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a u t h o r s . note ;;
This is a collection of drabbles / oneshots for the Kairiku ( kairi x riku ) pairing, thus, the chapters will not be related.
I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

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S A C R I F I C E
x;; Kairiku collection
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oo1 ;; tissues

He remembered the first time she watched them battle.

He wished he could forget it.

As if it weren't bad enough that he technically lost to the hyperactive brunette (which had been the first time in months, if anyone was counting), he was slouched over on the ground with an injured hand – mumbling various profanities unfit for his age – when she took notice. Sora, somehow, tripped him during their pointless spar, ending with the platinum headed boy crushing and scraping his right hand; as six- and seven-year-olds were expected to do, he gnawed on his lower lip and stared at what he believed would be a permanent scar, even though only a thin layer of blood smeared around his contrastingly pale skin. The younger (and still standing) boy gaped at him, embarrassment for hurting his friend with his clumsiness engraved along his face, though an eager expression overwhelmed his eyes as he waited for the other to stand back up. Riku was always stronger – he could always shake off scratches and bruises with a smirk. But humiliation caused the child's confidence to leak, and he realized how angry he was at Sora (not for nearly mangling his hand, but for inviting Kairi to judge, as if she wanted to see the two boys hack each others' skin off). Riku's attention seemingly diverted to the ground and he closed his eyes, avoiding the expectant looks radiating from sea blue orbs as he tried to regain composure and start the game over again.

But, god damn it, it hurt.

"Riku!" The boy peeled his eyelids back open upon hearing his name, aquamarine irises meeting a pair of worried cobalt as the girl he feared rushed to his aid. He mentally flinched, shameful that she might only remember him for getting unintentionally beat up by (in his opinion) the biggest wimp on the islands.

She can't see me like this.

Selfish desires and hurt pride caused him to instantly turn away, conceitedly shielding his injuries from the girl in white by cradling his arm towards his chest. But she didn't understand his coldness, and her own arm extended towards him, feminine hand appearing in his line of vision. For a moment, he believed that she was offering to help him up, though the idea was quickly distorted when she gave a stern (but always sugarcoated) order: "Give me your hand." He didn't. Instead, he stared at her soft fingers as if they carried a disease. Her wrist twitched, impatient with his stubbornness, head tilting bemusedly in response to his utter hesitance. "I'll make it better," She cooed, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a faint (but highly predictable) smile. He gave in, raising his damaged hand to hers, unblinking.

Kairi turned it over and over in her palms, butterfly touch barely grazing over his skin as she inspected and searched for fatal injuries (or as fatal as they get for a seven-year-old). When she pinpointed the red and slightly scraped area on the back of his hand to be the major source of his discomfort, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a tissue; they later discovered that she always carried something in case a similar situation should arise. Like a mother nursing her child's wound, she dabbed the white paper dexterously against his hand, cleaning away all traces of blood and sweat before satisfied with her friend's welfare. Without warning, she proceeded to lift his injury to her face, thin lips pressing against what would surely form into a bruise later. He flinched, not from pain, but surprise; and mere seconds later she carried it away from the spellbinding kiss, a gentle giggle dripping from honeyed vocals while he quirked an eyebrow.

"Heeey," The forgotten dignity-breaking brunette whined behind the pair while plump lips formed into a jealous pout, his previous guilt shrugged away. He pressed his index finger against a sun kissed arm, apparently prodding what was supposed to be a bruise. Riku didn't see it. "I'm hurt too," He lied, and the boy on the ground sneered. The redhead laughed and dropped his hand, quickly disregarding his frown as she examined Sora's supposed wound, planting the exact same kiss on his arm.

From then on, they (mostly Sora, because Riku would never admit it) started going to Kairi with battle scars and splinters, expecting her to heal them with a little tissue paper and a kiss. Somehow, it worked every time.

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Now they're fifteen and sixteen and she starts to cry. He doesn't know what's wrong; he doesn't think when he offers her a reassuring touch, hands on her shoulders, eyes on her running mascara. She doesn't talk to him – she only cries while the unbearable summer sun beats against their backs, and he knows that she's never been so upset. He knows that she's supposed to smile all the time.

So if she's crying, he thinks and frowns while he pulls tangled strands of deep crimson hair away from her face, her eyes must be broken.

He wants to fix them; he wants to make them stop watering like she could make his cuts stop bleeding.

He leans towards her and kisses her closed eyelids, the contact lasting only seconds as he uses the exact precision that she did for years. She chokes and her gaze flutters until she's staring at him again.

"Riku," She breathes with what he wishes was affection instead of annoyance, "Stop it."

Stop it.

Stop it.

Stop it?

What am I doing?

He remembers that Sora stole her heart instead – just like her attention and her kiss.

He realizes as he blinks and she cries that he should have handed her tissues.

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