Author's Note: So it seems my return to the realm of Kingdom Hearts fanfiction is more permanent than I expected! I'm okay with that though. Originally I had planned to finish up some old fics (finally) and then fade away again. But here I am writing a new one! What can I say, I'm in love again.

Anyway, the concept for this fic is a little interesting I think. I was listening to Rufus Wainwright's song "Matinee Idol" and remembered that it is rumored to have been written about actor River Phoenix…who just so happens to also have been Tetsuya Nomura's muse while he was designing one of our most beloved characters: Squall Leonhart.

And so, here came this fic! I hope you enjoy!

Warning: This fic will contain (as is immediately evident) character death.

Matinee Idol

Prologue: The Dear and Departed

He sat in the aisle-side corner of the back pew, as far from the family yet close to the exit as he could manage. Self consciously, he lifted a hand to touch the fedora he was wearing, along with a black suit and dark glasses. The suit, for obvious reasons – the fedora and glasses to hide his identity.

The family watched him sit, the mother narrowing her eyes briefly before deciding to ignore him altogether.

There was a clamor of motion at the door, and he turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the small group of girls, probably in their late teens, enter nervously and huddle in the corner. They didn't bother sitting, but stayed standing, their heads swiveling to take in the sight of the chapel. He reached up to fiddle with his hair, hoping it was all still tucked under his hat. A strand must have fallen loose, however. He could hear the girls behind him as they started whispering.

"Is that him? Poor thing."

"That's him!"

"Do you think I should give him my number? Maybe he needs some comforting."

The last comment was followed by a bout of giggling, poorly restrained by the hands they held to their mouths. The family turned at the sound of laughter, but their anger was not directed at the girls. They glared only at him.

He did not pay attention to the ceremony. He had never cared for religion, and it was hardly appropriate. A stilted attempt at redemption made by a desperate family. He kept his eyes and his mind on the casket.

It was expensive, he could tell. Dark, shining wood. Dark enough to perhaps be ebony, even. But it was not the ornate scrolls and carvings of the casket that kept his thoughts. It was the body inside.

He sank in his seat, leaned forward to hide himself better, held his face in his hands. He couldn't think about the body. It was nothing. It was still here, would still be here for a long while. But the person he loved was gone from that body. Every trace of that person was gone.

Still, he had loved the body too.

Coughing, he lifted a hand to finger the bandage under his sunglasses. It stretched from above his right eye down across the bridge of his nose. And it hurt like hell.

As the wound throbbed, he stood to leave. It was not the pain that was unbearable, but the reminder of what he had lost when he had gained this cut. Most likely, it would scar.

And every time he looked in the mirror he would be reminded of the man he had loved, and ruined.