A/N: EDIT - Sorry, guys, but i updated the fic because of gramatical errors, flowing of paragraphs, etc. I just think it's better this way =D If you want to read the story again (which i kind of recommend you do, for Riku's pride and mine), go ahead, but if you haven't read it yet, well, enjoy the new and improved version xP Peace.

I come with something serious, today. (What did she say?!) Yeah, it's true xP I haven't written a serious one-shot in the entirety of my life, so I thought I'd give it a try. Yes, angst, yes, sad (?) endings, and yes, plot twists! You love them, don't you? Oh, and duh, I had to put a little humour into this not-humorous fic (because I'm weird like that).

(and I'm so so so so sorry, anyone who is reading Can't Run Away From The Heart. I know I should be working on the next chapter but my muse gave me inspiration for this, instead …)

Warnings: (implied?) Boy/boy love and not implied boy/boy love. Don't like, don't read. Riku/Sora, implied Sora/Kairi. An immense amount of cussing (and I swear on what's good and what's sane I wouldn't say any of the words in this fic), blood, a suicidal Riku and an angry mob of fangirls. Flames are laughed at and twisted to make people sound like they're implying sexual boy/boy lovin' XP Do you want that to happen to YOU?

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, its characters, the amazingness of its plot and overall being or, in turn, the hidden romance between Riku and Sora. Because it's there. Square Enix is just afraid to admit it because it might loose precious buyers (or gain a heap of fangirls, whatever xP).

[ Won't Wake Up ]

Was that even legal? To be engaged at seventeen? God, he didn't know. He cared, and he didn't know, and Moonlight Sonata was resonating in his head. He was so glad he was giving up. It hurt so much that the sharp edge of the metal against his palm seemed incredibly dull. But it was okay, it was all okay, now, because he wasn't waking up. He wasn't waking up, and he didn't have to face it. Didn't have to face the face of his pain, of the nights where he found himself waking up and sobbing on the floor, blankets tight around him and his arms scratched and his head throbbing with insulting memories, with nightmares, with new and narcissistic revelations. Sora's face, however, was smiling; ridiculous, cheery and full of that crazy personality of his. Sora was crazy, and he loved him, and he was in love with Kairi and they were engaged. And no human had wings, so how were you supposed to end up in heaven, anyway?

Answer: you don't.

He shook his head, clutched his fists and felt beads of blood roll down his wrists and watched them create patterns on the dull of the floor. The polished ceramic tiles were so dull and white, ugly under the yellowing light above him. He didn't particularly like the colour red, but perhaps it would brighten the tiles. He watched, not particularly fond of red but it was something, at least, and made himself calm down. Because he wasn't going to heaven, or anything of an equivalent. God didn't accept people who committed suicide, and he didn't have wings, and no one else who had the granted grace of wings would take someone like him to heaven.

Pause, and the knife was heavy in his palm. There was that hesitation, again; it came before, every single other time he had tried but he was going to push it away, now. A mental and physical push, because Sora's eyes were watching him on the bathroom wall and they cared and didn't care at all. He was going to push it all away.

Push, and there it went, across his wrist, rip of metal through skin and the knife fell to the floor with a metallic clatter and a disturbing squelch and made PAIN shoot through his nerves. The beads of blood were suddenly rivers of pain. They were added pain, added and adding and fuck, it hurt – but that was okay, it was all okay, because he wouldn't wake up. He ignored the blood on the floor; didn't slip on it, at least, collapsed in a heap beside the bathtub and stuck his hand in the hot water and thought that maybe it could dull the pain.

Because this was what you were supposed to do to make it faster, wasn't it? To make death faster?

A moment of silence, disturbing silence, and he sat there, cried at the picture on his wall and the eyes that cared and didn't care at all, and it wasn't enough. The blood bled, like it was supposed to, more than it was supposed to, coloured the water to a sickening pink-red but nothing was happening. The pain he was feeling was intensified and made him tremble and double over on the floor but nothing was happening.

He shook, from head to toe and inside to outside and the pain was everywhere, seeping through the air and breathed into his lungs and the harsh rasps that came from his throat hurt his ears. Nothing was happening, and Sora's face was on his bathroom wall, staring at him intently and cheerily and with that crazy personality of his, and he was still awake.

The knife was at the other end of the room. He couldn't reach it. But Sora was still looking at him, and there was a ring on his finger, and he didn't want to wake up.

Desperation in his good hand, scramble on his knees and they burned and throbbed against the tiles like they themselves were torn and bleeding, and he had to crawl to the knife, drag himself across the tiles and cry out in pain when his mangled arm hit the floor. It was tedious, god awful but the face on the wall was still there, staring and watching and judging and Sora was wearing a ring on his finger. He grabbed the knife, grabbed it and it cut his good hand but he didn't care. Slit, and slit, and cut as fast as he could, because Sora was still looking at him, and he didn't want to wake up. Not while Sora had a ring on his finger, and not while Kairi was on his clothing, and not while he was all the way over here when they were over there, together, and he was alone and creating patterns on the bathroom floor – and he didn't want to be alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

He was alone.

He pushed away the hesitations with his knife, slit and slit and drag of metal through flesh and fuck, agony through his veins and Sora's face became blurry and the pain was an intense throbbing and an omnipresent screaming, and he was able to crawl to the bathtub and stick his hand in, like before, watch the water darken. Watch it blur. Watch everything blur. And god, nothing was coherent and that damn song played through his head and he didn't know what he was doing anymore. The water was red and steaming and the harsh rasps of breath became forced whispers, and he was thankful that they didn't hurt his ears anymore. Turned his back on the patterns on the floor and flicked his blurry gaze onto the picture on his wall.

For one great, exhilarating second, the ring on Sora's finger blurred until it wasn't even there. He cried, sobbed and the water was too red and he wished that the ring would go away, blur away just like now. He rested his head on the edge of the bathtub and watched, watched the blur of Sora's face and the blur of the walls, but he didn't want Sora to go away. He didn't want him to go. He didn't want to go.

He didn't want to go.

But the water was too red (it was too late) and the pain was mortifying and not there at all. He couldn't do anything, now (it was too late). He had changed his mind, wanted to grab his hesitations and clutch them tight to his chest but they were fucking gone now (because it was too late). They were far away, now, dissolved into the water, visible but no longer tangible like air through his fingers and a string of sane memories attached to his conscious. Gone, far gone, just there and untouchable and gone and pushed away. Why did he push them away? He was going to die, now, be engulfed in darkness because God didn't accept people who committed suicide, and no one would take him to heaven, and he'd never see Sora again.

Oh god, he'd never see Sora again.

And that was not okay.

The water was too red, made him sick to look at it and breathe it through his nose but there was nothing he could throw up. Moonlight Sonata was resonating in his head, a hum below his thoughts and it was scary. This was all scary. Dying was scary. And it hurt, shit it hurt so much that he was breathing pain into his lungs and exhaling needles through his nose, and the water was scalding but not hot enough because he was trembling, constantly trembling, not cold but the tremors were so strong the water in the bathtub shook and spilled over the edge to create another edition to the patterns on the floor.

It was scary. Dying was scary. Love was scary. But it was okay, it was all okay, because he wouldn't wake up. He wouldn't wake up, and he wouldn't feel this fear, or this pain, or the heat of Sora's eyes on his neck as they watched from his bathroom wall.

But not seeing Sora again was not okay.

He wished, not for the first time since he put that picture up there, that those eyes were real.

Ah, but Sora was with Kairi and they were together, away from where he was and in their own separate bubble, and the pain in his arm was too strong, made him double over on the floor again but there was nothing he could vomit, now.

Thoughts sieved through his head; he couldn't concentrate properly, and they came and went and came and went like waves, washing his mind, chilling him, and he was still afraid. Even when he knew that soon being afraid would be nothing, fucking nothing when he was dead, he was afraid of that nothingness. He wanted to be comforted. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to live. He wanted him. But no one gets what they want, in the end. Only the lucky ones, and he was never lucky. Luck was for those who believed things, and he had stopped believing, long ago, when Sora started dating Kairi and he was left as some kind of deflated useless third wheel.

But that was why he did this in the first place, wasn't it?

To forget that it ever happened?

Because he couldn't live when he saw him kiss her?

Wasn't that why he did this?

No.

Not only that, no. He did this because he was … scared. He was scared of pain, and scared of being alone, scared of rejection, betrayal, uncertainties. But he was still scared, wasn't he? After all this, he was still scared.

How cruel, how ironic that this hadn't helped one fucking bit, how it made him want to scream and bash his good hand against the ceramic of the bathtub and sob until he died. He did this because he was scared, he did this so that he didn't have to be scared anymore, and he was still scared. He was still scared, and, he reckoned, he'd be scared when he was dead, too, because nothing was scary. And that, unfortunately and so, so obviously, included the nothingness of death.

The sweet hum of Moonlight Sonata repeated itself, then, repeated the climax over and over and over and he wondered why it was doing that. Why he was doing that. Maybe he was waiting to die. Maybe Moonlight Sonata wanted to end when he ended.

How ... poetic. This was all poetic, in a way. A twisted version of Romeo and Juliet, and the theme song was Moonlight Sonata and only one of them died. But Romeo came for Juliet, came to find her and maybe Sora would do that for him, maybe he'd walk through the bathroom door and see the patterns on the floor and take his arm our of the water and tie it up and save him. (And why was he Juliet? God, he was turning into a sap).

But, he reminded himself, he did not believe in things anymore. This poetic nonsense was one of those things, and he smothered the hopes, didn't let himself indulge in them because this death would end, soon, and he couldn't have what he wanted. He couldn't be saved. He couldn't live. He couldn't have him. And poetic nonsense was in fairytales and Shakespeare dramas, and Moonlight Sonata only played for them, so he didn't know why it continued to repeat in his head. Did it think this was Shakespeare? How dumb. Shakespeare was smarter than he was. Shakespeare created the situations. He didn't retell them. But this was going to be retold, by many a people over the news or through what he had left of his family, or through Sora, through Sora's lips and to Kairi's ears and her eyes would shine like Christmas because she wanted Riku dead all this time, she wanted him gone and wanted Sora all to herself. She knew he loved Sora. She always knew.

He turned his head. It hurt, it hurt all over and he was still sobbing and that didn't help the blur of his eyes at all, but he turned his head and stared at the picture on the wall. It had stared at him for far too long, now, with that cheery smile and crazy personality of his, and he wanted to stare back at it, just once. Just this once.

Because he was so goddamn scared, and it hurt so much that he wanted to double over but had nothing to throw up, and he didn't have wings, and Moonlight Sonata was resonating in his head, and God didn't accept people who committed suicide. He stared at it because it was him, and the last thing he wanted to see was him, without that ring on his finger, and it was almost like there was no ring, now, because he blurred it away. It was blurred away, and it was just Sora, just him and Kairi was not on his clothing and he did not love her.

He had stopped his crying to something that could have been considered yawning with red eyes to someone unknowing, but Sora didn't love him, and that ring, though blurred, was still there, and that was enough to break his control. Head on the bathtub and trembling from head to toe, inside to outside, tears streaming down his face and falling onto the rim of the bathtub and dripping into the reddened water. He was so goddamn scared. This was all scary. Death was scary. Love was scary.

It was completely red, now, and the water trembled with him. If the water was this red, he wasn't supposed to be awake. It should have ended. He should have ended, but nothing was happening. The water was blood red and bitter against his skin and the patterns on the floor were coagulated and nothing was happening.

Then the tears stopped, because he didn't have the strength to cry them, anymore.

He couldn't cry.

He couldn't pull his hand out and wrap it in a towel.

He couldn't save himself.

He couldn't do anything.

He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

And he was going fucking insane.

Sora's eyes continued to stare at him, azure blue and happy, cheery and full of that crazy personality of his. And they stared, and stared, and began to focus, because his tears had stopped and the only blur left was that of the creeping of death, the veil it was pulling over his eyes. That was the only blur left. That was the only thing left.

And he really wanted Sora's face to be the last thing he saw, and not the blood around him. To be here, right here, moving and full of actual life, to touch his crazy personality and smile with his cheery smile, and not a picture framed in a frame and staring at him with a ring on his finger. He didn't want that. He wanted – he wanted him to be real. He wanted him to be really there, in front of him, gripping his shoulders and shaking him and pulling his arm out of the water and wrapping it in a towel. He wanted that, so bad. But he didn't believe, anymore, especially not in poetic nonsense and fairytales, or Romeo and Juliet. He didn't believe.

But, if God was listening, he prayed that they were true.

It was so scary. He wanted to be comforted and told lies until he died, and for the last thing he saw to be Sora's face, his real face, smiling, and the ring on his finger to disappear. But he never got what he wanted. Never. Because he didn't believe in things anymore, learnt long ago that false hope hurt more than it healed and really figured that out when Sora put that ring on Kairi's finger.

But hadn't Sora once told him that what he wanted was the same as what he didn't want?

That was true. Because, even though he wanted to see him here so bad it created another paranormal knife shoved into his gut, how else was he supposed to react to the thought of Sora seeing him like this besides he better stay the fucking hell away from here. For his own good. He figured he had the right to feel like that. To not want what he wanted. To want to not be selfish.

Because he didn't want him to see the patterns on the floor or his picture on the wall or the blood red of the bathwater.

He didn't want him to get his blood on his hands.

He didn't want to be selfish.

He didn't want him to come.

He didn't want him to.

But he never got what he wanted. He never got what he wanted.

Sudden creak, and the bathroom door opened behind him. The bathroom door was opened.

Loud clatter of something dropped onto the dull of the tiled floor and an intake of breath. Heed of horror, fear, desperation. Something like a stunned (stunted?) silence.

He never got what he wanted.

"Riku!" The voice echoed. "God, Riku!"

Wave of mixed emotions through the entirety of his body and the giddiness of it made him want to double over again, but there was nothing he could throw up. Was he supposed to be thankful or horrified? He couldn't tell, because everything was just raw emotion and even the presence behind him was raw emotion, terror and horror and torment and even the walls bled raw emotion, a stoic nonchalance that screamed DIE out to the confides of the room with a bleak smile.

Maybe Sora was Romeo. Maybe things like nonsense could make sense and exist somewhere between PAIN reverberating through his veins and that fucking ring on his finger. Maybe Sora was Romeo, now, and maybe he could believe that he would grab his shoulders and shake him and pull his arm out of the water and wrap it in a towel. Maybe, but all he really cared about was the sudden lightness in the air, the way Sora's voice echoed off the walls and god, it was beautiful. He was beautiful. (And he was turning into a fucking sap).

Sora was here, right here. And he didn't know how to go about that but Moonlight Sonata played in the background like a haunting fog seeping into his skin and it reminded him of Romeo and Juliet, of sad endings to Shakespeare dramas and how he always hated studying Shakespeare in English class. But Sora was here. How was he supposed to go about that? Sora was right there, teasing and just out of sight, out of reach and it was like Kairi was there, too, holding Sora out like a banner and hissing at him, just begging him to get off his sorry ass and grab Sora and clutch him to his chest as if Sora were the hesitations he had thrown away so long ago. But he didn't sense Kairi. It was just Sora, right behind him, right there. Just … just out of his reach, right there, and he was actually here.

Sora's here.

Kairi was not with him.

Suddenly, the situation flipped. Kairi, the-one-who-wore-Sora's-engagement-ring Kairi was nowhere to be seen, and Sora's eyes were only on him and he was only calling out his name and he cared about him. He cared about him and Kairi wasn't here, she was in her own bubble somewhere far off in the black something of distance. Of course, he didn't know for sure whether Sora was looking at him or not, but what else was there to look at? Nothing, nothing besides his death, played out in the theatre of his bathroom and this was Romeo and Juliet, and he was Juliet (why was he the girl?) and he was dying, on the brink of death and his Romeo was there, standing, running, and he only knew when he ran because the ground caught a tremble besides his own. Knew when Sora knelt beside him because the tremble stopped and his presence was a heat and a light and a shadow across his form. And he was definitely not looking at Kairi (and that made him want to smile, funnily enough, but the searing pain in his arm and the haze of goddamn death and the sheer shock of OH MY GOD SORA'S HERE prevented any sort of humour for his death and what the fuck was with the Romeo and Juliet analogy, anyway? He was turning into a fucking sap).

He was so scared, and there was barely anything coherent besides PAIN reverberating through his veins and the presence of Sora behind him, and Sora was here. Sora was here, and he wanted him to stay and save him and wrap his arm in a towel and wanted him to go, forget the scene in front of him and the patterns on the floor and the red of the bathwater, and suddenly, so suddenly, what he wanted was what he didn't want. And Moonlight Sonata kept playing, over and over, but this wasn't Romeo and Juliet. Only one of them died. So he couldn't comprehend why it kept playing.

Heat moved towards him, shadow grew across the tiles and then he was hugging him, Sora was hugging him and he was pulling his arm out of the water with a fresh wave of agony, laying his head on his chest and crying. Wet sobs, drips of tears landing in his hair and –

"Riku."

and his name sounded bittersweet on his lips, and he wished that he didn't have to die before kissing him. Just once, even if it was a sin and even if he'd hate him, after that, even if he'd be disgusted, because it would be okay, it'd all be okay because he wouldn't wake up. He'd seen Sora now, could muster up the lie that he could bear not seeing him ever again and it wouldn't matter, anyway. None of it would matter. Nothing but now mattered anymore. Nothing but the movements that Sora made, nothing but his sounds and scent and his tears in his hair.

Shift on his legs, and Sora laid him down onto the ground, a good distance away from the vomit in the corner and the blood on the floor and his hand held his mangled one in a gentle grip, and his face was close, so, so close and his breath tickled his cheek. Pause, and Sora reached out, tucked a lock of silver hair behind his ear with a shivering tingle and his tears streamed down his nose and fell onto the ground just beside his head. Could hear the splash of them against the tiles.

"I'll be right here," Sora whispered, squeezed his shoulders and the desperation in his eyes was controlled. Subdued. Hidden.

"… good." He didn't want Sora to be anywhere else. He wanted Sora to be anywhere but here. Here, not here, here, not here. What he wanted was the same as what he didn't want, and the confusion that slugged through his head wasn't confused anymore because these feelings, they were all just one form of his twisted adaptation of love and why should love be confusing, anyway? Maybe because he was dying, and maybe he was dying because this corrupted version of his love was rotting away his heart, and no one can love without a heart. No one can live without a heart. No one can love without life. And he wasn't going to love, anymore, and all this would go away, fade away into the nothingness that scared him and comforted him, and he wouldn't wake up.

Romeo and Juliet and poetic nonsense and fairytales, they all existed somewhere, he was sure, were all real, somewhere, but he didn't believe in them. Maybe that was why Sora was here. To make him believe. And maybe that was why Sora pulled the towel off the rack and quick stepped over to him with that crazy (– hurt, now, hurt so much and he was still crying, tears were still streaming down his face and the azure of his eyes was clouded and hidden behind water and anguish and red –) personality of his. There was no other reason. No other believable reason because Sora didn't care whether or not he died. He wasn't in love with him. He was in love with Kairi. He knew that.

But he could pretend that he loved him, just for now. In these last moments, he could pretend that Sora loved him (but he didn't want to be selfish anymore). It didn't matter if it was a bad thing to do or if it was cruel or selfish, because it wouldn't matter, in the end. None of it mattered, none of it, because he wouldn't wake up. The only thing that mattered was now. What he wanted. But what he wanted was the same as what he didn't want, so what was it that mattered? What he wanted, or what he didn't want? Or was it neither? Both?

Sora quick stepped over to him, dodged the patterns on the floor but there was blood on his shoes; he could see it, at the edges, and then he saw the blood on his hands, on his clothes, on his arms, in his hair. And there was no cheery smile to gaze upon, no crazy personality and where was Sora? Where was his Sora? Did he make his Sora vanish? Was this his fault? Was the fact that Sora didn't love him his fault?

No. This wasn't what he wanted. He looked at Sora, looked at him real hard and wished, fuck he wished he could bash his good arm on the tiles of the floor and sob until he died, because he looked at his face and it was crying, it was torn and that happiness, that crazy personality of his and that love, that innocent cherish in his eyes, it was all gone. It was gone, and he didn't want that. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted him to be happy. He wanted them both to be happier than they could be if he was still here. And yes, fuck yes it was his fault that Sora didn't love him, because a worthless piece of shit didn't deserve to be put on a plate and served to someone like Sora, and this was his twisted adaption of love, and Moonlight Sonata played for Shakespeare dramas, and God didn't accept people who committed suicide, and his heart was rotting away by the only thing that made it work.

Sora knelt (fell) down beside him, blocked his view of the picture on the wall, blocked the happy cherished smile in his eyes and he was looking at Sora's crying face, his anguish, and maybe, just maybe, Sora cared that he was dying. Maybe it wasn't all a lie.

He found it hard to believe that Romeo wouldn't care if Juliet was dying, anyway, poetic nonsense disregarded (and he didn't care that he was a sap, anymore. He was a sap because he loved Sora).

"This'll stop the bleeding, okay?" Sora whispered, choked on his tears as they dripped onto his white lips and Riku could feel the remnants of his rotted heart stop for a second, catch itself in an attempt to regain control of his life but no, everyone knows that you can't live without a heart, that a heart can't live without love, that love can't live without life. The whispered words echoed through his head, and then Sora lifted him up and rested his head on his chest again, clutched his arm with gentle fingers and wrapped the towel around it. The fabric stung, shot PAIN through his veins and he cried out, grabbed the soft flannel Sora was wearing and shook, trembled and fuck, it hurt so much, and Sora apologised repeatedly and whispered sweet nothings in his ear and hugged him tight. Tight, tight, tighter, not tight enough, warm all over and he breathed deeply, breathed his scent in. He had missed it for so long. Missed him for so goddamn long. But the comfort in the hug was quick, one fluid moment and then Sora was shaking, shaking, Sora was shaking and he felt his tears fall into his hair. Felt the cold tip of his nose press into his neck, just under his earlobe, felt his hair tickle his face and his neck. This was nice. He wouldn't mind staying like this until he didn't even know what 'this' was. Just like this, pretend that Sora loved him and feel the pain in his veins and ignore it, cherish these last moments. Die in his arms like some clichéd Romeo and Juliet movie, except only one of them died. And that was him. He was dying.

Choke; "I won't let you die."

... What?

Tightening of Sora's grip around him. "You won't die."

Pause, intake of breath because he had been holding it, disbelief and a half-thought of why is he lying? and then - "... you don't have to pretend for me, Sora. It's okay." Winced at the forced husk of his voice. He didn't want to be selfish, but Sora was feeding his egotism like he wanted to and this wasn't helping, these lies weren't feeding the right thing, because what Riku needed was love, love to let him live but how could you live without a heart, and how could a heart live without love, and how could love live without a heart? These lies were what kept him alive in the first place, and he didn't want to die hearing Sora lie for him just because he deserved it. He didn't want to be selfish, but god, it felt good to be selfish. Was that okay? Was Sora not lying okay?

It was okay. The only person that needed to lie and pretend and deceive whatever they could get their hands on was him, because he was the one who was in love with Sora and he was the one who was dying because the ring on his finger was too heavy for his eyes, too mocking, too … there. Sora didn't need to. He didn't owe him anything. On the contrary, he owed Sora, and he was going to pay him back like this, get out of his life so that any of the worry he may have ever felt didn't need to be felt anymore. It made him feel slightly better that, in the long run, this would have been good for him. That getting out of a life without him was going to help him, somehow. A sudden half-thought of wondering whether Juliet felt like this before she died flickered in his mind, but it was washed away by the waves of haze, of death. This death was scary. So goddamn scary. Death was scary. Love was scary. And Moonlight Sonata still played through his head; a musical eulogy, and it half made him believe that this really was some twisted version of Romeo and Juliet, except his love was what was twisted and Sora was never going to know how twisted it had become.

Lashes tickled his jaw as Sora's eyes widened, silent gasp, lips parted, slightly, tingling whisper of breath against his neck. " ... I'm not pretending."

Why is he lying? No one needed to lie but him. Pieces of worthless shit could lie, but when they were eaten they couldn't affect the eater, they wouldn't dare because all they deserved to do was die, to be eaten like they should and shut up and accept that the eater was in love with someone else, some other piece of food they could manipulate.

"The ambulance will be here soon."

Why is he still lying? He didn't need to lie! He was selfish enough as it was and he didn't want to be selfish, but being selfish felt so, so good, and what he wanted was the same as what he didn't want.

"When they get here, you'll be okay."

God, oh god he wished it was true. He closed his eyes, swallowed; spoke gently because obviously Sora thought he owed him something when he didn't. Wanted to make that clear before he died, so that Sora didn't think he did something wrong. He didn't do anything wrong. He just fell in love, and he fed his heart the wrong things but they were all so very right and no, it wasn't Sora's fault that his heart was rotting, It was his. Him and his twisted adaption of love.

"Stop it." Stop being so wonderful that his heart has to rot faster to keep up with his selfishness, that the piece of shit wanted to speak up and ask politely to not be eaten because it didn't want to disappear in the nothingness, didn't want to face its fears because cowards are white beings, and it was all so scary. Death was scary. Love was scary.

Could you feel pain emanate from someone without actually seeing it?

I don't want you to be sad, Sora.

What he wanted was the same as what he didn't want.

I want you to be sad that I'm dying.

Second of silence, worry about Sora but before he could register whether or not Sora was in pain the haze covering his eyes thickened. He wasn't sure exactly how, but suddenly he didn't care because god, what the fuck was that pain in his arm? Holy shi –

And then everything was spinning, like his head was being thrown around in some footballer's grasp and the world was a mixture of patterns and colours in his eyes, and Sora's hair was no longer definable between the twist of the walls and the mirrors and the colours in general. And the pain was spreading, it was spreading and growing and fuck. And it was like he was feeling it behind a magnifying glass and it was focusing fire at him and it was burning everywhere and fuck. Like it was burning through his clothes and everything was spinning, like he was some kind of doll and – oh god, he wasn't sure anymore. He was sure he felt something, like a shaking of his shoulders but he wasn't sure anymore. Wasn't sure of anything anymore. Didn't know what he was doing.

Is this what dying feels like?

No, this wasn't dying. Dying wasn't supposed to be painful, it was supposed to be peaceful and Sora wasn't supposed to feel so close to him but so far away and how did shit feel like it was dying, anyway? No, no, he wasn't dying, but it was something. Was he …

was he collapsing?

Oh god, he was collapsing. He was collapsing, but what the heck, why? It wasn't the way someone would usually black out and what the fuck, he was wasting time. He was fucking fainting away the only time he had with Sora before he died, and god the pain was murderous but he wasn't going to waste his time like this.

He wasn't going to die like this.

"God, no, Riku!"

Sora.

Sora, Sora Sora Sora he didn't want to die in front of Sora., not like this because Moonlight Sonata was still playing in his head, and God didn't accept people who committed suicide, and he didn't want to die if Sora really cared and the pain was goddamn murderous and it wouldn't go away but why was the haze going away? Did Sora really care? And why was the spinning stopping? He didn't want his heart to rot away his time. He wanted to be a selfish piece of worthless shit but he didn't want to die. What he wanted was the same as what he didn't want. He wanted to die. He didn't want to die. Which one was the one that mattered? Did anything matter? Did anything really ever matter, or was it all a ploy, a pull in some direction because people are selfish and want power and hate being alone and want fake love instead of real love because they can't have the real love, anyway, because worthless pieces of shit who didn't want to die and were afraid of the nothingness were always alone. He wanted to die. He didn't want to die. Which one was fake? Which one was the one that really mattered?

"God dammit, Riku, don't die on me!"

But he wasn't dying. He was fainting, fucking fainting away his time. That's what he was doing. Why did Sora think he was dying? Yeah, his heart was rotting but he decided that being selfish felt too good and dying, however selfish it was, would end all selfishness but he didn't want to end his selfishness by being selfish. Didn't even think he knew what selfish was anymore.

"Sora," he growled, because god dammit that fucking pain wouldn't ease up. And he was gasping for air because it felt like he wasn't getting enough and he was breathing needles and fire but the haze was still disappearing, and Sora's hair was definable and –

And that fucking ring on Sora's finger was pressing into his arm and shooting AGONISING PAIN through his veins.

"Sora, you're hand." He growled, louder, because it seemed that Sora was unable to hear him. Worthless, but he didn't want to die, wanted to die but didn't want to die and Moonlight Sonata, however sickly sweet it was, was the only thing that stuck in his head besides Sora, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant don't be afraid of the dark, but he'd been afraid of it all his life, was afraid of it now even as he wanted to die into that nothingness, that blackness.

Silence.

"Riku?" A gasp and a jerk, something like a jump and – "ARE YOU OKAY?"

"Let go of my arm, you idiot."

Sora let go of his arm. The euphoria that followed may have been due to the fact that he pain had disappeared marginally or that fact that he was conquering this twisted version of his rotting heart, and giving life so that his selfish love could exist so that his heart didn't rot so that he could live and didn't have to face the nothingness, didn't have to acknowledge the meaning of don't be afraid of the dark.

But it was that ring, that fucking ring that hurt the most and wasn't it so ironic that the thing he was killing himself over was causing him so much pain before he died? And it was still there; he could feel it on Sora's grip on his shoulder and it was a reminder, a constant reminder that Sora didn't love him.

Sora didn't love him. He knew that. Sora loved Kairi and that's why they were engaged and he had never really had anything against the girl until she was killing him. And she was still killing him, even now when she was gone in the somewhere of distance and she knew it, she knew and she didn't care. Because she was selfish, too, selfish and cruel and she wanted to get rid of him. Well, she was getting what she wanted, now. He was getting rid of himself. And he was blaming her, always blaming her and when he died and didn't go to heaven he was going to curse her from the depths of hell and make her pay. For everything.

It always felt better when you could blame it on someone else.

"Sora," he whispered, rubbed his hand in circles on Sora's back because he was still crying. "Sora, I'm okay." Lied. And all Sora did was shake his head and nuzzle his nose into the crook of his neck. And he could still feel that goddamn ring on his shoulder, that goddamn ring but he didn't want to die being selfish, didn't want to die at all but it was that ring, that ring and it was like an engraving on Sora's finger that read to all selfish pieces of shit; he is mine.

He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

Rage welled up inside him, made him cringe and shudder and then he was grabbing Sora's hand with his good one and pulling that fucking ring off of his finger because it was not staying there while he died. It had haunted and taunted him for so fucking long and he didn't want it there anymore, wanted it gone and far away and it being blurred away wasn't enough for him now. Fake wasn't enough. He didn't want anything to be fake anymore, not even his lies and wanted to define the fake from the right, wanted to know which mattered the most. If wanting to die or not wanting to die mattered the most.

Sora got up in surprise, left the crook in his neck and it felt terribly cold with the absence. Stared wide-eyed as he grabbed the ring and flung it across the bathroom with a chiming clatter of music, nothing like Moonlight Sonata but it had that similar sickly sweet feeling to it.

The ring was gone.

The ring was gone, and the pain was too much for him and he didn't want to die without kissing Sora, just once. He was going to kiss Sora. He was going to be goddamn selfish and kiss Sora, because he didn't want to die into the nothingness without something real.

"Riku, what –"

He grabbed Sora's neck with his good hand and pressed his lips to his. His rotten heart fluttered.

Soft was the first thing that registered in his mind. Oh god, his lips were so soft, light on his and when they moved to murmur it sent shivers down his spine and he was surprised because Sora hadn't hit him yet. Moved his lips, slightly, tilted his head and pressed closer and breathed deeper and he was kissing Sora, and it felt so, so good. Being selfish felt so, so good, so right even though it was wrong but he didn't want to die into the nothingness without something real.

Sora didn't move away.

"Sora." Murmured against his lips, spoke deep and breathily because something so unreal was real.

Sora was tense. But that was okay, expected and he rubbed soothing circles on Sora's neck with his thumb and god, it felt so good. His arm was shooting PAIN through his nerves but it was nothing, dulled out into the distance and o-oh god. Sora murmured into the kiss and moved his lips, tingled and caught together and oh god.

O-oh god, Sora was kissing him.

He couldn't believe what he was doing, anymore.

Smashed their lips together, because oh god Sora was kissing him and it felt so good and he traced Sora's bottom lip with his tongue and Sora moaned, threaded his fingers through his hair and o-oh god opened his mouth and –

"Riku."

And then he shuddered and the world became a nothingness around them that was nothing like blackness and all anything was was tongues and lips and teeth, oh god teeth. And something so real felt too real and the fake of it in his mind, the imagination of this selfishness was so dull compared to the real thing, and he wondered how dull a life would be if all it was was unreal.

"Riku," murmured against his lips and another shudder through his body and Sora fisted his hand in his shirt and pulled him closer, closer but not close enough and whatever was happening was real, unbelievable but real and he was kissing Sora and Sora liked it.

He started crying. He started crying, and could taste his tears as they rolled down his cheeks and into their mouths. And he didn't stop. Not when Sora wiped his cheeks with his hand and left a burning trail in his path, and not when Sora pulled away and touched their foreheads together, panting into each other's mouths and hot, so hot in between them. He didn't stop crying. He was so happy. He was happy that Sora gave him something real, hoped that it was realer than a death kiss and something like love because being selfish felt too good to throw away to the nothingness, and maybe even selfish pieces of shit served on dinner plates could be loved.

"Riku … you're crying." Pause. "Does it hurt?"

He just shook his head.

"You idiot, I love you."

I love you.

Nothing mattered anymore. Sora could hate him all he wanted. It didn't matter. Loving him didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that he could leave with something real, he could figure out what was real and what was fake before nothing swallowed nothing up into the blackness and something never existed in the first place.

"Sora. I love you."

Selfish pieces of shit had to die, eventually, and though he didn't want to die, though it was so goddamn scary to be nothing more than nothing, though he had been scared of the dark all his life, something real like a kiss was enough to make him die thinking that life wasn't all that bad.

"I love you."

So much.

Silence.

Sora was quiet. It was eerie, to gaze at him with those eyes of his, that empty-cherish, that faded cheery smile, was eerie to gaze upon while Moonlight Sonata played in the background and seeped into his skin. Maybe it was seeping into Sora's skin, too.

"I love you too."

Nothing mattered anymore, because he wouldn't wake up, would face one fear, at least, would see the black and the nothing and … what?

"God dammit Riku, I love you!"

WHAT?

No. No, no, no, no, Sora didn't love him, all he was was a selfish piece of worthless shit who was afraid of the dark who didn't deserve to be loved, and fuck that wasn't fucking possible, Sora must have been fucking with him because NO, HE WAS ENGAGED TO KAIRI AND HE LOVED KAIRI SORA DIDN'T LOVE HIM THAT WAS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE –

And what was the point of killing himself if Sora fucking loved him?!

"Fuck, Sora, don't lie to me!"

HE MUST HAVE BEEN LYING. For so many years he had thought that Sora loved Kairi, because when had he ever cared about him? Never. He had never shown any of that love to him, Sora didn't even remember when he would hold his hand just so he wouldn't break down into a pile of pitiful sobbing flesh because shit couldn't be loved, shit wasn't supposed to love but he did, he loved Sora but Sora didn't love him.

"Why the hell would I lie about loving you?!"

HE WAS LYING. Because he loved Kairi, and he was there when Sora proposed to Kairi and he was there when Kairi bought him that fucking gold ring and put it on his finger.

"God dammit, maybe because you're engaged to Kairi and feel – feel sorry for me!"

HE MUST HAVE BEEN LYING. There was no other explanation. And he didn't want to die surrounded by fake, he wanted to die and be real, only real and kissing Sora was real but Sora didn't love him.

"Kairi and I broke up!"

What?

"I never loved her! She forced me into it! I love you, Riku! Believe me when I tell you I fucking love you!"

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

He wanted Sora to love him.

What he wanted was the same as what he didn't want.

He didn't want Sora to love him because he was fucking killing himself because he thought Sora didn't love him.

What was the point of all this is Sora loved him?!

"Sora, I'm fucking killing myself because I thought you love Kairi, and you blurt out that you love me?"

Denial.

"I'm dying, Sora!"

Trembling all over, trembling and anger and so much fear and Sora was shaking his head in disbelief.

"IF YOU LOVE ME, WHY AM I DYING?"

What he wanted was the same as what he didn't want.

Sobbing, Sora was sobbing and clutching his stomach and shaking his head and he couldn't see the disbelief in Sora's eyes because they were closed and producing all those tears.

"I don't want to die if you love me!"

He was panicking. He was panicking because he didn't want to die if Sora loved him. He could be with Sora and live with him and adopt a kid and he could be as much of a goddamn sap, could be as selfish as he wanted because Sora loved him and he loved Sora and Kairi was not in the middle of this anymore and they could be together and that ring on his finger could be Riku's ring and he'd wear one too, not legal but who cared because Sora loved him, a worthless piece of shit like him and that was real, it was all so real and too real and Sora loved him.

He was panicking. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs and he was shaking, shaking all over and the pain in his arm was shouting AGONY through his veins and he wanted Sora to look at him and tell him he wasn't going to die because Sora loved him.

He was getting weaker, and the pain was stronger, and he was panicking, because he didn't want to die into the nothingness, didn't want to face the meaning of don't be afraid of the dark, didn't want to be nothing, because Sora loved him.

"Sora," he whispered, more like breath because he couldn't get enough air into his lungs or enough volume into his voice. "Look at me."

And those lids opened to azure blue eyes clouded with water and red, and they were the most beautiful and most horrifying thing he had ever seen. And he loved them. And he didn't want to die.

"Tell me I'm not going to die." Shaking voice; no control. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

Sora lifted him up into an embrace because he didn't have the strength to sit up anymore, and he hugged him like he was never going to let go and it was wonderful, a little like before except the ring on his finger wasn't there and Moonlight Sonata had two meanings.

"The ambulance will be here any minute," Sora murmured, tears soaking his shoulder.

"You're gonna be okay."

Gonna be okay. Yeah, just like Juliet was okay.

Just like Juliet. Moonlight Sonata is just like Juliet.

Moonlight Sonata played in his mind for two reasons. It played as a meaning of don't be afraid of the dark, and it played, over and over on some automatic repeat because it played for fairytales and tragedies like Romeo and Juliet. Sora loved him, and he was dying, and Moonlight Sonata was playing through his head because this was a tragedy mixed with some long-forgotten fairytale never told to children. Moonlight Sonata played for tragedies. This was a tragedy.

But he wasn't going to die like this.

Denial.

Sora said he'd be okay.

Denial.

There was a noise outside. A blearing, with lights and sound and alert in its every tone and movement, loud movement outside and shouting. Confused him for a second, confused his confusion and the blue and red lights through the curtain were bright and added colours to the dull of the floor.

It – it was here. The ambulance was here. He was going to be okay.

"Finally," was breathed onto his neck, and then "I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then something broke. Something in his mind broke, and he thought, for a second, that it was the string of sane memories attached to his conscience. But it broke, and with its breaking brought so much black, so much vertigo and spinning and his good arm dropped onto the tiled floor but that barely registered in his mind because he was fighting of the black, all the black, the cold and the ringing in his ears and the blur of death and the black and he was afraid of the dark.

"Riku?"

This was all so scary. Death was scary. Love was scary. This total and undeniable darkness that wanted so desperately to swallow him up was choking and blocking and toying with the air in his lungs before he could get more in, and Sora was shaking his shoulders and he wanted to touch Sora, to touch the azure blue of his eyes and his cheery smile and that crazy personality of his but he couldn't, he couldn't. He was right there and he couldn't and this cold darkness was swallowing him and threatening at the corners of his eyes and Moonlight Sonata was dimming in his head.

"Riku, snap out of it!"

But if he snapped out of it, he wouldn't be able to fight the darkness. He couldn't leave the darkness alone. He needed air. And it was cold. And he was afraid of the dark, and Moonlight Sonata told him 'don't be afraid of the dark' but it was dimming in his head and how was he supposed to fight it? How was he supposed to not be scared?

"Riku!"

He needed to fight the darkness.

"Riku, dammit, stay with me!"

He wanted to stay with Sora. He loved Sora. Sora loved him. He was with Sora. But he needed air. And it was cold. And he didn't know what he was doing anymore. And it was so scary.

Is this what dying feels like?

"Riku!" Sora was crying. Sora was crying but he wanted him to smile.

He wanted him to smile, and he didn't want to hurt Sora. What was hurting Sora? Was the darkness hurting Sora? He wanted to fight the darkness, he wanted to but he was afraid of the dark and a piece of worthless shit who was afraid of the dark was the colour white and black swallowed white like it was eating a piece of worthless shit.

"Don't die on me, Riku! Please! Don't you dare die on me!"

He was dying. But he didn't want to die. And the darkness was still toying with the air, and it never reached his lungs and black spots danced in front of his eyes and he needed air, and it was too cold, and he was afraid of the dark.

"I love you!"

I love you, too, you wonderful idiot.

He couldn't keep his eyes open. Closed them, but when he did he was consumed by darkness and it was everywhere, all around him and there was no more air to toy with and the cold was numbing and not there at all. This was so scary. Death was so scary. Love was so scary. And it was cold, and he wanted Sora to smile.

Can you smile, Sora?

Moonlight Sonata ended.

It was so goddamn scary. Death was so scary. Love was so scary. But he didn't have wings, and God didn't accept people who committed suicide, and no one would take him to heaven, but maybe God would change his mind. Because he didn't want to die. He didn't want to. And this was a twisted version of Romeo and Juliet except only one of them died, and the theme music was Moonlight Sonata and it had reverberated through his head because this was a tragedy and a fairytale, and he believed in poetic nonsense, now, believed in Romeo and Juliet, and he was afraid of the dark and he didn't want to be a worthless piece of shit, and he wanted to die with something real, but the reality was swallowed up into the black.

Don't be afraid of the dark.

What was it that mattered? That he wanted to die or didn't want to die? What he wanted or what he didn't want? He didn't want to die being selfish, but he didn't want to die. The only way he could die not being selfish was by wanting to die. What mattered? Loving Sora mattered, and dying without being selfish, for Sora, so that he wouldn't be a worthless piece of shit, mattered. Not being afraid of the dark mattered. Sora smiling mattered.

So he wouldn't be afraid of the dark, for Sora, and he'd die with wanting to die, for Sora, and he'd make Sora smile, from wherever this nothingness was, and nothing that mattered would matter anymore.

This was okay. Death was okay. Love was okay.

Denial?

Not seeing Sora was okay.

Denial?

Sora loved him. He loved Sora.

Is this what dying feels like?

It was all okay. It was all okay, now, would always be okay, because Sora loved him, and he kissed Sora, and Sora would be smiling, and there was no ring on Sora's finger, and he wasn't afraid of the dark anymore, and he wouldn't wake up.

A/N: Oh my god, I am so cruel. I apologise. I can not freaking believe I just killed Riku.

…

I don't know if you would have noticed or not, but I actually played with a lot of words and sentences in this one-shot that I'm pretty goddamn proud of xP For example, I state that "Sora's here". Do you get it? Sora says "Riku's here" in the game (KH2, if you need reference) and in this Riku is thinking that "Sora's here"??

GET IT?

Oh, whatever. I thought it was smart. A turn-of-the-tides kind of thing. One person waiting for the other instead of the other way around.

Care to comment on my word play? Or just comment? Reviews are awesome things, you know. Really they are.

Inspired by a friend with a new ring on his finger, and the day I wanted to die in the bathroom. *

* For humiliation reasons, and not because I'm suicidal or anything =)