Disclaimer: You know the drill—no KH. No Axel. Sadness. ;_;

A/N: Okay, so about half way through writing this part, I realized that this disaster is gonna run a little longer than a twoshot (I'M SO SORRY RIKU Dx). So I'm cheating and making it a threeshot instead. It's not quite a chappy—not yet. So here we are, at the beginning of the thrilling second installment of Match Maker, where Riku's fate shall be revealed! REMEMBER: This is a crack-based fic, and as I said in the last chapter, this is where the crack comes in. Just a reminder so no one feels the need to throttle me or question my logic (or lack thereof). AU and OOC will probably ensue.

Bon à lire!

-Slay

Match Maker

Chapter 2 – A Meal Fit For a Crazy Person

6:00 PM

The Restaurant That Never Was was a tall and stately building of streamlined architecture planted in the heart of the city, preceded by a broad and gallant steps where guests lingered and chatted lightly. With a reputation as the finest restaurant in town, the Restaurant That Never Was implied a dress code and an atmosphere that was a bit swanky for Riku's taste, and as a result he felt very uncomfortable standing by the entrance in what was essentially his usual attire—only darker.

He had traded out his white and yellow vest for a black one, his jeans for black slacks, and his boots for predominantly black converse—because black was the universal color of fancy. Right?

He took a deep breath through the nose and started toward the doors, but stopped again when he realized something; Sora said he'd taken care of the reservation, but had never bothered to mention whose name that reservation was under. "Dammit, Sora…"

He supposed he could trial-and-error it.

After resigning himself to the fact that this evening was going to suck no matter what he did, Riku marched dolefully up the steps, passing through the opened doors and stopping at the end of a short line of other reservation-holders. As he inched forward in line, Riku patched together his guesses about the reservation. He'd try his own name first—if he was lucky, Sora had used some common sense when reserving their spot.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Kurayami. We've been expecting you."

Riku jumped at the sound of his name, and realized he was suddenly at the front of the line. "Oh! Uh…yeah. Sorry, I—what the!" He jumped again when he saw who the maître d' was.

"Sora!?"

The brunette stood dressed in the hoity-toity uniform of restaurant staff, wearing frameless glasses and the most unconvincing false mustache Riku had ever seen—it wasn't even the color of his hair. "Sora? I don't know who you're talking about," he drawled with an overdone impression of class. "My name is Willoughby and I'll be your maître d' this fine evening."

Willoughby? Really? Riku resisted the urge to slap a hand across his face. He should have seen this coming. He really should have seen this coming. "Look," he grunted, "can I just be seated already? I wanna get this over with."

"Very good, sir."

Sora—oh, sorry, Willoughby stroked his phony-bologna mustache in approval. "But first, sir, may I just say—you're looking exceptionally dapper this evening!"

Riku glanced at his lazy excuse for formal attire. "…Dapper. Sure. Let's go with that."

"Very good, sir. Although…pardon my candor, but I can't help feeling it's missing something."

Candor? Sora didn't use words like candor. "It's fine. Can I just go sit now?" Riku tried to move past the sign-in stand but was stopped by the sham maître d'.

"But sir," the nutjob insisted, "Surely you want to look your very best for your special date tonight?"

"Sora, I'm not in the mood for—"

"Still don't know who this Sora fellow is," the brunette asserted, grabbing Riku's shoulder and swinging him around the side of the maître d' podium. "Now, you know what this outfit needs?"

"A switchblade?"

"Close!" Sora whipped a yellow bowtie out of his vest pocket. "An extra splash of class!"

Ducking a very serrated glare, the impersonator quickly situated the bowtie around Riku's neck, then took a step back to admire his work. "Aha! That did the trick! …Ooh, one more thing!"

"It doesn't need anything else!"

Riku was ignored. Before he could react, Sora had leapt behind him and was yanking on his hair, tying it back.

"While I'm sure these luxurious silver locks are a point of pride for you," he said snootily, "we want you to look as suave as possible tonight, don't we, sir?"

"I'll show you suave, you little—"

"—Let's get you to your table, shall we? Right this way, sir!"

-o-o-o-

"...No."

"Now, Mr. Kurayami—"

"No."

This had to be a joke; some sort of sick, twisted, messed-up joke that Sora had devised as revenge for some past transgression, because there was no way on earth or in hell that anybody would ever set him up like this because they wanted to help him. No way. Ever. No. Just…no. Not even Sora, who was guilty of having blinding flashes of stupidity on more than one occasion, could have possibly thought that this would work. No—it had to be a joke. Riku chanced another look at the table Willoughby had pointed out for him, nestled back in a dim corner of the hall and marked by a glimmering candle centerpiece. His alleged "date" sat in solitude, contentedly observing an ornate tapestry hung from the vaulted nearby wall.

He'd honestly expected a girl—that was more traditional, and it seemed like the sort of thing Sora would do. Riku had mentioned off-hand once that it didn't matter to him, and that he'd be lucky to find love in whatever form it came, but he hadn't expected that info to really stick with his friend. Well apparently it did, and thereby lead Sora to set him up with someone who was most definitely not a girl. While he appreciated Sora's consideration, gender made absolutely no difference in this situation, because the man's identity in general was a deal breaker.

"I am not going on a date with Xemnas, Sora."

"Sir, it's perfectly understandable that you have some butterflies in your basket," his deluded friend said empathetically, daring to pat Riku's stomach for emphasis and recoiling at the death-glare he received. "The uh…The first date's always the trickiest, sir."

"…I'm leaving."

It wasn't until Riku doubled back and started trooping determinedly for the exit that Sora finally broke his stupid character, trailing after him and snagging him by the arm. "Wait! Riku! Hold on! Where're you going?"

"Home, Sora. I'm not doing this."

"But—but Riku! How d'you know it won't work unless you try it?"

Riku wheeled around and jabbed a finger in the direction of their table. "I don't have to try it! Sora! What could I possibly have in common with that whack-job?"

"Lots of stuff!"

The silverette rolled his eyes, completely exasperated. "Like what?!"

"Well," Sora began confidently, but dwindled as he counted the limited items on his list with his fingers. "Uh…well, he has silver hair…you have silver hair….he has silver hair…"

"Valid argument, Sora. Very strong." Riku aimed to make a run for it, but was stopped again.

"Riku…"

He turned at the sound of his name, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Aw, c'mon Sora—don't do this to me."

But Sora was doing it. He had dutifully removed the glasses and the ridiculous 'stache, and was sulking like a kicked puppy, lips pouting gently, his big, blue eyes rapt and beautifully tragic as they watched Riku from beneath long, shy lashes, watering with the sweetest, most eternal sadness ever conceived by man.

…Goddammit.

"Please, Riku…" he murmured pitifully. "For me?"

Riku knew it was a rouse. He knew Sora was just being manipulative, that he wasn't really on the brink of tears, and that he would bounce right back as soon as Riku said 'yes' and Sora got what he wanted. Riku knew all of this, but still…he couldn't bring himself to shut the brunette down, because there was the off-chance that he was serious. What if he really was hurt? Maybe this stupid date really meant something to him—maybe he was genuinely worried. Riku couldn't punish him for trying to be a good friend, even if he was going about it the completely wrong way. Besides, he couldn't stand to see Sora so much as pretending to cry, and would do just about anything to put an end to it—even if that meant going on a stupid blind date with someone as out there as Xemnas.

He heaved a burdened sigh. "Fine."

Just as he suspected, the near-to-tears wilt in Sora's expression lifted instantly, replaced by unbridled joy and a familiar, flamboyant smile. The brunette shoved the glasses back onto his face and smoothed the false mustache across his upper lip, beaming from ear to ear. "Very good, sir!"

…And that was how Riku ended up here, in the single most awkward, inappropriate and altogether jacked up situation he had ever experienced; sitting across from the weirdest guy in town (who was like, twice his age, just sayin') at a 'romantically' candlelit white-cloth table in the darkest corner of a 'romantic' restaurant with a 'romantic' atmosphere and 'romantic' quartet music drifting through the air while Riku strained every fiber of his being trying not to slam his head against the table hard enough to knock himself unconscious.

Riku poked uneasily at the unidentifiably fancy meal on his plate, not feeling even remotely hungry for it. "So…food here looks…pretty good, huh?"

Across the table, Xemnas sat completely unphased by the situation, staring devotedly at the tapestry over Riku's head, occasionally forking in a bite of his own food. "Indeed."

"You, uh…you like steak?"

"Indeed."

"Er… Got any…hobbies?"

"Indeed."

"…" Riku set down his cutlery, certain he wasn't going to stomach anything tonight, and swished the ice water around in his glass. He glanced around the hall, pausing when he thought someone was staring at him—some azurette across the way looked highly suspicious for a second, but when Riku looked, he had turned back to his own table. Riku shook it off. "Whaddaya like to do?"

He supposed it was too much to ask that Xemnas enjoyed stamp collecting or scrapbooking like a normal person. At his question the older man got a small, creepy smile on his face, his vivacious eyes zoning out. He dropped his fork and lifted his arms over the table, speaking past Riku emphatically.

"I do as I have always done… I search this soiled world tirelessly for the wayward souls that wander… lost in eternal darkness…broken, and without purpose… I gather them together under a single dream, uniting them…weaving the very fibers of their beings into the glorious mesh of…Kingdom Hearts… so that its pale light may someday shine upon this empty realm… filling our dark souls with the warmth and weight of a true and magnificent existence…"

"…I like videogames…"

Riku found himself fighting a strong urge to jump headlong out the nearest window. Who could blame him? Xemnas was weird. Seriously, who waltzed around town in a black, floor-length cloak all the time? What was he, in a cult? And what the hell was "Kingdom Hearts" supposed to be? Wayward souls? Eternal darkness? What the shit was wrong with this guy?

Before Riku could pose any more inane questions, they were greeted by the moron who got him into this mess.

"And how is everything going this evening, gentlemen? I hope the food is to your liking?"

Xemnas was still in la-la land, muttering something about Kingdom Hearts to himself, and all Riku could do was glare sharply at his friend.

"Excellent! And would sirs enjoy some romantic music to accompany this fine meal?" As he said it, Sora/Willoughby produced a violin, mounting it clumsily under his chin.

Oh God.

Riku reached up and grabbed Sora's wrist before he could drag the bow across the strings. "You can't play the violin, Sora."

The idiot knocked his hand away and flourished the bow at him dramatically. "For the last time, I am not Sora! I am Willoughby! And I'll have you know, I have been playing the violin since I was seven and consider myself an original Itzhak Perlman!"

"Hey, Itzhak Perlman—you're holding your bow wrong."

Sora blinked and noted that he was, in fact, about to draw the stick of the bow along the strings instead of the hair. He flipped it over seamlessly. "I knew that," he said haughtily. "Now, onto the music!"

"Sora, don't—"

SCREEEEEEECH SCREEECH SCREEEEEEEEEECH

Riku clapped his hands over his ears. The shrill keening of Sora's inexpert playing cut through the once warm and melted atmosphere of the restaurant. Heads turned; the quartet across the hall stopped playing; oh, dear God why was he still going!?

"Willoughby!" Riku stood and snatched the abused instrument away from his friend. "I think that's enough music for now!"

Sora didn't even try to take the violin back. "Ah yes! I almost forgot—you gentlemen are on a schedule!" He whipped his wrist over and inspected the watch he was suddenly wearing. "Ah, quarter 'til seven—just enough time for dessert!"

"We don't need dessert."

"Nonsense! Shall I bring sirs some Pear Tarte Tatin or Brioche Perdu? Crêpes Suzette?"

"Some what?"

"Ooh, you look like a pair of Crème Brûlée lovers, am I right?"

"You don't even know what Crème Brûlée is."

"Crème Brûlée it is! I'll have that ready for you toot sweet!" And with that, the brunette was gone, leaving Riku to rub a hand over his face, feeling aggravated, and little dizzy.

"Your friend seems very strange," Xemnas observed.

You're one to talk.

"Is he a foreigner?"

Riku paused, and glanced at him.

"Yeah. He's from Dumbassizstan."

A/N: Sorry, guys, but this was getting really long and I had to cut it off. The good news is that Part III is close behind, and Riku's suffering is far from over. ...so this is now a full-blown story of what may be the most messed up night of Riku's life…whoops. ^^; I'M SO SORRY RIKU! …AGAIN! But yeah, the generator tossed out Riku and Xemnas. Not as painful as I thought it was going to be—(Riku: SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!)—and hopefully you guys have gotten a kick out of this. I know I did (Riku: I DIDN'T!). :D

Dumbassisztan. Heehee. I amuse myself.

Part III soon to come! If you thought this was aco-taco, wait 'til we move this party to a dark theater! :D

Review for a chakram cookie~

Flame for a chakram to the face!

Riku: SOMEBODY HELP ME!

-Slay