Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts.
Warnings: Yaoi. Run-on sentences done purposely. Time set before…everything. (Somewhere pre-KH and the middle of the first game.) Abusement of the word 'pretty'.
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I just had a sudden urge to write an AnsemxRiku… (Or Xehanort, rather.) There were never enough of those. Maybe it's not utterly AnsemRiku, more like a father-son relationship. But there are moments, I guess.
Minor SoraRikuKairi, AnsemLeon, AnsemCloud. At least, it's meant to be… Idea came from a little snippet I doodled, in which Young!Riku and Ansem were holding hands. Came out really bad, actually, but it served its purpose.
In which Riku starts it all, even before Ansem and Mickey meet.
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Paradise: Chains and Bracelets
Ansem allows Riku to breathe, contently. Riku's all right.
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"Don't be afraid," he hears, a loud whisper coming from a door wide open and he sees tendrils of light; some shade of dark green. The door itself is gone, fragmented into sparks and slivers; he watched it happen just four seconds ago.
Mentally, as only a child can, he debates going to get his friends, to get Sora and Tidus and Selphie (Wakka's busy today – he has a tournament.) and together they'll go through, but then he remembers that he's never seen this before and if he leaves – if he takes his eyes off it, it might disappear forever. And he doesn't want that; he wants to see the splendor and the magic.
Riku dives through, holding his breath, hands first and quickly as if the portal will close on his legs. His eyes are closed, he wants to open them and he does, and he can see.
It's white, such a pure white but it's still not blinding somehow, and he's floating on nonexistent clouds. There's a door in the distance – then its right here and it's open, wide golden gates...
He lands on the floor with a thump.
"Oww…" He bites his lip; he's always been sworn to be the best, to be strong. That means no noises and no bleeding.
He hears steps, slow at first then at a faster pace towards him, steps wider and he sees shoes (Are those shoes? They look so different…) that are high and leads his eyes to a face with pretty features.
Somehow, he feels inconsequential, calling a male pretty.
"Who are you?" the man asks, softly, hand coming out of his pocket as he bends to Riku's height. Pianist's fingers, long and precise brush against his skin – his cheek – like he's made of glass and doesn't want to leave fingerprints. The skin's so different from his own, but it's a lot like Sora's dad and the mayor – skin dusted a fine tan color.
He can't explain what it feels like, being cherished by this odd person and the soft feeling beneath his feet – different from the sand and wood floors of Destiny. He looks down and the floor's downy, furry and fine.
"I'm Riku," he says, because he's been brought up polite and his mother says it's courtesy to always give his name first. "What's your name?" because his mom's also said not to go with strangers; he figures that if he knows the man's name, he's not a stranger anymore.
"Riku," the man sounds surprised, as if it's the first he's heard this name. Which it probably is, because Riku can't remember being anywhere with soft floors, and he's been everywhere. Then the man seems to realize where he is and stands, bringing Riku with him. "Ansem. My name is Ansem."
Riku hears it and commits it to memory, but in standing he looks around and gasps at the sight, wondering how he missed it earlier in his daze. Wide, tall windows that reach the ceilings and outside the sky isn't blue but rather a pale, lovely lavender.
"Where are we?" His voice is in awe as only a child's can be.
Ansem looks at him, mind calculating and unbelieving. Then he smiles; Riku looks at him as opposed to the amazing walls and paintings. "Radiant Garden. It's my home." He holds a hand out and Riku grasps it with his own, amazed that his are so much smaller but they fit anyway.
"You're a king?" Riku looks up, asking because in the stories that his mom tells him, only kings have castles. And this place is so extravagant that it could only be a castle.
He hears laughter; he sees white silver hair whooshing around firm shoulders and the long jacket swaying. "A king? I am not a king, but I suppose you could call me it…if you'd like."
Riku thinks. He thinks because it's what he does. It feels normal. "If you're the king, then where's the prince?" Because a prince is always there, always overthrows the king and has a pretty princess at his side.
Immune to his thoughts, Ansem laughs and leads him down the hallway.
In the dining room, Riku pulls up a too-hard and uncomfortable chair and sits. He has a feeling it's never been sat in before, but at the same time it's so in place and beautiful.
They have dinner, Ansem's eyes focused on him and yet not, as if he's looking at some spot on the wall behind his head.
It's late – he thinks it's late – the sky's the limit as it fades to a pretty shade of amethyst grey. He guesses that it means daylight's fading, so he calls the meal dinner even though the last thing he can remember eating is breakfast.
"Ansem?"
Ansem looks at him – he's new and royal and so different from the dullness, the yellow sunlight and the white sands…
Riku asks questions. Ansem answers.
It's the same feeling with his bed, too soft and made for comfort, but it's the fake kind that a person would find in hotels – he knows that the feeling is in every other room of the castle as well.
In the morning, he wakes up to find that the shades have opened themselves up, and he scowls at the bright sunlight that seeps through the cracks. Then he feels a bit silly – sitting up with quick flourish and waiting until the inevitable dizziness went away – because getting angry at the light was just so silly.
But he's lost. Lost in the mystery and various things that the island has never seen; the glitter and sparkle and the pocket-sized gadgets that he doesn't dare show off, because then people will ask him where he got them. And it won't be a secret anymore.
He dreamt of a boy named Sora (its familiar) and of himself showing his things off. Boasting, showing widgets and doodads of the strangest nature. Things that glow and fly and can only be used a single time to light up the night air.
Riku wakes up, and he always rushes to the window and only breathes when he sees lavender, not blue.
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There's food on the marble black coffee table, made entwined with the floor. A tray of fruits and something sweet that Ansem calls chocolate. There's no papou, but that's okay, because he's had enough of that.
(Selphie had said it was taboo to taste it by oneself, but he couldn't really think of anyone he'd want to tie himself to.)
They're in a study; the walls aren't walls but rather shelves, full of books and thick tomes in hard leather. There's a ladder with wheels, which Riku slides to the side on as Ansem watches with a long glass stem in hand.
He looks curiously at the drinks of red; he's never seen them before. Ansem looks at him amused, sitting next to him in another armchair, and uses one of the forks sitting next to the platter. He dips it in the wine – it gives it a faint wet sheen – and holds it out.
Riku looks at it, curiously, before his tongue's there on the metal and the bittersweet liquid's in his mouth. He almost cringes at the tang, but the aftertaste is somewhat pleasant; there's not enough to swish in his mouth but the sample is strong and lasts a long time.
"Have you learned about different types of wine?" Ansem asks, taking a sip of the red again. He's watching him, looking down because he's just too tall. He smiles again when Riku shakes his head passionately, silver strands flying every which way until small hands tuck them around his ears again.
"This," Ansem starts, holding up the glass, "this is red wine. It goes well with meals, but if you're at desert, the best type would be white. It compliments…" He continues, voice a melody of song and forbidden mixes; the worlds mix.
Riku learns, wide-eyed. The glamour's still there.
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He's full, but he can't remember eating. His teeth are clean – it's only been a day because he can't remember a bed and a pillow made from swans down.
It scares him, a bit, because he's eating without chewing and he can't remember. But then Ansem looks at him and beckons him to the balcony, overlooking beautiful canyons and a misty waterfall going the right way.
"See? Those are the other people who live here, Riku."
He sees; there's a boy with brown hair (where else has he seen brown hair?) that's fighting with a sword (with a sword?) – a real sword! – made of metal and glistening through the air with a sharp whistle. He's jealous, Riku's jealous.
He wants one.
"His name is Leon," Ansem continues. They watch the teen, talking to another with blond hair. The kid laughs, scar doing nothing to hide the demeanor.
Riku asks, "Is he special to you? More than me?" Do you care about them more than you do me? There's a feeling in his stomach that he tries to swallow against.
Ansem looks at him, then puts his hand on the top of his head. He feels the strong fingers, and Riku doesn't doubt that the older man is absolute, that he knows everything and he can read his thoughts through his touch and skin contact alone.
"No." Is said fondly.
Riku goes to bed that night content and exhausted from walking,
"You're going home tonight," he hears as he fells asleep in the soft, soft pillow and his mattress; tailored to only him.
When he wakes up he's in his own bed, the other bed, with beautiful faded wooden walls of driftwood and in a soft, soft bed with navy blue sheets. There are photos taped onto the wall – of Sora and his parents, and more recently a girl with red hair and blue eyes.
He was dreaming? Then it wasn't all real and why can't he remember the last few years, growing up. His body feels strange, limbs longer and stronger.
He's grown up without knowing.
The sun's yellow, the sky's blue; he's not angry at the sun, just disappointed.
But then he looks in the corner of his room and there's a sheathe, a lovely thing that encases a solid, folded line of metal that 'sheeeks' as it slides out. It's so sharp, it's so real; he wasn't dreaming - it was real. His living in two worlds. Two worlds…
He gets dressed and straps the sword to his side – it feels natural – and walks downstairs with a slight posture in his step. He's on his boat, halfway his island (still his), when he realizes that he hasn't seen his mother.
Grief.
Debating against what he gained…and what he lost.
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He adjusts too fast, too easily to the simple life. When Tidus asks, he replies that he was given the sword somewhere far away, where they take it to mean further inland.
He gets to know Kairi. Kairi, who appeared on the island, he learns through small pushes toward hints and such, and is best friends with Sora and himself. It's strange, because he's never met her before yet he knows so much about her; it's like someone else has been living in him but he was always there, too.
It doesn't make sense; he knows it doesn't make sense but he can't explain it.
Sora's there. Kairi's there. Tidus, Selphie, and Wakka are there; his mother's gone and Ansem's gone.
But he sees the sword, kept polished and shrill, and those picture books that his mom always read to him, and Riku remembers.
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Riku keeps a fresh papou fruit on the standing table next to his desk, just in case. Because if he's ever whisked away to that land – that castle and magic and splendor – he'd like to share one.
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Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he hadn't offered his hand; if on that little island that could barely hold them, he had looked up at the swirling mass of sky and had feared it. Or if he had listened to that voice, a gentle cry caressing the back of his mind and singing songs of warnings and fervor and blood; the keyblade was used for things other than war, after all.
Or if when he was a child, he hadn't gone wandering, exploring into that cave when Sora had been sick had gone to visit him. If when he saw that wooden door outlined with gold missing, he hadn't reached out to it and heard a dark green light talking to him. And why he listened.
Later, he reflected and wondered why he was the only one who heard it, even when he had brought Tidus to the cave and the voice (to him) was as bright as day. How he had pointed at the doorway and the younger blond had been more interested in their chalk drawings on the boulders holding the cave together.
Those drawings he later thought over, regretting. Because the rocks were so natural and beautiful, and he helped mar them with his childlike longings.
How he himself drew maps of new worlds onto them. Because in the sand, the tides washed the diagrams away.
How it told him that when the time came, it would be okay. It was reassuring; he had remembered thinking in that hour.
It talked to him, steeped in such a bright green light.
To just not be afraid.
Truth be told, when he thinks back Sora, or Kairi play fighting on the beach. Rather, it was the time on that sweet island cage; the chain of land in the middle of the blue, blue ocean – of his mom and his lack of a dad. How his mom was beautiful – so beautiful – but she didn't have white hair or green eyes.
It couldn't be right, though, because Ansem's eyes are amber.
Riku pretends.
There's a lot Riku doesn't understand.
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