Sora's PoV

Riku spoke with Kairi again. I heard them. They were right by the library, and the window was open a crack. Riku sounded worried for me. I hadn't expected that. I thought he hated me. That made it so much simpler. Today I was too tired to deal with it. Thoughts trickled through my exhaustion-fogged brain like a penny sinking in a jar of molasses. I had a chance. I needed to talk to him. I wondered what it was I needed to say, but my mind refused to answer.

I sleepwalked through school, until I snagged a nap at lunch. I woke feeling very much better just in time to get to class. A new resolution had formed while I slept. I dared not question and let it slip. I skipped art and waited outside Riku's class. I didn't dare lose sight of him. He walked out just after the bell, eyes glazed, and his mind clearly elsewhere. I smiled bitterly. He really was lovely. I had brought this on myself. Riku walked quickly, his eyes still empty, but not towards his house. Not towards anything, save the Burned Sector. I followed curiosity and a bit of cowardice keeping me a block or so behind. It didn't seem to matter; his gaze was glassy, and he didn't seem to notice anything. We hit sand, and he turned, walking down the beach. I was so far behind, I almost didn't see when he slipped into a cave in the dark cliffs to my left. I padded carefully in behind him, and hid in a crevice between two boulders, barely four feet from an odd wooden box against the back wall. Sunlight streamed in from a hole the size of a grapefruit above my head, and lit the cave dimly.

Light glinted on polished silver as Riku pulled a knife out of the wooden box. It was as long as my forearm, sheathed in black leather, with a hilt fashioned in the shape of a silver dragon. The eyes were made of polished amber, and looked eerily alive. He laid it gently on the wooden box, then removed the bands he always wore on his right arm. He slid all three off in one motion, and I couldn't restrain a gasp of shock. The inside of Riku's arm was crusted with scars, white and pink lines making a mesh over his arm. The most recent stood out clearly—a long, ugly ridge that showed clear sign of old stitches ran, raw and red, from his elbow to his wrist.

He just sat there for a moment, tracing the scars, till he slid the knife from its sheath with a threatening shing. Gripping the knife with both hands, he laid the point of the blade at the base of his throat, indenting the skin but not drawing blood. I choked, and sat frozen, unable to move. He pressed harder, and a bead of blood drew a crimson line to his collar. I could only watch, held still by shock and horror, as he took a deep breath… and dropped the blade. His hands were shaking. He began to laugh, a bitter, harsh sound with no humor at all to it, as tears tracked down his face.

Then… he stopped. His face was a neutral mask, as he drew several things out of the box, and then washed his face in a pool by the entrance. He walked back into my view… brushing his hair? As I watched, he took a little oil from a tiny glass bottle, and then put that in his hair. The scent drifted over, a sharp, spicy smell that I recognized as sandalwood. He made some strange marks in the wood of the box with the knife—it looked like an uneven circle. Then he lit another stick of incense, and I wrinkled my nose as the smell reached me. It was a harsh, almost metallic smell that seemed like a bad omen. He knelt before the box. Before I knew what he was doing, he gripped the knife between his knees—and slashed his wrists along the blade. I cried out, and ran to him, but too late. God, too late. Blood poured from his wrists, yet he smiled. I was sure that smile would haunt me till I died. He closed his eyes, and I grabbed his hands, trying to stop the blood. He opened his eyes again, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of startled recognition before he collapsed bonelessly onto me. I was scrambling in the box, looking for anything I could use to stop the bleeding. Finally, my hand hit gauze bandage. I wrapped it tightly around his arms, and slowly, the flow slowed and stopped. There was so much blood on the sand. Would he be all right? Tifa. Tifa was a doctor. She could help him. She was closer than a hospital, and the hospital would ask questions. There was only one hospital in Destiny Islands, and they wouldn't treat a kid without a guardian. I wrapped his arms around my neck and picked him up. He seemed too light. I ran. Thankfully, we were already in the Burnt Sector.

I stumbled down the stairs into base, panting, and saw Tifa and Alex staring at me. I was covered in blood, mostly his, but a bit of mine where half-healed cuts had reopened. I can only guess I fainted, then; I came to at a prick in my arm and twitched, then heard a woman's voice telling me to hold still, because Riku needed blood and mine happened to be handy. Then my mind blurred as I passed out again.

This time I awakened on a blanked pallet beside the couch. I was dizzy, and my brain didn't seem to be working right. I had been worried... about… Riku? Why? I shot bolt upright as I remembered, and looked around quickly. A bit of silver caught my eye. Riku was sleeping on the couch, snoring slightly. I sighed, and relaxed. Thank god. I lay back down. Clearly, I couldn't just leave Riku alone. He was hurting. It wasn't worth a moment's thought if I should help; of course I would. Riku himself brought me back to earth. He stirred, and moaned softly. He opened his eyes slowly, revealing a sliver of dark beryl.

"Sora?" Riku said softly. "Why aren't I dead?" His voice was sleep-slurred, and puzzled in a childish way. I found myself groping for an answer.

"I… I found you. I couldn't just let you die." His eyes widened, and his next words were very controlled. As though he were trying to keep out hope.

"You could have. No one forced you. I thought you hated me."

"God, love. Never." The answer was torn from me before I could censor it. He flinched.

"What?" the words were raw. "You mean you've forgiven me… the whole time?" I answered softly, but no less intensely.

"I know of nothing to forgive you for." Riku struggled, and managed to sit up, drops of crystal sliding down his cheeks. I rose, and sat beside him. I put my arm around his waist and hugged him to me; he not only allowed it, but hugged me back, laying his head on my shoulder while he cried. Finally the tears slowed, and then stopped. He lay against me, and I leaned against him, holding each other up. Eventually, I moved, pacing a hand under his face and tilting his head so I could see his closed eyes. I kissed the tears, my lips passing over his closed eyes, before brushing them against his in a chaste kiss.

"I'm sorry for making you doubt me." My voice was a husky whisper. I owed him that apology.

"It wasn't your fault." Riku's reply was scarcely louder than mine. Then, "I'm sorry for doubting you." I could barely hear him.

"It wasn't your fault." I echoed, with a ghost of a smile. "Let's forget it." His voice was unexpectedly mature.

"Not forget, no. All hardship is a lesson. Forgive, yes." All of a sudden, I chuckled.

"You stole that from a movie."

"Who, me?" he asked, mock innocence and dignity dripping from the words. We both laughed.

"I forgive you if you forgive me."

"Deal." I laughed again. Not very romantic, but who the hell cared?

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As if Sora could really let him die. It's not exactly a happy fic, but it isn't that dark. I marvel a bit at how many nice reviews I've gotten. It's hard to believe people actually like it that much. We're getting to the end of stuff I've written. Updates are likely to slow down in the near future, not that there are many left. I've written fourteen, I'm working on fifteen, and sixteen is the epilouge, so the show is nearly done. The end may be a little anti-climatic… Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to follow this fic this far. It means the world to me.

Dyslexic Angel