For Kim.
You'll find your solstice.
No KH ownage here.
"Hedoesn'tloveyouhe'llneverloveyouhe'susingyoujusttohurtyouhurthimbackhurtyourself."
Hayner wasn't sure what they were. He knew they were voices, but what twisted force commanded them Hayner had no idea. Maybe they were just in his head, like when people argue with themselves. Or maybe they were a million consciences rolled into one, giving him more guilt than he'd ever earned or deserved.
Or maybe - just maybe - he was insane, and he should be bundled into a cold room in a tight jacket. He wouldn't let that happen, though. Seifer kept a gun in the drawer beside their bed in case of burglars, and Hayner only needed one bullet.
But then again, how would they bundle him away if no-one knew? Only Hayner knew.. Except..
Seifer seemed to know, just a little. When Hayner answered questions that the silence asked him, or when Hayner started to scream for Seifer to get out of him and stop feeling him when they were four feet away from each other.
It probably scared him. It scared Hayner, too, when Seifer would hold him down with a wild look of alarm in his eyes and Hayner was just doing what his head was telling him to. Answer. Scream.
He didn't know why Seifer was stopping him from hitting himself. They would just shout louder.
He never got peace and quiet - sounds were almost always tumbling over each other in his head. When he did as they asked they went away for a while, but not long.
At least doing those things didn't hurt. Nothing really hurt much anymore; Seifer wasn't abusive or anything like a younger Hayner might have expected, and they were both very much over Struggle.
They got bored of no pain, though, so on occasion Hayner would bow to their demands. Pinching a lit candle or tracing the inside of his arm with a butterknife - challenging himself to see how much pain he could get out of himself with such limited tools.
The only one, single thing that stopped Hayner from shoving the candle right down his throat or prying open his veins with the knife was Seifer.
Stupid, hard-headed Seifer who would never listen to silly little whispers in his mind, who never had to squirm at images the whispers put in his head. Seifer, whose voice broke through the little whispers, even when they turned to shouts and were roaring in Hayner's ears. Sometimes Hayner would wake Seifer up in the middle of the night and ask him to start talking. Seifer's grip around Hayner would tighten as he buried his head into the younger blonde's neck. And every night, the same "Damnit, Hayner." that preceded Seifer telling Hayner every little thing he could about his day.
If Hayner listened properly (he tried, he really did), he would probably know a lot more about Seifer than he did. In fact, Hayner was almost positive that Seifer had repeated himself a few times. But Hayner didn't really mind. He just loved Seifer's voice.
It wasn't the sound. It was the lack of it.
I crapped up the ending. Meep.