Joy and woe are woven fine.

The temperate climate in Castle Oblivion contrasted sharply with the cold of Los Angles. Boots planted in the middle of the Grey area, Vanitas swung Void Gear diligently. He wiped the sweat collecting on his forehead and practiced his motions, cutting the air with shrill, threatening whistles. The crimson and ebony Keyblade weaved seamlessly through strikes, a flurry of parries, jabs and intricate stabs.

A vista of darkness and dusty cliffs stretched out the window. When he paraded out of his room, tired from the lack of sleep, and summoned his Keyblade to practice, a few of the sentient nobodies stiffened warily and observed him from the corner of their eyes. Vanitas knew he enjoyed the privilege of being superior's favorite toy.

He decided to take advantage of it.

A modest gathering slouched on the alabaster couches. Larxene, kicking Luxord out of his seat and occupying it herself, recorded the stances, a suggestive smile on her lips. "What do you think the superior does with him?" she sneered. Highlight yellow polish glinted from stiletto nails. "He's always alone with the boss. I think I'm jealous."

The video camera burst into flame and she yelped, dropping it on the floor.

Lowering his smoking Keyblade, the Black Saint snarled, "Why don't you fix a camera in his room and find out?" Xemnas trailed his fingers across Vanitas' collarbones, golden irises contemplative. "Your boss is a psycho," he added, letting Void Gear dematerialize. Being alone with Xemnas frightened him senseless, the moment wrinkles folded around the older man's eyes and mouth, he became unreasonable. "I don't think he'll take to interruptions kindly." Larxene smoldered, keeping her cool under a tight, threatening smile. "I can do whatever I want," Vanitas crowed. "Annoy me too much, and I'll have you licking the dirt under my boots."

Two become One popped into existence in a flare of pewter light. Ignoring the seething nobodies, he restarted his training, aching arms screaming for relief. The tension in the lounge shattered when Zexion strolled in and issued commands. The KBWA destroyed the Heartless factory in Hollow Bastion and they needed to scout a new planet for another plant. Vanitas smirked bemusedly when Zexion passed.

The moment of elation ebbed into misery.

Quashing his feelings, Vanitas moved to the edge of the Grey area, pressing his forehead against the glass. He searched for life. It's a micro-planet, the same as Los Angeles and Land of Dragons, there should be some inhabitants living here, right?

But the veil of darkness offered nothing. No fanged beasts with glowing eyes growling to assert their territory. No other worldly humans. Only this turquoise turreted castle, rooted on an eerie island of white stone.

The only color remained outside, the bricks of the building a warm sandstone.

Cold seeped through the carpet and the fridge hummed in the eerily silent apartment. Wrestling out of his duvet, Sora ambled to the lounge room. Maybe yesterday was were a sound induced nightmare. He stared at the neatened sofa-bed, a dragon plushie proudly surveyed its fluffy kingdom from a fort of pillows. The television, normally on at this hour and droning noise, remained blank.

10:30 a.m.

Courthouse

Courtroom no. 6

Mr. Wright assumed his place next to Sora and he managed a half-hearted smile before narrowing his focus on the papers littering the bench. Searching through Sunshine Coliseum took the greater part of the day and the arena offered scant evidence.

Certainly nothing to suggest Demyx's innocence in the grisly murders.

The singer travelled with a retinue of guards. Once the center of adoration, the idol now invited scorn and hate.

Edgeworth delivered his opening statement and Sora brushed a thumb over his badge, grounding himself. If the defense did not at present a solid argument, the public will cry foul and he will have another dozen journalists stalking him at all hours. He sighed, pulled the muffler tighter around his neck and straightened when Detective Gumshoe climbed the witness stand.

"The collaboration concert between Demyx and Gavin is not a small event pal." Gumshoe scratched the bandage on his cheek. "We checked the paperwork, Organization XIII had no part in it." The Judge listened, grey eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration. "Forensics combed the studio, we got the KBWA involved too," the Detective admitted with a sheepish smile, "and they detected no anomaly." The gallery twittered in urgent voices. "The autopsy reports were sent overseas to leading medical authorities, since we can't tell what actually killed the victims." He extracted a dog-eared notepad from his shabby trench coat. "The victims started collapsing around the middle of the concert and most died at the end. Again, there is no pattern to the victims chosen."

Gumshoe flipped his notebook shut.

"Mr. Clavius." The Judge banged his gavel. "Your cross-examination please."

In the dock, Demyx slumped in a chair, movements restricted by a strait jacket. The gallery contained the prominent presence of Belle, observing the trial.

"Detective," Sora listlessly began, "how are you sure there is no Organization XIII involvement?"

"Tsk." Miles wagged his finger admonishingly. "After he terminated his contract, Demyx Ashby surrendered all Level 9 merchandise to Organization XIII. How are you unaware of this attorney?" he loftily demanded.

Grinning ruefully, Phoenix added, "I understand you didn't want to defend this client, but I believe he's innocent." Sora shrugged disbelievingly. "I know you don't trust him, but will you trust me?"

I trust you Mr. Wright. More than the KBWA.

Unlike his previous trials, the audience remained respectfully quiet. The Judge did not need to call for order every fifteen minutes.

Determination hardening Sora's irises, he presented evidence to court. "This is the remains of a technologically advanced earplug," he explained. The Judge, Edgeworth and Phoenix regarded the plastic device blankly. "If you zoom in here," the court monitors displayed a distinct engraving, "it clearly shows this earplug belongs to Level 9 of Organization XIII."

The prosecutor jerked back in alarm, glasses sliding down his nose.

"Furthermore," the defense continued, "furthermore, I found this in the audience stands."

From the witness stand, Gumshoe glared at Sora. "Anyone could've bought it to wear it at the concert pal!" he asserted.

Ignoring the glower, Sora wiped his sweaty palms. "But Mr. Edgeworth just said all Level 9 products are with Org XIII. None of them are sold in Los Angles anymore and this is the latest prototype product." His cheeks reddened. "I know. I own all five of the previous models," he mumbled.

The noise levels in the crowd swelled and Sora stared at his shoes when the gallery bestowed admiring looks on him. Air-conditioning in the oak paneled courtroom kept the biting chill at bay.

"Does the prosecution have anything else to add?" The Judge twirled his beard. "Perhaps we will have a straightforward case today."

Yeah, keep dreaming.

Smirking haughtily, Edgeworth dismissed the Detective. "Of course. I call upon another witness who will render a comprehensive explanation of the backstage workings." A familiar individual arrived on stand. "Witness, state your name and occupation," Miles requested threateningly.

Smoothing his dark green work apron, the witness acknowledged Sora with a polite tilt of his head before introducing himself, sweating under the prosecutor's watchful gaze. "Jack Turner," he saluted, "I work as a stage backhand at the Sunshine coliseum and oversaw the collaboration project." He paused modestly and the gallery praised him on a job well done. "I'm also in charge of backstage tours." His electric green eyes automatically swiveled to Trucy and she waved.

"Hmm... I don't like this witness," Phoenix stated darkly, the magatama clasped tightly in his hands.

Cut the guy some slack, his only crime is being too friendly with Trucy.

"Well?" his boss questioned. "Don't you have to cross-examine him?"

"He only introduced himself!" Sora squeaked. "Please calm down, people are staring!"

Leaving the defense to complete its circus act, Miles crossed his arms. "Your testimony. Tell us exactly what happened on the day of the crime."

Tightening his apron straps, Jack related, "Mr. Gavin arrived early and I demonstrated the stage props to him. He wanted to change a few things and give the stage presence a rockstar flair. Mr. Ashby... was still asleep," the stage backhand chuckled, "but he approved of the idea." Turner checked the concert itinerary. "Later, I toured the backstage with the first group of fans, we covered the wings and the vanity room." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, speckled with light brown freckles. "When I returned backstage, Mr. Gavin threw a fit because he couldn't find his hog... err... motorcycle keys."

The attention turned to Klavier, seated in the gallery and expression shaded with a pair of designer sunglasses.

"I tested the systems before Gavin and Ashby went on stage and..." Jack worried the hem of his apron and at his nervousness, Sora fiddled with the edge of his scarf. "I thought the sound quality wasn't as good as it should be." Demyx perked. "Too much background... ah not really background but-"

"But what?" Edgeworth demanded, placing his palm on the varnished bench. "Speak clearly."

"It sounded like interference," Jack slowly stated. "Low frequency sound… I think."

Urk, I think I'd forget what I wanted to say.

"The defense may cross-examine the witness," the Judge prompted. "Please take care not to ask pointless questions." The gavel rung, wood on wood.

A ray of sunshine slanted through the tall windows of the courtroom, golden light on marble tiles. Rereading through his transcript of the testimony, Sora pounced, "How much time did you have to inspect everything before the concert started?" The witness tilted his head in thought. "When our tour finished, we... I mean, there wasn't much time. You managed to check all the equipment? The trapdoor stage and lighting and everything?"

"I'm a professional at my work Mr. Clavius." Turner scratched the back of his head. "And I divided my work between shifts. The trapdoor systems were all set the day before, I only had to worry about the stage lighting and mood. The screens, costumes, dancers and stage props were all sorted out."

His overly polite mood is grating on my nerves. "He's telling the truth," Sora whined at Wright, scrutinizing the witness with his magatama glowing jade. "I don't see an opening."

"Ask him about the sound." Phoenix refused to straighten from his bent posture, mud blue irises an unforgiving thorn as he watched the witness. "Press him on what he found different."

Opening the court record, Sora aligned his evidence, keeping his hands busy. "Mr. Turner, can you elaborate on the sound?" On the bench lay the rumpled sheets of music he found in the wastepaper bin. "I don't understand sound mechanics. If you could explain it clearly, I might… I'll appreciate it."

Miles nodded. "Tell us about the sound," he reiterated. "Make sure the defense understands your explanation."

Elbows on the witness stand, Jack stated, "Gavin ran the collaboration song on the loud speakers and I joined him in the audience stands. It had a clear quality." Turner wracked through his memory. "He wanted the sound quality to be sharper and brought the issue up with Ashby who commissioned a famous sound technician to solve the problem. Yet," the stagehand hesitated, "it sounded different... no one else complained so I suppose it wasn't much of an issue." He smoothed his apron. "I guess I'm making a mountain out of a molehill..."

A heartless escaped from his shadow and Sora clenched his teeth when the Judge implored for the cross-examination.

"You're lying," Sora spat, taken aback by the venom in his words. Yesterday's bitterness boiled over, filling his mind with worry and exhaustion. The prosecutor blinked, surprised. "One of your statements contains a clear contradiction." Sora was tired of standing here, arguing with people. He didn't want to pore over intricately worded twists and drag the truth from them. For once, he hoped for a clear solution but every damn witness appearing in court arrived with their own personal vendetta and... and...

"What were you saying?" Phoenix asked gently. The junior lawyer heaved, irises glassy, expression dull. "Should I ask the Judge to excuse you?"

Does it bother you, accommodating me every time?

Does it bother Vanitas?

"No... no, I'm fine." Sora zoned on the music sheets. "I'm fine," he whispered, believing the maxim senior Apollo drilled in him. The splash of golden sunshine on the courtroom floor vanished. "You are lying when you said no one else complained." The witness blanched, freckles stark against pallid skin. "The new sound quality made everyone dizzy, so they were required to plug their ears while they worked." Sora lifted a clear package with a bundle of earplugs. "Here's your evidence Mr. Edgeworth." He suppressed a triumphant grin when the prosecutor's eye twitched.

The prosecutor lifted his chin. "Witness," he barked. "What is the meaning of this?"

Refusing to be intimidated, Jack simply bowed in apology. "I'm sorry, the sound engineer told us the equipment isn't advanced enough to support the level of quality Mr. Gavin requested. After the tune up, there wasn't enough time to change it back." He tugged his earlobes. "I doubt the fans noticed it, they were roaring in excitement." Turner politely paused. "What about you Mr. Attorney, did you notice anything different?"

"He has a point," Phoenix conceded after the cross-examination finished. "I know you are concerned about the Organization XIII technology, but perhaps the fan in question can't bear loud sounds?" he theorized. "Polly can't either; he only went to the concert to make Trucy happy."

I didn't notice anything different, nor did Vanitas or he'd complain about it the moment the music came on. Sora pawed the evidence, broken bits of plastic sealed in a bag. During the concert, I only noticed Apollo chatting on his phone, if...

"If," he muttered while the prosecution stalled, like a reaper waiting for the soul to cough up its last will. "If hypothetically speaking, Trucy dragged you to the concert Mr. Wright," Phoenix winced, "what would you do to pass the time? Suppose say, you don't like the music?"

While the two lawyers conversed in barely perceptible tones, the rest of the court leaned forward to hear. Miles impatiently tapped his index finger against his temple while the witness slouched with an elbow on the stand, acutely aware of Demyx boring holes in his back.

"Mr. Clavius," the Judge reminded, "the court is waiting for your cross-examination. The witness also asked you a question."

Sora rearranged his scarf. "Right. I didn't notice anything different," he admitted. "I'm not very familiar with Demyx's music. However," a niggling thought simmered in the pit of his stomach, "I don't recall anyone else using a phone or doing something else at the concert-"

"Attorney," Edgeworth interjected and Sora's knees weakened. "Your statements are mere conjecture if you cannot supplement them with evidence," he boomed in his smooth baritone. "And refrain from voicing your internal monologues," Miles scathingly continued. "You are wasting time."

Why can't you be a little more helpful like prosecutor Gavin?

Rubbing a thumb over his badge, Sora and Phoenix collectively glared at Miles, the former flushing awkwardly. "The... the vanity room," he sputtered. "I found copies of the collaboration." A heartless wisped from the witness. "There are several sheets and I can't make sense of them." He presented the evidence and Edgeworth adjusted his glasses, peering at the screens intently. "Mr. Turner," Sora addressed the witness, "can you elaborate? Or perhaps Mr. Gavin?" The sheets on the dual monitors showed duplicates of the Collaboration music, one with extra musical notation. "Are these before and after copies?" the lawyer pressed. "I found them in the wastepaper basket."

"In the what?!" Demyx gasped with a panicked peek at Klavier. "I-"

Bang! The Judge brought down the gavel. "I request the accused to remain quiet," he instructed. "Witness, answer the defense's question."

Running a hand through sandy hair, Jack timidly cleared his throat. "I threw them away," he confessed, embarrassment seeping in his cheeks. "The amount of work I had to finish before the concert overwhelmed me and Ashby requested the vanity room be cleared before the concert started. The floor was strewn with papers." Turner described the vanity, pieces of paper littering the floor, scrawled with musical bars. Empty styrofoam coffee cups. A plastic cup half filled with Ashby's favorite, bubblegum blue slushie. "I gathered all the papers and dumped them in the bin. I'm sorry!"

Wonderful, I didn't want a comprehensive account of your incompetency. Sora flipped his papers. I sound like Mr. Edgeworth, I'm proud of myself.

"About the papers," he gestured to the courtroom monitor, "can you explain them?"

The witness gazed blankly at the copies. "I don't write music," he said. "I have no idea what's going on."

Dismissed, Jack returned to the witness lounge, escorted by bailiffs.

"This trial proved absolutely nothing," Edgeworth articulated, arms spread wide. "The defense did not conclude anything decisive. Ergo, it appears the defendant may be the culprit after all."

"Hold it!" Sora wheezed. "We still haven't cleared the problem of these musical scores." Edgeworth lifted a dismissive eyebrow. "Your honor," the attorney pleaded, "may I ask prosecutor Gavin to explain this?"

Phoenix grinned like a proud parent and Sora squared his shoulders.

Excusing himself from the witness stand, Gavin stood in the gallery and clarified, "This is a score of the collaboration Demyx and I wrote together," he indicated the first sheet. "This..." He tugged his platinum blonde locks. "I don't know where it came from, it's our music, but with low frequency notation written in. Do you know about this?" he directed his question at Demyx, who jumped at the barely concealed rage in Klavier's voice.

"Of course not!" Demyx defended himself. "We did all the collaborations together. Why would I insert low frequency music in our gig? It'll change the sound quality!"

In the gallery, Justice sighed at the melodrama unfolding on the courtroom floor. He mentally graded the case. A prosecutor witness testifying from the gallery; the accused, a member of an Organization reputed to delve in underhanded dealings, paired with a reluctant lawyer. His poor protégé had it tough. Apollo glimpsed the holographic screen in front of Athena, pleasantly surprised by Sora's calm, mental state. "He's doing fine," he noted. "I'm worried though, this isn't the beginning of a break down is it?"

"Who else can write musical notation?" Sora squeaked over the growing din of voices. Several gallery members joined the discussion. Senior Apollo shouted his thoughts on the matter while the Judge twirled his beard. "Who else..." Sora trailed off.

Phoenix slammed his hand decisively on the desk and like the aftermath of an explosion, the audience quieted and turned to the veteran lawyer. "The trial is not over yet." He lifted his chin. "Listen to what Sora has to say."

Resisting the urge to step in Mr. Wright's capable shadow, Sora wrestled with his muffler, calming the erratic thumping of his heart. "Who else can write musical notation-"

"You honor," Edgeworth edged in, his cravat fluttering, "this question is irrelevant-"

"It's relevant!" Sora bent over the bench, fisting a piece of paper. "Please... please let me talk without interrupting."

Dignifiedly cleaning his glasses with a microfiber cloth, Miles nodded.

Eyes firmly on the courtroom monitors, Sora began with long suffering patience, "Who else is able to write musical notation?" he asked, "from the crew who worked on the collaboration?" The judge implored him to speak louder and Sora repeated his words, wishing for a megaphone. A giggle floated from the gallery. Trucy. "I think that person..." might be the culprit.

Mercifully, the prosecutor refrained from comment.

"Arthur could," Demyx reluctantly informed after a dragged out pause. "Arthur Trent, the sound engineer." He stood in the dock, arms concealed by the straitjacket. "We used to be a band. It's possible he could alter the music for it to sound better on the speakers?" Ashby hopefully supplied.

"Low frequency sound is dangerous." Inside Athena's sunshine office, muted by the light filtering from iron grey clouds, Sora listed her opinions. "It's known to drive people to suicide and the prolonged effects haven't been studied." A chunky, charm bracelet glittered on her wrist.

Steepling his fingers, Sora forced aside his resentment. "Mr. Demyx, did you assist in writing the new music?" he demanded, voice carrying clearly over the spellbound court.

The idol solemnly shook his head.

Expectation weighed his shoulders. Every stabbing stare speared into Sora. Returning the evidence to the court records, he read Arthur Trent's profile. "...The defense requests Mr. Trent be brought to the stand." In the viewing gallery, the sound engineer stiffened. "I have some questions for him."

No rain. No sunshine.

Hauling a couch to the window, Vanitas miserably sat against the glass, bored out of his mind. An entourage of lower nobodies hid in the featureless room, guarding the Keyblade wielder. Despite his tough talk, he did not want to end up on the wrong end of Organization XIII. Perhaps he exaggerated his worth, Vanitas knew Xemnas wouldn't leak any tears if he one day woke up to find his favorite toy drowned in a sticky pool of blood.

He fiddled with his crown necklace obsessively. Vanitas missed his companions, Goofy's calm logic and Donald's endless banter kept him fuelled. Now, only a heavy silence buzzed in his ears, like the static air before a fierce storm.

What was his brother doing now? Did he eat breakfast? Vanitas pictured Sora, shuffling from the frosted glass bedroom, rubbing his eyes and standing in the lounge, bright blue irises trained on the sofa bed. Maybe he shambled closer, latching the wardrobe, pulling the curtains apart to let the apartment flood with wintry sunlight. Or, his brother might simply squint at the mound of soft toys, face heavy with sadness.

Did he take his medicines?

The alarm on Vanitas' phone long grew obsolete. He tried tracking time in this timeless castle, only to curse colorfully when the clock ran backwards. Vanitas repeatedly asked for the time whenever he visited Xemnas, his biological clock telling him its night.

The superior surprised him in mid-yawn when he said it was late morning.

"But the moon is out?" Vanitas irritably pointed to the cold, heart shaped moon.

"Time does not flow in a liner pattern in this castle," came Xemnas' curt reply.

Some innocent victim obviously became the scapegoat for the concert murders. Vanitas drummed slender fingers against the glass. When he questioned about Demyx's whereabouts, the Organization members scoffed. Larxene verbally abused the stupid excuse of a nobody, who cowered at the sight of blood, never went on a serious mission because he prided on selective participation and kept the public's interest in mind when touring. Her unflattering description planted a seed of grudging respect in Vanitas and for the next hour? Day? He blasted Demyx's tracks on his phone, discretely following Larxene till she buried a crackling foudre a few inches from his head.

He chuckled. She seethed, spun on her boot and loudly stomped away.

His brother might have to defend the client and Vanitas pictured himself sitting next to Belle, acting as the KBWA overseer. He missed the whip lady. Sure she whacked Sora, but her commandeering presence mellowed in the face of truth.

"I hope some pansy isn't giving him a hard time."

What about his companions? Will they go back to working with Riku? The thought stung. What if Squall returned them to Disney Castle? Vanitas drew his knees under his chin. Their presence grew on him, he couldn't picture himself going to battle without Donald and Goofy securely by his side.

A plate clattered softly on the sofa. "Eat," Lexaeus said. "You need sustenance."

"Tie me to a bed post and make me!" Vanitas growled. The musty aroma of ink and paper wafted under his nose and turned, mildly surprised by the newspaper lying on the couch. Like a starved child, he snatched it up. The front page showed Demyx, arrested for the concert murders and Vanitas' heart sank. "Memorial service to be held on a later date," he read. "Everyone is invited to hold a vigil for the victims." Skimming over the article, he smiled at Sora's name among the ranks of respectable attorneys. "Leave me alone," Vanitas spat, clutching the newspaper like a safety blanket. "I'll eat when I feel like it."

The hulking nobody retreated from the lounge, posting his subordinate at the gate.

07:50 p.m.

Los Angeles

Sunshine Coliseum

The gold glows of candle light flickered in the breeze. Capering flames illuminated the portrait of a teenage girl, a loving son and a pair of friends who died hand clasped in hand. The coliseum held a memorial service for those killed, gushing blood while they staggered away from the stands, desperately trying to stop life flowing away from them.

Icy hands wrapped around a tea light candle placed in clear glass, Sora stalked the front row stands, trying to discern from where his brother disappeared. Detective Gumshoe graciously shared more evidence with him, obviously prosecutor Edgeworth did not need to be informed.

Garlands of roses and lilies wreathed the framed photos. Close friends and family placed favorite items next to their deceased loved ones. Parents and siblings sobbed, muffling their cries. Overhead, the sky, speckled with stars, watched with cold detachment. Sora joined the swelling crowd, a hood drawn over his head. A moment of silence for the victims began, the sea of candle flame burned steadily; a golden thread cutting the darkness.

Please keep Vanitas safe, he prayed, eyes half closed. Please let him find his way back home and forgive him if he murders someone along the way.

The scent of aromatic wax drifted to the air. Sandalwood and orange blossoms, Sora sniffed, cinnamon and vanilla. The heavy scent blanketed the vigil and as the moment came to an end, groups broke away to share stories. A bespectacled man approached and pressed him to mete justice on the murderer. His vehement anger torched Sora who quietly gravitated to the dark shadows under the trees, escaping the sizzle of hatred oozing like smoke through the bereaving crowd.

Barely two days ago, a different crowd jumped for joy.

Supported against the tree trunk and candle warming his hands, Sora examined the milling crowd before him. Sadness radiated strongly from drooped shoulders. A child cut through the people and lifted his candle, secured firmly in petite fingers, and Sora petrified.

Blonde, spiky locks and tiny candle flames dancing in sky blue eyes; Ventus, tailed faithfully by Aqua clad in a lace funeral dress, paused. The crowd moved around him like water sliding past rock.

He stood there, framed by the memorial. Velvet candlelight created a halo around his head, dimly capering across an expression devastated by sadness.

The boy lowered his candle to the photographs, a striped tie pinned in place. Craning his neck for a glimpse of the Wind Mage, Sora uncertainly ventured forward. Without his armor plated clothes, the child melted with the people. He emerged again, a form fitting suit-jacket protecting him from the cold, the stain of a bruised flower smearing the edge of his sneaker.

"Ven," Sora called, afraid to raise his voice. Low chatter swallowed all sounds and the blonde strode past. The crowd parted without notice and joined after him, screening him from view.

Aromantic

Night

Sunshine coliseum

Can we be intimate friends?

He lost Ventus in the gathering and scurried to his co-workers. Sora reached for Trucy's hand, wanting to bask in her warmth and aching familiarity.

Instead, his fingers settled on her wrist and she slowed her pace to match his.

"Vanitas..." She tilted her head to hear him above the noise. "Vanitas loves you and I... I..."

Can't.

Trucy brusquely trudged through a crowd, pulling him along, her grip firm and comforting. "I can't," Sora confessed. "I can't feel any romantic feelings." The tips of his ears burned. Why couldn't I be normal? "But Vanitas, he's really serious about you." She nodded resignedly. "And I'd be happy if we were friends."

Individuals peeled away from the congregation at the altars. The candles winked out one by one, marigold stars losing their shine. At the Coliseum gate, Sora stumbled on the concrete, narrowly avoiding a collision with an elderly couple murmuring solace to each other.

"I don't know how it feels to... to like… to love," Sora stuttered and buried his face in a woolen muffler. Trucy nodded sympathetically and he missed her hand when she tucked it into her coat pocket. "My chest hurts when someone confesses to me," he confessed. "It hurts and I think about it for a long time because I don't know how to respond."

I thought about you for a long time and I'm sorry.

A/N: a mountain out of a molehill – my English teacher would be proud if she knew I found a use for those stupid English proverbs I had to memorize at primary school. And yes, Sora is an ace.

Please read and review. Comments and questions are always welcome