So, it's like this. You're thirteen and a short boy with hair the colour of chocolate and eyes the colour of the sky that you've never seen before is ushered into the seat next to yours with a grin.

"Sora," he says his name is, and you think it'll be the kind of word that tastes good.

You always liked chocolate. When he asks to borrow your pencil sharpener, you briefly forget how to breathe.

"Sure, Sora," you say, and, oh, you were right. It fizzes on your tongue. You think you want more of it.

.

Skip to the age of fourteen and awkward. Your relationship with the mysterious dark haired boy slowly makes the transition from borrowing-pencil-sharpeners to hanging-out-voluntarily to ribbons-of-laughter-in-the-dark-at-sleepovers because that's what best friends do, yeah?

You've never had a best friend before. You've never had a Sora before.

Sometimes, when he grins, you could swear he is fucking shining.

.

And pretty soon, you're fifteen and wishing that these weird dreams you keep having about your best friend (and imagine what the fuck he would say if he knew shit Riku stop it right now he'll hate you) which leave you alert and awake and sliding a hand down your stomach to underneath your sheets would just bloody stop.

(You don't, though. You don't stop, even though you could. A hopeful little part of you believes that he wouldn't be that disgusted.)

You're fifteen and your voice breaks when you get nervous and he's just short enough that his head fits nicely underneath your chin when he leans against you and you swear to God, you have never met anyone more perfect.

.

Fast forward a year. You're sixteen and wondering why you're not thinking about anything but water balloons when you're at your first party and you have your hand on Kairi's chest, and also your mouth is on hers.

You hope she doesn't notice.

(She notices.)

"Sorry," you stammer, bright red. She laughs, this weird little snort which doesn't really fit a girl with eyes-as-large-as and clothing-as-pink-as Kairi.

"Don't worry, Riku," she assures you, standing up and kissing your cheek as she straightens her skirt. "I totally get it. I felt like I was kissing my brother, or something. Like, ew."

You nod, thankful for the out which she has unknowingly provided you with. "Yeah, weird."

You wonder if Sora is here yet. He has changed, since the day your first met him. His hair is a bit lighter, his voice a bit deeper; he's a little bit older but the innocent brush of his arm against yours still gives you goosebumps.

Fuck.

You didn't ask for this, you know?

(Kairi smiles like she knows something you don't. You're still trying to figure out what when Sora tackles you into a hug, laughing hysterically like the drunken maniac he is as he wraps his arms around your waist.)

.

12 months later and you're seventeen and almost definitely in love.

Luckily for you, you're pretty sure that your boyfriend is too.

"Hey," he grins, and you decide to lose the almost.

"Hey, Sora," you answer. It's been five years and his name still tastes like soda on your tongue.

He kisses you; his mouth tastes like it, too.