A/N: Something I wrote in basically ten minutes after finishing editing 'And Then There Was One'. A more canon (but not really) take on Riku and Naminé's relationship (or lack thereof).
Takes place during Sora's sleep, before Roxas really becomes Riku's goal, while he's still wrapping his head around Naminé's role in all of the madness which ensued in Castle Oblivion.
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Behind the Eyes, Between the Lines
It wasn't intentional.
The entire relationship isn't meant to be (she isn't meant to be) but he is okay with it, okay with her. The gentle caresses he shares with her in the dark of night, beyond the harsh whispers and judgemental stares of DiZ, are always filled with warmth.
It isn't real.
Naminé doesn't mind, instead relishing in the feel of his warmth, the calluses upon his long, elegant fingertips brushing her cheeks, stroking her long, icy blonde hair. She knows this boy, this blindfolded, lost boy (turning man without even knowing it, without knowing how beautiful he was). She knows him through the memories she watches zip through her eyes and run through her fake, non-existent heart, as she picks apart and puts back together the tales, the stories. Pencils on a page, colours on a canvas, a life hers for the taking, yet never in her reach.
They aren't even her memories, but those childish giggles and mocking taunts displayed as the distinctively young voice of Riku grows older, bolder, stronger (his hair is longer too, god that hair) in the eyes of a sleeping Sora are enough to convince her of the strength of Riku's heart.
Sora worshipped this ghost of a person in front of her. Riku has been the Keyblade wielder's idol, the one who Sora has strived to become, all his life. And now, the silver-haired boy has been left to become nothing but a mere shell of the man he once was, who he once could've been.
He still exists more than she.
That worship alights in Naminé's heart – be it from Sora, or from the touch of Riku's lips upon hers, she doesn't know – but it is enough. He wants her – that is enough.
She is finally, truly meant to exist in those brief moments, held safely in trembling, muscular arms, shrouded in the darkness of shadows. The billow of his coat hide her from the world, enslaves her in darkness. And sometimes, she doesn't know whether it is ivory skin pulled taut over those strong arms or the caramel covering the demon Riku's been fighting for so long. She doesn't know if he's won, in battle, or just trying to delay the inevitable fall.
Still, it is alright – with Riku, the darkness and the light are all nothing but waves lapping upon the boat of life, for he walks in the realms of Light and Dark, and that gives her enough security as a being of neither-both-nothing.
She loves him.
Would have loved him.
Tried.
No heart. Sometimes, she wonders if that is for the better – with a heart to truly feel, maybe she'd break under the strain of his presence, the weariness of his lips, the emptiness his heart is beginning to embody.
If only she knew that in every touch, every kiss, every long look (from only his heart, for his eyes are tied eternally by the blindfold, leading him into the depths of despair since the moment he first opened his eyes to the darkness, to the truth) he sees naught of platinum blonde hair leading to a frail collarbone, a white dress modestly falling to her unmarked legs, the curve of feminine hips and breasts and smiles.
At first, he had seen short hair – auburn, burning like fire in the sunlight, cropped short above equally thin shoulders. Violet eyes had replaced pale, ethereal blue, confidence replaced shy innocence, a loud welcoming cheer overtaking soft-spoken resignation.
But, Kairi was never what he had wanted, either. Not really.
Now, with every caress of Naminé's cheek, he sees that boyish, youthful smile – spikey chestnut locks, tousled and dripping with saltwater, shaking with each hearty laugh – broadened shoulders, leading to strength and defined clavicles - trusting blue eyes, reflecting the skies, the universe in their naïve depths-
He's going to wake up soon.
And Riku will lose the only way he has to remember his light – both real, and fake (what was her name- who was it?). And aquamarine eyes will close and turn amber for eternity, and when the chill of shadowy tendrils of emptiness overtakes him, the fake-real-pretend-love will go away too.
Not fake, not a lie, this is real, this is him – he's always been by my side, in my heart – that lazy moron, sleeping like this – he can't be leaving me behind, he's mine, he's-
X
The egg opens. The blindfold stays on.
One wakes. One sleeps.
And the witch never meant to exist slips away again, nothing but a whisper of lips against hers and the hollowness in her chest to remind her that no, she doesn't exist, and no, her worth's only proof - him - yes, he's gone, too.