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He lies back on the cool sand and closes his eyes, waiting. He waits until he is able to recall the sloshing sound of waves crashing on the shore of a far away island; in his mind is ever clear, that loving caress of water on sand, relentless and soothing like his own steady breathing.
The sand beneath his fingertips is cool and fine, a silken embrace; sundown was many hours ago and the breeze ruffling his clothes has no scent, nothing to distract his fevered mind from his nightly pastime.
As his ears fill with the sound of the ocean, he remembers another night not that long ago, but a lifetime past, when he laid on the sand like this, starlight above and the sea around him. He had recognized his best friend in the telling jingle of belts and zippers, as he approached carefully to the prone form laying on the beach –much like now- spread-eagled and feigning sleep. The other boy had sat down next to him and tried his name a few times, convincing himself that he was really asleep.
He wasn't. But he had pretended anyway.
Time had stretched on, only the sound of the rolling waves to lull him into grudging relaxation, until he had heard –felt, actually—the sand shift near his body, alerting him of his friend's movement. A few moments had passed, where he dared not open his eyes, some primal instinct keeping him where he was; the other's presence had been barely noticeable, hovering above him, hesitant to the point where he felt that curiosity would make him finally open his eyes.
An eternity went by until he felt the slightest rustle of clothes, a sigh of warmer air on his face and then -feather light and infinitely cautious—the barest touch on his slightly parted lips.
He had stilled himself further, sure that he would not be able to remain motionless much longer, not when he now had the certainty that the exhilarating touch had come from another set of lips. Yet, his body submitted to his will, even as his heartbeat seemed to have sped up to triple rate.
He was rewarded with slight more pressure, before the touch was withdrawn along with the presence of his best friend, the familiar jingle of metal on metal shattering the steady backdrop of water kissing sand.
They had never mentioned this particular episode to each other, but now, as he lies sleepless on the beach of a different world, his mind insists he replay it to lure sleep. He does, wondering idly if the Keyblade Master knows –wherever he is—that on that night he stole Riku's first kiss.
When he opens his eyes to stare at the starless night of this world with no name, where the water is still and the breeze scentless, he also wonders if one day Sora could be convinced to steal a second, or even a third…
…and when real sleep comes, his heart beats steadily, like advancing and receding water on sand.
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