So, wrote this for a challenge at livejournal's dailyprompt community. I know I haven't worked on my Riku/Sora story in a looooong time, but I'm trying... don't kill me! Anyway, here's a short little KamIbu for your pleasure.
Kamio wanted to make a beeline for the door when he looked up to find that expression on Shinji's face, yet again. It was driving him crazy – those dark eyes, focused so intently on his own face, seeming to read into his very soul as it poured out his secrets compliantly. Why! Why did Shinji keep looking at him that way? It was all Kamio could take to remain still in his position lounging on the floor, without jumping up and shaking Shinji or punching him or kissing him or running from him; it was beyond him to keep their relationship in any semblance of normal.
Kamio wanted to ask Shinji so many questions, wanted to find the reason behind those drawn-out stares, wanted to put his mind to rest by giving his soul some sort of answer. He found himself without the words to express his desire. He had never been a man for eloquence or verbosity; he threw himself instead into music and tennis. His confidence in tennis had maintained a shaky relationship for a few months, now their relationship seemed to be crumbling faster than ever. Or maybe it was he that was crumbling – he couldn't tell any longer; his mind was too addled by the uncertainties spinning round in his head, too blinded by the possibilities accompanying them. He closed his eyes, looked away, just breathed for a moment – and came to a startlingly clear conclusion: if tennis hadn't worked, the only thing he had left was his music.
He stood abruptly, feeling intensely uncomfortable as Shinji's eyes followed him silently across the room. Kamio felt better as he flipped through the pages of his CD wallet, had more confidence as he readied his stereo system, was almost himself again as he started the music and strode over to his teammate. "Dance with me," he said, and received a look akin to what his own look of panic must have been. No longer was Shinji's countenance an impenetrable shield; rather, it was as open and honest as Kamio could have hoped. "Dance with me," he said again. In this arena, Kamio had the advantage.
He grasped Shinji's lax hands, pulled him upright and guided him to the center of his room. Kamio began to rock; the beat was pounding and up tempo, and he felt is coursing through him as if it were an elixir of life. He could ignore the questions fogging his mind and the insecurities influencing his thoughts here, so long as the music was loud and the rhythm fast. He moved for a few moments, Shinji's unsure expression becoming more bewildered by the second, and Kamio very nearly felt a sadistic pleasure in repaying what he had felt for weeks. He grabbed a hold of Shinji's now sweating palms and brought his friend's ear down to his own mouth. "Dance," he commanded softly, watching Shinji shiver almost violently in response. He added an, "or I'll make you," as an afterthought, but with a meaningful glance into Shinji's wild eyes, he discerned that the words had hit home.
When Shinji only stood stiffly, blinking in alarm, Kamio decided to make good on his assertion. He grabbed Shinji's hands and placed them heavily on his own waist, winding his arms around Shinji's neck. Kamio had pushed his friend this far already, and since things sure as hell wouldn't be the same after this, he decided to throw caution to the wind entirely. He wanted his tumultuous feelings to stop, and the only way to put an end to them was to determine the answer to the root question: "does Shinji want from me the same as I want from him?" And what did Kamio want? His hands twining into Shinji's hair as he pulled their bodies closer together should have been enough of a hint for anyone. Anyone, it would seem, excepting Shinji.
The purple-haired boy's discomfort was painfully obvious to Kamio – his form was rigid, his hands on the shorter boy's waist almost twitching, and his eyes shifting uncontrollably. They passed a few minutes like this, Kamio trying to make Shinji relax into the mood of the moment, and Shinji doing his damnedest to look absolutely terrified. This was worse than the weeks of inscrutable stares – Shinji was here, close to him, and distinctly displeased. Finally, it was all Kamio could take. Frustration bubbled to the surface faster than any other emotion, with anguish coming in at a close second, but he did his best to check both these sensations as he leaned in to the purple haired boy's ear again. "Look, if you want, we can – We can stop. But I don't want to go back to whatever the hell it was you were doing to me before."
"...What I... was doing to you?" At this, Kamio looked away, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Shinji sounded almost angry, and this would mean sure failure if he continued any further.
"Yes," Kamio snapped, and began to withdraw from Shinji's hold. Memories of their friendship in its less complicated days flashed up in front of him unasked, stinging his eyes as sharply as they stung his now heavy heart. There was no point in forcing the matter along – Kamio had already ruined something wonderful, albeit unsteady; why rend it further?
He was thus the tiniest bit shocked when Shinji's arms moved to encircle him instead of relinquish him. "No... just... don't go. I'll dance with you," was all the taller boy said, but the mirrored image of distress and lingering hope in his dark eyes was all Kamio needed to see.
The red-haired boy once again wound his fingers into a deep purple mane, he pulled their bodies together tightly; and this time, Shinji nearly melted into the touch, swaying to the rhythm in sync with his partner. The music wrapped around them; they wrapped around each other; and somehow a pulsing beat and a setting sun lent themselves perfectly to the first of many dances.