I intended this to be very dialogue-filled. That's something I'm trying to work on. So you'll have to excuse my unusual lack of too-confusing-prose.

Let's just call this one a normal fanfic, ya? My girlfriend helped with the prompt, so if you don't like it, go bug her.

Insert witty i'm-a-whore-for-squeenix coment here.

He liked to think sometimes Roxas was a little too overdramatic for his own good. He sat, curled up on the bench below the big window, forehead leaned against the frosted glass while his breath made clouds on the surface.

At least, he really hoped Roxas was too overdramatic for his own good--wrapped all the way up to the bottom of his chin in clothing--because, if he wasn't, well … that just meant the boy had a whole lot of problems. Well, excluding his shivering.

"If you're so cold, why do you insist on sitting there?" Sora asked as he sat down across from the blond, reaching to adjust a few of the spikes that had were still trying to slant with the window even as he looked away.

"I like it," was the quick reply as he buried his mouth beneath the overly large scarf.

"Why? It's just snow."

A blue so different from his own was on him in a rush, pouring into the crevices of his soul and sneaking away with all his secrets. Too quick. Sora could see the pain and contemplation in those eyes, how they constantly ticked but never told. Sora could see his past burrowing in there.

He found himself wordless, and apparently his other half did, too. He just looked away. Really, it was an obstinate comment, wasn't it?

He glanced out the window, through the glacial blur, to the snow-covered mountains. It had been his idea to have a little get-away, staying high in an oriental hotel in The Land Of Dragons. But he never thought the scenery would only make Roxas even more morbid than he had been.

"Stay here," he said softly, feeling more than seeing the eyes on his back as he walked away.

He returned and Roxas had not moved from his burrow and only stared at the coffee mug Sora offered out to him. The smoke curled up like death.

"Well, go on. It's hot cocoa."

But the man didn't move.

"Oh, don't be such a stiff!" he alleged as he practically shoved the concoction into the folds of fabric. There was some quick adjusting, but hands eventually emerged from the tomb of warmth and he hesitantly put his mouth to the edge. "We can … go back home if you want."

"No," the response came quickly. "I like it here. But, I…"

"You--?"

There was a pause, before; "it's … white. It's all white."

Realization hit. "Like The Castle That Never Was."

"Yeah. But it's a different white. A pure white." He sipped, chose his words carefully, as though he still had to worry whether or not they could harm him in the end. Sora had tried to explain that he was safe now, but old habits died hard. "Each snowflake is different. In the Organization, we were all the same … soulless … lifeless."

"I don't think so."

"Yes. Yes, you do. Otherwise you wouldn't so easily be able to kill them."

Sora frowned. "I treated them the same way I would've any other criminal."

"No. They hurt you … far more personally." The blond extended his hand, as though observing the fingers that could no longer hold his weapon with the same conviction. "I only know because they did the same to me, and I to you."

"But you didn't do anything to me."

"I did. I left you to slumber, took away a part of you…"

"That's not true. Besides, when we rejoined, you gave me symmetry."

"No two snowflakes are the same." The brunet threw a hand into the air with frustration, and Roxas knew he was reaching a boiling point. Still, one last point: "even if they're two halves of a whole."

"You don't get it, Roxas! They can be the same--I mean, they are the same. And when they come together, they … they collide!"

"Collide…" The morose one took the word carefully, as though it were a foreign subject, while the colors of his eyes flexing under the heavy gold. Then, opinion made, he shook his head. "No. That just leads to more dissension."

"No!" the boy had lost the anger and found a desperation. He didn't understand how to better explain himself. "Colliding isn't necessarily a bad thing. It just … just …"

Roxas's eyes urged him on, but he was so lost in what he was trying to say, practically panicked. So instead of having his tongue tied, well … he just kissed Roxas: breathless, frantic … inexhaustible. The grievances of the youth could only outthink the frenetic movements of the other for so long.

That was how they were: one thought, one moved.

One executed; one dreamed.

The line of which was which blended together as well as the line of who was who was drawn within them. There just wasn't a line anymore.

"…collide," Roxas breathed quickly.

Sora poked his nose with a grin; "snowflakes."