I don't know why we're together.
That's a lie. I know exactly why. I wish I didn't know, but I am no such innocent.
Then again, you aren't any the better for refusing to admit it, even to yourself. Your carefully averted gaze is more obvious even than my longing glances.
You want to know what you mean? I'll have to begin at the beginning, then. No, not the very beginning, we'd be here for months! And forgive me, lover, if I don't want to be here any longer than I need to be. Shush, you don't have to lie. I know where you'd rather be, and you do too. The beginning, then...
The beginning, for me, was all Axel's fault. To be truly honest, I over-reacted; he was truly only doing what he's always done, and normally I enjoy the attention. That day it wasn't so. I was stressed, not thinking straight, had too much on my mind—all the standard excuses, I know you don't care, dear, you don't need to roll your eyes like that. Anyway, I snapped; said something I really shouldn't have. Don't look at me like that! I'm not going to tell you, stop interrupting. Anyway, I just wanted... I don't know what I wanted. A week to get my head together, maybe a bit more. Why wasn't it just a week, then? Put it this way—now he's walking wounded, and he's avoiding me. I don't dare force it, don't dare push. I can't hurt him any more, Riku, I can't. So now I'm alone. With you.
I know how it started for you, too—I was there when it began, even if you didn't realize what it meant then. It started when Sora said he loved you, and you didn't know what to say back. Why couldn't you just tell him the truth, Riku? I know you love him too. YOU know you love him, and we both know you have since long before he ever turned new eyes on you. At any rate... you waited too long. And now your no-longer-lover burns just as cold for you as mine rages fire.
So here we are, lover. Facing each other, facing the wall. And I can hate you for it the way I can't hate him, and need you in a way I've never needed, because before he was always there, and before that there was nothing to miss. Wouldn't it be simpler if you could hate me, too? If you could stop seeing his shadow in my eyes-- you see, they aren't quite the same shade. I know it's the little things that throw you, that remind you just who you're with. It's the little things I play up; I won't be his shadow, even to you who I love and need and hate all the more because I can't really love you and I can't stand to need you.
This feels like some sort of twisted game, spinning around clasped hands that have forgotten how to let go. When our grasp slips, we'll both keep moving—fly out and land on our backs, alone. Maybe you're right not to admit anything. Maybe I don't want to anymore either.
I really wonder why we're together.