A/N: The idea for the little crackshot was spawned one random day when my little sister, who was watching me slug through the earlier stages of the game at the time and had just heard Namine tell Roxas he wasn't supposed to exist, remarked, "What?! Is she dumping him?!"

It kind of lit off from there. I know it doesn't make much sense at all, but this kind of not-making-sense was just too much fun to pass up.

Existentialism

It begins, you see, with a few words. As always. In the beginning was the word, and all that… But, anyway, it begins with a few words—a few simple and unassuming little syllables uttered across a long white table in a white, white room.

"Roxas, you were never supposed to exist."

All right, maybe not so simple. But the smile that lifts her lips is still gentle; her eyes are still filled with the mild warmth of a summer day spent indoors with one's good-friend-or-possibly-more. And so it's really quite a pity that—judging from the way the boy that sits across from her half-rises in his seat, his own eyes widening—her companion doesn't seem to share her sentiments at all.

"What are you saying?" A brief pause follows, during which he chews his lower lip and takes the time to look sufficiently agonized. And then, quite suddenly…

"Are you breaking up with me?"

One slender finger fiddles absently with a blonde curl as she sighs—how troubling it is when the two of them are not in sync like this. "No, no. You don't understand, Roxas."

She trails off after that, hands dropping into the white-cotton-skirt of her lap, lacing and unlacing. He, of course, is left suspended between sitting and standing, the words she's just spoken and those she hasn't yet said—dangling rather comfortably over the edge, to say the least. And of course a good minute or so of not-supposed-to-be-awkward-but-kind-of-is silence follows. It stretches everything so long, sharp, thin; suddenly the small white chair on the other side of the long white table seems very far away, indeed.

Since reaching across and taking her hand and gazing at her with a confused sort of tenderness that—if he's lucky—she will find absolutely adorable… isn't really an option, he has to settle for slumping back down into his chair. He cocks an eyebrow in her direction, head tilted at an odd angle, as if to hazard a Well…?

"It's not you," she says, finally. "It's me."

Then she bites down on her lower lip with another halfhearted sigh; he feels his lungs begin to constrict at the thought of her leaving him hanging again.

At least she's kinder this time.

"You see, I just can't figure out how people can maintain relationships if they don't… exist."

Oh. Wait… what?

"But… I do exist," he answers her, cautiously and with a frown—kind of like he's not exactly sure how right he is.

All the more that he feels his heart drop into his shoes when she shakes her head. "You don't. I just said you didn't."

"Not exactly." Again he half-rises, if only to make a point. Even if in truth he couldn't be more confused, really. "You said I wasn't supposed to exist. But I do, so… that means you can still date me, right?"

"…No."

The word is spoken fairly firmly, for all that her own brow knits—for all her hand-twisting, and lip-biting, and sighing. But it isn't enough now to convince him that he's been wrong about everything after all, even if no one understands it but the two souls seated at the long, white table in the white, white room.

"Yes."

"NO."

For all her mild summer-afternoon-warmth, he sees she is growing increasingly frustrated.

"YES."

"NO, IT—" And she stops, lets her hands lift and drop again, makes a little noise in her throat that just might be defeat. "Oh, poo. Never mind. You know what, I'm leaving.

"Oh. Okay." He watches her rise from her chair, take two, three steps toward the door and the world and the end of the white, white room.

"…Namine!"

She stops long enough to glance back over her shoulder with what must be the sufficient amount of questioning, already half-touching the doorknob—how troubling it is, all this strange drama. But he's already getting out of his own chair, so he just misses that thought train.

"You know what," he says, with a thin-lipped smile. It spreads into a grin as he pushes the hair out of his eyes, crossing to her side. "I'll go with you. Let's get some ice cream or something."

"Hmm? Ice cream?" She cocks her head to one side in thought… then turns the doorknob. "Sure, okay."

She even links pinkies with him, once they're out of the room and down the stairs. And he's sure—so sure—that his heart skips a beat. Maybe even two.

"Roxas, what if you—ah, we—really don't—"

"Namine."

Fin