Roxas. Number XIII. The key of destiny.
That was all he was. That was all he ever would be. Sora was somebody. Sora existed. Roxas didn't. All the emotions he'd ever felt weren't real.
Hayner. Pence. Olette.
They'd cared about him. They'd been the only thing that was real to him. And they weren't even real. Neither was he. Neither was anything he'd ever known.
Because what he'd known was laughing with his friends on top of the station tower. What he'd known was fighting Seifer down at the sandlot. What he'd known was helping people every chance he'd got. What he'd known was kissing Olette. What he'd known was happiness. What he'd known was hate. What he'd known was caring. What he'd known was love.
What he'd known was emotion.
The Organization.
They'd been there. Just as nonexistent as he was. They knew what it was like. But none of them ever understood. Roxas had felt things. He didn't just pretend. He'd cared about Axel. He'd loved Naminé. Not existing had made him sad. He'd felt sorry for the rest of them. Because even though they all had each other, they were still cold, unfeeling. They were still alone.
They'd wanted to feel the way he did.
Nobody.
Most nobodies didn't have an existing somebody. Roxas did. Naminé did too. Maybe that was what made them different. The other nobodies remembered their former lives. Roxas and Naminé didn't. But they felt things. They made the other Organization members feel things too. But then they'd remember that they couldn't feel.
And they didn't believe it was real.
Roxas. Number XIII. The key of destiny.
That was all he was… no matter how much he tried to be somebody else.
His keyblades hit Sora's.