but be compelled to challenge that line of thinking. After all, Riku's never been the sort of person who could be considered terribly prone to expressing the truth of his emotions; if he's this willing to share something of this caliber with her, then Naminé can only assume it's something that truly matters to him.
"Do you really think so?" she says at last when she finally feels confident enough that she's found her voice again. There's a brief pause that lapses between the two of them, and she furrows her brow, wishing in vain that she could simply reach forward and lift the blindfold from Riku's eyes – this entire conversation would be so much easier if she could see all of his face, make out his reactions clearly. "After all that I've done . . . it's difficult to accept that."
The corner of Riku's mouth twitches downward in a slight frown, a momentary break in his cool, carefully-constructed façade that reveals a great deal more than he'd likely feel comfortable to admit. This time, she doesn't have to see his eyes to know they're thinking about the same thing; she knew all the things that Riku had done in the past year, all in the name of saving his beloved friends, spurred on by anger and jealousy. She's seen those memories just as vividly as he and Sora must have lived them, and though she knows that the young man standing before her now is not the same boy who'd acted on his anger and feelings of betrayal all that time ago, she still can't help but feel the slightest bit unnerved by those old wounds of his.
"I think it's pretty clear we've both done things we're not proud of," he reasons, seeming to glance off to the side before returning his focus to Naminé once again. "And if you ask me, it looks like it's past the time for repentance. What's important now is that we just keep moving forward, and do whatever we can to set things right, once and for all. And . . . well, I can't do that without you."
The words alone are enough to set off a wild, skittish fluttering in her chest. Her lips part and she searches for the proper words, something, anything to match what he's just said to her, but the syllables die on her tongue and instead she chokes on a sharp intake of breath. And then he's leaning forward, and without warning his breath is suddenly cool and feather-light against her cheeks, and her stomach is doing somersaults but against her nervousness she vaults herself up on tiptoe, and their lips meet in a kiss that starts tentative and soft. Dimly, she's aware of his slender fingers winding their way through the flaxen strands of her hair, his gloved hand cradling gently against the back of her neck, the curve of her jaw. His free hand rests, trembling, against her shoulder, but as the kiss continues, slides down to a more comfortable, natural place at her waist, drawing her closer to him. Naminé loops her arms around his neck, a gesture of both affection and a means of matching his height, and even when the kiss breaks, they're left lingering close to one another, each little huff of breath mingling with the last.
And with the Twilight Town fireworks spectacular as the backdrop for this newfound level in their relationship, the showers of sparkling color bathing the White Room in warm, radiant light, Naminé feels something stirring deep within her not-heart, something dangerously close to optimism. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, she's finally beginning to feel that everything might just be okay.