Flying Without Wings

Once upon a time, there had lived a girl who had no heart.

Why had she no heart?

Well, no one knew. In fact, most people didn't know that she didn't have one, because she always pretended she had. If you didn't know what she was, you would honestly think she had a heart, judging by the way she was always giving it away to people, promising it to them, or taking it back from them. She traded her non-existent heart with anyone and everyone, giving her fake heart to one boy and stealing their real one, then taking the false one back only to give it away to some one else.

So many times she did this, giving a false heart and receiving real ones. And yet, no matter how many real hearts she collected for herself, it never made her false heart any more real. Even though she tried and tried, pouring heart after heart onto the fake heart she had created, she never could get more than a pretend heart that thought it knew what love was.

No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn't feel.

Until, one day, she found a boy unlike all the others– a boy with pretty blue eyes and no heart, just like her.

He was different from the others; he understood. He knew what she went through each and every day. He knew what it was like to look around and see people all around him expressing emotions he himself could not. He knew what it was like to be different, to be loved but to never be able to love. He was the only one who could help her– and she was the only one who could help him.

It started with whispered words and soft touches.

He would brush past her and whisper that it was okay, that she should keep her strength up, that she would be able to make it through the day. And she would smile at him, tell him thank you, and give him a few encouraging words as well. It had been simple, innocent; the helpful words of someone who knew what she was going through.

Then the touches started to linger, and the words became deeper, more intimate.

"You're so beautiful," he would whisper as he gently ran his fingers over her cheek. She would blush, call him a flatterer, then hug him tightly and tell him not to go home just yet. And he would smile at her and tell her he'd never leave her if she didn't want him to. But she hadn't understood this yet, no, no, she hadn't understood the real meaning until it was too late.

Even when the touches dissolved into chaste kisses, and the words into unspoken things expressed through gazing eyes and touching hands, she told herself it wasn't really that. He would never do that– he knew better. He understood. He was simply doing what she had done– giving away his fake heart in order to get a real one. But . . . didn't he know that hers wasn't real?

And then, one day, the kisses, the unspoken words, the touches . . . they all came down to the one thing she feared most.

They had been walking along the cliff high above the ocean, her telling him bizarre, animated stories, and him laughing at each twist and turn of her tale. They had watched the sunset while holding hands, and had gazed at the sea while whispering endearing words. And then, just before she had been about to suggest they head home, he had spoken three, simple little words that completely destroyed everything he had been so careful to build.

She had recoiled from him, horror in her eyes. How could he say that? How? It was just like what she would say when she stole the heart of some unsuspecting boy. But he already knew she had no real heart; why was he saying this? Did he really not understand what having no heart meant?

"Naminé?" he had asked, concern in his wide, blue, beautiful sad bright lonelyhappyohsowonderful eyes. "What's wrong?"

What was wrong? Oh, nothing was wrong. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except for everything.

"You can't love me!" she had cried, then had quickly clapped her hands to her mouth when she realized she had just uttered that word.

"Why not?"he had asked, beautifulbeautifulblue eyes filled with confusion.

"Because we don't have hearts," she had whispered. "We don't have hearts, we can't. . . can't do that."

"Naminé, I know you think that, but things are different now." He had given a small shake of his head, then had stepped forward, holding his hand out to her. "I've figured it out. We don't need hearts to love, Naminé. We just need ourselves."

"No! NO!" she had cried, tears blinding her eyes. "We can't love! WE CAN'T!" She had turned to run, but he had grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms.

"Naminé," he had whispered in a soothing voice, running his fingers through her silky blonde hair in a calming motion. "Shh. It's okay. I know it's hard for you to accept– your whole life you've thought you can't love– but you can, Naminé."

"No . . . we . . . can't!" she had shouted, shoving him away.

Shoving him away.

At the edge of a cliff.

A cliff.

Time had seemed to stand still, time in which they both did nothing but stare at each other, blue eyes transfixed by blue eyes. Then Time took control again, and he fell fell fellfellfell, and all she could think about were those blue, blue, blueblueblueblue eyes.

She had stood at the edge of the cliff and stared down at where his broken body lay at the very bottom, and she had whispered the only thing that came to her mind:

"You can't love without a heart any more than you can fly without wings."

And she had turned and walked away, leaving behind the boy who thought he had had a heart without a second thought; after all, he was just the same as all the boys she'd given her fake heart to.

But if she had turned around, she would've seen a single leaf fluttering in the breeze.

Struggling, yes.

Eventually going to fall, yes.

But still flying.

Without wings.

What is with me and morbid Naminé fics? Seriously.

But yeah. If you didn't understand, it was Roxas x Naminé. Sorta. In a twisted, onesided-ish kinda way. Figures that the first Roxiné I write Roxas dies. Typical me.

Naminé can be real heartless when she wants to be, huh? (No pun intended xD)

Anyway, in news for Silver Key . . . I've . . . progressed.

About a paragraph.

So . . . yeah. D: I've just been really inspiration lacking with that fic. So . . . we'll see what happens. -sigh-