This started out as me having a moment of writer's block on my other story, and wanting to just take a break and write something in the second person POV. I wasn't really expecting it to turn into this, but I actually like how it turned out. Also, Sifr is the Arabian word for zero.

You're sure it's not love.

You don't really know what it is, but it can't be love.

The place where your not-heart resides clenches in a mockery of pain, and you wonder if that is a lie. You are empty, hollow inside, with a black hole in your center to eat away any light that may have been left over from your mysterious previous life. A black hole that consumes not only the light, but even the darkness from which it is made up. There is nothing, and you are filled with it. There is no room for emotions in a Nobody. You scratch distractedly at the sensation fluttering in your chest, and you still wonder if it is a lie. You frown slightly, and tell yourself it is not love, and you feel nothing.

You look at the still figure lying on your bed, snoring lightly. He rolls in his sleep, and the tips of his red hair tickle your thigh. You feel the corners of your mouth lifting minutely of their own accord.

He says it's not love. You can't feel love, and neither can he. It isn't possible to feel. But he sounds unsure of himself, even as he says it. Is uncertainty an emotion?

You wonder if Nobodies are capable of lying to themselves. You really don't know.

You walk through the deserted streets of Twilight Town. It has been a long day of work for the Organization, and you wonder if you are glad that it is over. You feel lighter at the thought that you have enough time to watch the sunset, and your pace quickens. You wonder if anticipation is an emotion.

You reach the top of the clock tower, and you see him standing there, gazing at the blood red sea that is the endless sky. His eyes, which usually blaze with an intense luminosity, are somehow brighter than usual. You feel your breath catch, and say nothing for a moment, but merely watch his face. There is something odd to the lines in his face, the light in his eye, and the word longing swims into your consciousness, though you are not entirely sure of its meaning. But somehow, it feels right.

His name slips from your lips, and the light breeze carries your voice to his ears. He looks over at you, and a slow smile spreads across his face. You stare at his lips and wonder why. The strange expression from before has completely disappeared in the face of his smile, and you wonder if it ever existed in the first place.

He hands you something; you look down at it. Sea salt ice cream. You would say it is your favorite, but you don't know if Nobodies can feel favoritism. You take it anyway, and you sit on the ledge, overlooking the sleepy town below. He clambers over the ledge to take his place next you, and you talk of trivial things that hold no real importance. Yet, somehow, something deep within you knows that though the subject matter may be inconsequential, the conversation itself holds some sort of significance to you.

You say something that makes him laugh. You stare at him blankly and wonder if he is actually amused, or merely going through the motions of pretending to be amused. You don't know how to tell the difference. He stops laughing and says Nobodies can't feel amusement. You ask him to laugh again. He complies, but it is not the same as before. It feels…plastic. Fake. You wonder if that infers that it was real moments ago.

He sees you frowning, and makes a joke about your first days in the Organization, when you acted like a zombie. You laugh and say something back, and you forget to wonder about hearts and emotions, and focus on eating your slowly melting ice cream and watching the blood red sun melt into the blood red horizon.

It is not until later that night when he is sleeping beside you that you try to remember if you had to force yourself to laugh, or if it happened automatically. You don't remember. You think it had felt natural, and that it had happened without a thought. But you don't remember.

You look down at the sleeping figure, and on a whim run your hands through his hair. Your not-heart slows its beating and you wonder if you are serene. You run your hands through it again. You don't know why you do, only that you don't want to stop.

So you don't.

You sit at the top of the clock tower, alone. You hunch into yourself, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. You don't know why you do this, only that it seems to lessen the pressure on your not-heart and you can't bring yourself to stop.

He had been gone for several days now, on a secret mission that he could only tell you small bits of information about. You've heard rumors that members have died. Your not-heart beats wildly in your chest at the thought, and has become painful, almost unbearable. Your throat swells, and it becomes difficult to breathe. You don't know what is happening to you, it is difficult to think, all that can process in your mind is that you don't know what to do if something happens to him. The word panic comes to mind, but you try to dismiss it. That is an emotion, and Nobodies can't feel.

You gaze at the sun, slowly sinking in the red sea that is the sky, wanting sea salt ice cream, but not wanting to eat it without him. It feels wrong, somehow.

The sun kisses the horizon, and you think briefly that it has reached the ocean bottom. You don't know why you think this, since you are sure you have not seen the ocean.

You wish he were here, so you could ask him to reassure you that you feel nothing. Even if you desperately want to feel something, you just want him to tell you something, anything, because that would mean that he would be sitting next to you.

You think about him, wonder if he's okay. You try to imagine the remainder of your not-existence in the Organization without him, wondering if he might really not come back, and a lump forms in your throat. You don't want to think about it. You can't swallow. Your eyes begin to itch, and you wonder if something is wrong with you.

You reach up to rub your irritable eyes, but before your hand gets there, feel something drop into your lap. You look down, and see a small circle in your coat that is a deeper black than the rest. You don't understand, until you feel another something drop next to it, and see another spot appear. You hesitate before wiping at your eyes, and realize that there is water coming from them.

You wonder what is happening. Tears, a dark place in the back of your mind supplies. You don't fully understand the meaning of this word, but do not doubt that it is correct.

Your not-heart clenches again, but feels different somehow. You wonder if this is despair.

He shows up outside the door to your room that night, looking beaten up and weary. He looks at you, and there's something in his face that makes your breath stop and take a step back. Nobodies cannot feel relief, or longing, but you might swear in this instance that he is feeling just that.

He steps towards you and places his lips against yours. He has never done that before, and you don't know what this act might mean, but your not-heart flutters in your chest like a little bird, and you know that this moment is perfect. He comes to bed with you, as he has done so many times before, but somehow tonight is different.

You ask him if this is love. Normally he would tell you it wasn't. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, and says nothing. He falls asleep this way.

You tell yourself this is not love, that there is nothing to feel. Somehow, though, as you trace your fingers along his jaw line, it feels like a lie.

It is a month since he placed his lips to yours, and you began to seriously doubt – is doubt an emotion? – everything you have known about Nobodies. When he looks at you, your not-heart soars. When he is apart from you, it feels heavy and burdensome. When you lie in bed and he tells you Nobodies do not love, it hurts.

He once asks you if you are sure that you don't have a heart. You don't know how to answer. You ask him if he's sure that he doesn't have one. He looks like he no longer knows. You fall asleep in his arms, wondering.

It has been a month since the seed of doubt has been planted into your mind, the seed that will eventually lead to your betrayal of Axel and the Organization, to your end.

You don't know this. But you do know, as you lie in bed one night with the starry sky twinkling at you from the window overhead, one thing. You feel something.

You tell him you think you love him.

You're not sure if that's what it really is. But it is the closest you may ever come to it.

There is a long pause. His voice wavers as he tells you his usual line: that Nobodies do not love.

Your not-heart restricts painfully in the black hole in your chest, and you try to not let it show on your face.

There is another length of silence before he speaks again. He sounds almost scared to say it. You know that he is unsure, and afraid of whatever might be going on in his chest, and what it might imply. He thinks he loves you too.

It is an uncertainty you can live with.

So that was a very short little one-shot, that was fun to write in one sitting. I hope that you enjoyed reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feel free to leave a review if you did!

-Grey