A/N: Wow, it's been a year since I've updated. I do have a legitimate excuse: I welcomed my baby daughter into the world. Taking care of a newborn is exhausting, hard work (yay sleep deprivation!) and not at all conducive to creative expression. But I'm still determined to finish this story, so I've returned with another chapter.

It should be obvious from the natural progression of the story, but this chapter comes with a tearjerker warning.

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5. Shion

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"Roxas, can you stand?"

Wrenching his gaze away from the spot Axel had disappeared, Roxas turns towards Xion. Her arms are warm against his back, having yet to unfurl from their supportive embrace. Bracing his palms against the ground, he tries pushing himself up. But his arms are wobbling so much that they can barely hold his weight. It takes a full minute and stupendous effort to rise mere inches, and when he finally does manage to sit up, his muscles give out, forcing him to slump back down.

Why is he still so tired, so weak?

Xion's eyes have grown wide with alarm. "Oh no. I must've sapped too much of your strength…"

"S'not… your fault," he grits out, struggling upwards again to no avail. "Wasn't deliberate."

She unslings an arm from underneath him to search her pockets, and frowns when they come up empty. "If only I hadn't used up my last Potion earlier…"

He runs a quick mental check of his inventory. "I should still have a bunch."

"Let's try another one?"

He nods in agreement. Without further delay, Xion slips a hand into his pocket and retrieves one of his remaining Hi-Potions. Popping off the lid, she presses the vial to his lips. The medicine is no less unpleasant the second time 'round, eliciting another grimace as he gulps it down.

"Feel any better?" Xion asks, studying his face intently.

Roxas considers the Potion's effects, or lack thereof. His injuries are well and truly mended upon the double dose, but that all-pervading sensation of weakness remains. The expected surge of energy that comes with downing the restorative is still worryingly absent.

"Maybe?" he offers dubiously. "I'm not sure this is something a Potion can fix."

Xion's expression turns sombre. "You're right. The only thing that can fix it is if I… go away."

Hearing that causes his chest to lurch painfully. "Xion…" he begins. But the rest of his yet-unformed consolation dies in his throat. There isn't anything he can say or do to combat the horrible truth.

Recognising this, Xion changes the topic. "Let's get you back inside."

Roxas redirects his thoughts to the mansion, with its dusty, unexplored corridors and less-than-benevolent occupants. "Is it safe in there, now that I'm in no condition to fight?"

"I doubt anyone will harm us," comes Xion's confident reply.

Yes, Riku and Naminé have made their positions clear: sympathetic but uncompromising. The bandaged man – perhaps their leader, judging by the way Naminé had deferred to him – hadn't bothered to hide his hostility, however.

"What about that guy in red? He was offended by our very existence," Roxas spits out the word like it's poison.

"I think the fact that we fought against Axel proves we're on Sora's side," Xion reasons. "Whatever that guy is after, he wants Sora to be whole again. And for that, he needs our cooperation."

"I'm not sure I wanna cooperate with him…"

But his protest seems to fall on deaf ears. Instead of replying, Xion has busied herself with repositioning him so that she is now supporting his weight on her shoulder. With a fluid ease that surprises him – evidently his body feels heavier to him than it does to her – she lifts them both to their feet. Her Keyblade materialises in her unoccupied hand, and a flourish later, the relocked gate swings wide to admit them once more.

They reenter the front yard in a ponderous shuffle, Roxas feeling frustrated and not a little anxious at his own helplessness. It is in this moment that the mansion's double doors fly open, revealing a frazzled-looking Naminé. She rushes towards them, sandalled feet and pale hair aflutter.

"Xion! Roxas!" Stopping in front of them, Naminé takes in Roxas' battered form. "Oh no…" She reaches out as though to touch him, but reconsiders this action, her hand hovering awkwardly in midair for a few seconds before she sets it down.

"I stopped Axel before he went too far," Xion explains grimly. "But I made Roxas' condition worse in the process…"

Naminé turns towards Xion, the same grimness reflected in her eyes. "I saw what happened from my room, but I couldn't do anything to help. Roxas… if he's too weak to even walk, it means he doesn't have much time left."

That confirms it: that this strange, incurable exhaustion is the harbinger of his doom. Honestly, he should've realised it sooner. If he hadn't maintained his tenuous grip on consciousness earlier – after Axel had dealt that deathblow barrage – would that have been the end of him? Would he have slipped into the nothingness beyond, never to see or feel or experience anything ever again?

The prospect of complete oblivion is one that chills him to the very core. He'd come so terrifyingly close. Even now, he hovers on the brink. He can feel it, a great abyss threatening to swallow him whole, kept at bay only by the fragility of willpower. But he must hold on. All of their efforts – discovering their true identity, rebelling against the Organisation, coming to terms with their fate – would be for nothing if he doesn't.

"I know. We must hurry." Gripping Roxas more securely around his back, Xion takes a step forward.

"There's a room on the ground floor where he can rest," Naminé offers. "I'll take you to it."

"Thanks," Xion replies. It's several seconds later before she speaks up again, as though searching for the right words to say. "I know it's a lot to ask given that we're practically strangers, but can you do a favour for me, Naminé?

There is a wary, if expectant glint in Naminé's eyes. "What is it?"

Xion studies Roxas for a moment before meeting Naminé's gaze. "Can you please take care of Roxas, once I'm gone?"

A multitude of emotions play across the blonde girl's face, then her brows scrunch together in a determined frown. "I'll do my best."

Relief is evident in Xion's answering sigh. "Again, thank you, Naminé."

With Naminé leading the way, they navigate to the aforementioned room. While no less antiqued than the foyer outside, it shows signs of recent use, with the furniture brushed clean of dust and cobwebs. Xion lowers Roxas onto a couch along the opposite wall; he's too spent to do anything other than collapse bonelessly into the seat. Naminé, on the other hand, lingers in the doorway, having elected not to follow them inside.

"I'll show you where to go," she calls, beckoning Xion towards her.

Xion turns on her heel in preparation to follow. But before she can so much as take a step, Roxas catches her sleeve.

"Xion, wait!"

She spins back towards him, urgency plain across her face. "I have to go now, Roxas. If I stay any longer, you might—"

"No. Please stay, Xion," he implores, mustering what little strength he has to clutch her arm more tightly. It overwhelms him, the terrible feeling that if he lets go, he'll never see her again. "Just for a bit. Please."

Xion hesitates. Her gaze darts questioningly to Naminé, who replies with a nod. Approval thus gained, she returns her attention to Roxas. "Okay. Just for a bit," she repeats.

Recognising their unspoken request for privacy, Naminé exits the room. The door closes behind her with a pronounced click, leaving Roxas and Xion alone with each other – for what most certainly is the last time.

Knowing full well that what remaining minutes he shares with his best friend are numbered, Roxas scrambles to action. Despite his body's protests, he scoots back against the arm of the couch and painstakingly hauls himself into a sitting position. "Xion—"

"Don't push yourself, Roxas," she hushes, placing a gentle hand on his chest to forestall him. "Save your strength."

"I want to remember you," he proclaims. "I need to."

This is Roxas' final chance to create a reminder of him and Xion together. Maybe it'll be a futile action. Maybe Naminé's statement holds true – that only the permanency of a physical object will successfully jolt his future self's rewritten memory. But if he allows this opportunity to go to waste, he'll never forgive himself.

"Can you—can you please come closer?"

Xion obliges without hesitation, kneeling down beside the couch so that her gaze is now level with his. She is near enough for him to reach out to touch her face – and he readily surrenders to the urge, placing his hand tenderly against her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into his touch in clear appreciation. But even as he revels in her reaction, the way it kindles that intense, gratifying warmth inside his chest, he finds that it's not enough. There's something still missing.

Then comprehension clicks. It's his gloves – the thin layer of fabric separating them – that's bringing about this discontent.

He withdraws, peels them off. Without them in the way, he'll be able to brand the memory of her into his skin.

Recapturing her face between his hands, he traces her features with his now-exposed fingertips. Engraves into his mind the deep pools of her indigo eyes, her small, delicate nose and equally delicate lips. Smoothes his thumbs over the slim arches of her brows, brows that have conveyed so many emotions that Nobodies are supposedly incapable of feeling. Combs his fingers through her ink-dark hair, admiring the silky texture even as he mourns the fact that he'll never be able to do this again. All the while Xion remains motionless, letting him do as he wishes without uttering a single word.

Then he lowers his hands to her waist and pulls her close, or as awkwardly as one half-reclining on a couch can embrace another. She returns the gesture with equal fervour, crushing him tight against her. Impossibly close like this, he can smell her scent – something mellow and pleasant – and feel the warmth of her body, how her chest expands and contracts with each breath. Here's the final, living proof of her existence – one soon to be extinguished – and only he will remember it.

His throat suddenly feels too tight, and moisture brims in his eyes.

"This is so un–unfair," he says over her shoulder, his voice breaking on the word. "Why do we have to lose everything?"

"Roxas…" There is sympathy in the way she calls out his name, but it's clear that she's exhausted her well of comforting platitudes.

"It hurts, Xion," he confesses, trying and failing to stifle the onslaught of tears. "Just the thought that I'll never see you again… it hurts so much. I never want to let you go."

"I wish I could stay, too." Xion's voice sounds as broken as his own. "Be with you."

"I swear, I'll never forget you," he declares through his tears, meaning every word. "You'll always be in my heart, Xion."

"And you'll always be in mine, Roxas," she answers in kind, "wherever it is that mine goes."

They remain like this for an untold amount of time, crying unashamedly into each other's shoulder while holding on for dear life. But exhaustion beckons, an unrelenting pull that Roxas lacks the strength to fight back. Bit by bit, his grip on Xion slips. It isn't long before his arms fall away from her entirely, causing their desperate embrace to come apart. Then he's slouching back into the seat, struggling in vain to keep his eyes open.

Finally, the day's exertions take their toll on him, dragging him under the surface into unconsciousness.

Roxas startles awake.

His head is a little groggy, and his eyes have a gritty sensation to them. Rubbing them makes it apparent that they're encrusted with some kind of residue. Had he been crying in his sleep? Other than that, he feels better than ever. Like he's had a proper night's rest, and then some. The strange weakness that had plagued him for the past two months is gone.

This is accompanied by a distinct feeling that he's forgotten something really important.

He takes quick stock of his surroundings, which are largely unfamiliar. With a jolt, he realises that he is inside the abandoned mansion in Twilight Town. But why is he here? He'd overlooked this place so many times; it'd never occurred to him to check within.

Then another mental switch flicks, and memories flood his mind in a haphazard rush. He remembers Riku, Naminé, the unnamed bandaged man. They were discussing his connection to Sora – that's right, he's Sora's fricking Nobody – and the necessity of returning Sora's memories by virtue of giving up his own existence. Of course, those discussions were anything but pleasant. In one, he'd become so angry that he'd drawn his Keyblade on Riku. The fact that he hadn't proceeded to beat the other guy to a pulp meant he'd exercised unusual restraint.

Was there something that held him back? Something more at stake?

Why can't he recall the details?

Then Axel showed up, and they fought. Why were they fighting? Oh yeah, Axel wanted to bring him back to the Organisation, but Roxas refused. Unable to take 'no' for an answer, Axel had resorted to force. Roxas made the crucial mistake of burning through his limited stamina during the fight, and subsequently lost. But if he is here now – in enemy territory – rather than back at the Castle That Never Was, then Axel mustn't have succeeded. Was there an intervention?

Did someone save him?

Roxas clutches his head. Something is wrong with these memories. They're hazy, incomplete. It's as though important bits had been cut out, leaving him to sloppily patch together the remaining mess.

Moreover, it's not just recent memories that are affected. Even the older ones, in which he's participating in missions or interacting with other Organisation members, don't seem quite right.

Was Roxas really alone in his numerous trips to Agrabah and Beast's Castle? Why can't he shake the feeling that there was someone watching his back, ensuring that he didn't get hurt? Not to mention there's that strange occasion where he'd chosen to wield an ordinary stick instead of his Keyblade. Surely there's a reason for it. True, he can be reckless at times, but it's the height of stupidity to muck around with dangerous Heartless while defenseless!

Then there's his intense dislike of Saïx, which culminated in Roxas crushing him in battle upon leaving the Organisation. However, Roxas cannot for the life of him recall what Saïx had done to earn such vitriol. Sure, the scarred Nobody was far from likeable, but he hadn't treated Roxas badly, just with indifference. Something doesn't add up here.

Finally, when Roxas would visit the clock tower after a day's work, he'd consistently buy three bars of sea-salt ice-cream. One for himself, another for Axel, which begs the question of whom the third is for. While he enjoys the flavour, it's a bit much to eat double his share. Was there someone else he'd planned to give that last ice-cream to? Someone who never showed up? Like they were supposed to be there, but somehow weren't—

—because they'd been forcibly erased from his memory?

Roxas shakes his head. It's a ridiculous explanation. Impossible. Frightening even; how reliable are his memories if they can be tampered with in this manner? But nothing else makes sense, and the idea of an invisible, forgotten person fits all too well. They'd be his missing field partner, the other friend with whom he'd eat ice-cream, the victim of Saïx's mistreatment whose behalf he'd get angry on.

Still, if this is true – and his instincts scream 'yes' – who is this person?

He strains, hoping to piece together a face from his tattered recollections. But however hard he tries, he is met with nothing but a indistinct blur. It's beyond frustrating, like dipping his hands into a vast ocean of knowledge only to have the answers slip like water between his fingers.

Well, he's not getting anywhere like this. Maybe his surroundings hold some clues?

His gaze passes over the unremarkable red-brown walls and similarly coloured cabinets before alighting on the centre table. There's a book lying there, its hard white cover emblazoned with the Nobody symbol—hang on, that looks like his diary! How did it get here? He'd taken it with him when he'd deserted the Organisation, so it should still be in his pocket, right?

A quick pat of said pocket confirms that's not the case. Rising from the couch, Roxas makes his way to the table. If that book is indeed his diary, perhaps its contents will help unravel more of the mystery that he's currently caught up in.

As he approaches the table, something else draws his attention: a small, diamond-shaped object lying beside the book. Its colour is a gradient of pink and yellow, and its base tapers into three points. He's no expert on seaside paraphernalia, but this is one he identifies: a thalassa shell.

Within him, familiarity spikes, a palpable pang against his chest.

Driven by this feeling, he picks up the shell. To his disappointment, it doesn't trigger any resurgence of memory. Still, if what he feels is any indication, the shell clearly means something to him. He just doesn't know what yet.

Carefully stowing the shell away for later examination, Roxas returns his attention to the book. Yeah, it's his diary alright; he recognises those worn corners. But there's a foreign addition: a loose sheaf of paper tucked behind the cover.

He pulls it out and unfolds it, revealing lines of handwritten script that fill the whole page. The letters are small and angular but elegant, slanting ever so slightly to the left – a contrast to his own rounded, messy scrawl. Although the handwriting isn't one he knows, he decides that he likes it straightaway.

He sounds out the words in his mind. As though in reply, a voice echoes from within the depths of his mind, soft and achingly familiar. With each passing syllable, it grows louder and louder, until it replaces his internal narrator altogether:

Dear Roxas,

If you're reading this, then I'm no longer around. Which will likely leave you confused, wondering what this is about. Or who I even am.

Naminé said it might help if I left you some kind of memento. So while you were sleeping, I decided to write you a letter. Due to the complications of my existence, your memories of me will be messed up after I go away. So right now, you won't remember me.

It's weird, having to reintroduce myself after we've known each other for so long. But I think it's the best way to start.

I'm Xion, the Organisation's fourteenth member. You and I and Axel are best friends.

That's a pretty bold claim to make, isn't it? Saying that we're best friends right off the bat. But after everything we've gone though together, it's the only fitting term.

You and I are really close. Closer than I am with Axel, because we have so many things in common. We're around the same physical age, and we can both use the Keyblade. And unlike the other Organisation members, we don't remember our pasts. Though the question of what makes up our past is a rather complicated matter.

That's because you and I were created from the same person: Sora. You're his Nobody, and I'm a replica made to copy him – and you, by extension.

But I didn't turn out like either of you. Instead, I took on the form of Sora's most special person: Kairi. I look just like her, though my hair is much darker. As you're Sora's Nobody, it would make sense that you see her in me. Maybe that's what drew you to me in the first place. Maybe that's why you care so much about me.

Please note that I'm not questioning your feelings towards me. I believe they're fated to be, since we are strange echoes of Sora and Kairi. I'm more amazed that anyone can bring themselves to care for a puppet like me at all. Let alone to the extent that you do.

What I want you to know, Roxas, is that I care about you just as much.

I'll always treasure all the times we spent together. Starting from when we first became friends. I can barely remember those early days, but that memory somehow stands out like a beacon to me. I used the Keyblade to defeat the gigantic Heartless, and you took me out for ice cream as a reward. Said it was 'icing on the cake'.

We sat on the top of the clock tower, and you smiled at me. Has anyone told you that you have a beautiful smile, Roxas? You looked happy, just because I was with you. It made feel so warm inside.

But you fell into a deep sleep soon afterward. It made me really worried, but I had faith you would wake up eventually. So I left a seashell by your pillow after every mission, knowing that it would bring me closer to the day I'd see your smile again.

And you did wake up. But that's when I lost my ability to summon the Keyblade. I felt so ashamed that I couldn't face anyone. I was terrified of being useless. But you and Axel found me, and came up with the brilliant idea of teaming up and doing double-duty to cover for me.

Even though it inconvenienced you, you leapt to help me without any hesitation at all. I was astounded by your kindness. No one had ever treated me like that before, like I really mattered. You even put my safety and concerns above your own. I'll never forget the time you let me borrow your Keyblade and used a stick to fight, of all things!

That's what friendship is about, isn't it? Being there for each other, during the good times and the bad. You were always willing to support and look after me. But accepting help is something I struggled with, and I made it harder for you without meaning to.

I'm so sorry about that.

Please know that I appreciate every little thing you've done for me. Like jumping to my defense whenever Saïx belittled me, or making an effort to cheer me up when I was feeling sad. (Again, I'm really sorry for brushing you off.) I especially liked it when you left seashells by my pillow, just like I had done for you earlier. By returning the favour, you made it special. Like a unique thing just between us.

I've said it before, but you really are the best friend anyone can ever want.

It isn't just that, though. Simply put, you're a wonderful person, Roxas. So loyal and brave and honest. So kind. I'm really glad to have you in my life, by my side. Words will never be enough to express how much you mean to me, but I'll try anyway:

I love you with all my heart.

That may sound like an insincere statement, because we're Nobodies and supposedly don't have hearts. But can't you feel it? The steady thrum when you place your hand against your chest? How that space inside fills up with so much feeling, it's as though you're about to burst? Whatever that is – even if it's just a pale imitation of the actual thing – it beats loud and clear. And every beat is for you.

Even though I'm just a puppet, I know that what we share is real. I know what that warmth inside my heart is, when I look upon your face and see you smile. Every moment we spent on the clock tower, talking and laughing and eating ice-cream, is precious to me. Oh, how I wish those days would last forever…

But we were doomed from very beginning. It's like Axel said: our happiness only came about thanks to our ignorance. The moment you and I started to piece together the truth, things quickly went downhill. And now that we've finally reached the end, all that's left to do is to make the most of it.

I've chosen to go back to Sora.

I know how incredibly sad this makes you feel. Believe me, it pains me just as much to have to leave you. But I've already overstayed my welcome. I've come far too close to stealing away your life completely, and there's no way I'd risk that just so I can stick around for a bit longer.

So I left while you were asleep. Maybe it's cowardly of me to run away like that, but I don't think I can bear watching you cry for me again.

After everything you've given me, giving up my life for yours is the least I can do. So let this be my last favour to you. My final show of appreciation.

Thank you, Roxas. For being you. For being someone who stood unfailingly beside me, and letting me do the same for you. Never forget, I'm always with you. So long as we remember each other, we'll never be apart.

Take care, my dearest friend. And who knows? Maybe we'll meet again someday, in the place where our hearts and memories belong, forever intertwined.

Love,

Xion

P.S. Out of the shells you've left by my bedside, this thalassa shell is my favourite. I've always carried it with me, even on missions. It's kinda like a lucky charm to me. Now that we must part ways, I would like you to keep it.

"Xion," Roxas tries out the name. His mouth and lips form the twin syllables with ease, clearly familiar with the pronunciation.

As though this simple utterance had broken a dam within him, his real memories come flooding back, filling the gaps in his broken ones. Image after image of her flash behind his eyes. Choppy black hair. Indigo eyes. A gentle smile. The pink-gold rays of twilight scattered across her face, turning her into the most beautiful vision he'd ever seen.

Again he hears her voice, in snippets of conversations past:

"Roxas, do you think you and I can be friends, too?"

"Brain freeze, haha!"

"Roxas, that's a stick."

"Thank you, Roxas."

Then the memories relinquish their hold on him, causing him to gasp as they dissolve into the hazy recesses of his mind whence they came. With trembling fingers, he traces the words on the letter. A vain hope arises: if only he could somehow reach through those words and materialise the author into existence. Then his moment of fancifulness evaporates, leaving him with mere paper and ink alongside the gaping sensation of loss.

Pain erupts in his chest, more intense and debilitating than even the hardest physical blow he'd received. Pressure builds behind his eyelids until it can no longer be contained, escaping down his cheeks in hot, prickly rivulets. As he clutches the letter to his chest, his knees give out, causing him to crumple onto the floor like a puppet with its strings severed. His breaths are now coming quick and laboured, and he cannot stop his entire frame from shaking.

"Xion—"

—I remember you.

Alone in a desolate corner of an old, abandoned mansion, Roxas weeps for the friend he'd loved and lost.