Dislciamer:Nope. I don't own any of KH, KH2.Nor do I own the poem in this, which also belongs to KH2.I only play the games, and write the stories with the characters that I don't own:D so don't sue me thanks!

Background: birthday present fic for my beloved byakkuyo, even though i'm a jerk, and it's totally really late. I hope she can forgive me, and I hope she's pleased with this piece considering the "wingscar" concept of it is also hers :)

Warning: implied boyboy, possibly disturbing content, dark undertones.

wingSCAR

sometimes all we really need is a little pain to make us feel alive

--xxSerenity

Riku doesn't know his own strength sometimes.

Times like that often leave Sora injured, yet he doesn't realize it half the time. This time, he's bleeding from a split lip, thanks to a blow that was a tad too hard from their makeshift swords made of wood.

He stands there, slightly dumbstruck, and fingers the wound where a slight warmth has taken place. Fingertips are coated in that crimson velvet.

Thick, and syrupy, his blood trails down his chin, and each finger where they touched. He barely feels it though. He never feels it, save for a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

Riku's staring now, concerned. He reaches up and Sora feels his palm against his cheek, a thumb playing over his chin where that red river runs, and he clears it away with a single swipe.

Sora feels that.

When the blood is gone, so is Riku's touch, and Sora feels strangely wistful and empty. He wants to feel it again, but how does he say that?

But by the time he musters up enough courage to react on those longings, it doesn't even matter.

Riku's gone by then.

•- -- - --- - -- -•

When Sora fought 1,000 heartless on his own, the battle left him in such pain that he could barely stand up.

He stood anyway. He had a dear friend to find. The pain didn't even matter, in fact, he didn't even remember feeling it.

When Sora fought Xemnas along side Riku, he didn't even feel that pain either.

Riku was by his side, after all.

He thought that looking into her dulled eyes, gradually filling with tears, would positively destroy him worse than any other pain he'd ever felt. ( supposedly that is )

But he barely flinched.

She cried, and he said nothing, he did nothing.

He felt nothing.

Kairi wanted him to love her.

After all, she was the princess he'd fought to find, wasn't she? Riku too..but still..She was a princess..

She was supposed to be his princess..

And it was like the perfect fairy tale she had always dreamed of.

Unfortunately for her, Kairi had yet to realize that she was no longer the princess in his fairy tale.

•- -- - --- - -- -•

When he slept that night, Sora recalled instances from his journey that stole a year of his life away. They were colorless; his dreams played out in black and white, with only the faintest of colors present, mainly in people's eyes.

He saw reds, blues..

..green, like the violent seas..

..reds, like the blood seeping down his own back in one particular scene...

It wasn't a nightmare, but he still awoke with a start to the quickened pace of his heart that pumped ice instead of blood through his veins.

But instead of fear, there was an undeniable peace that lingered, coupled with a certain longing.

He needed to see him.

•- -- - --- - -- -•

Sora stood at the water's edge, beneath the canopy of moonlight that lit both the sea, and the land, washing over the island's inhabitants, and bathing the teen in an ethereal glow.

He wore no shirt; the light glinted off smooth, sun kissed skin.

The approaching footsteps went unheard of. Sneakers were silent in the sand as the other approached, until a gentle touch upon a bony shoulder had the younger teen suddenly alert, jerking his head over his shoulder in slight surprise.

"I didn't think you'd come." He admitted a little concernedly, though it was masked by that trademark grin. "You did sound a little grumpy."

"Hn..Anything for you, Sora." The other breathed in a slightly tired yawn. Tired he was, yet that didn't take away from the genuineness of his words. "So what exactly did you want?"

So Sora told him just what it was he wanted. It was a wing, a single wing, and after he'd finished explaining, Riku would find that Sora had somehow slid the shard of glass into his waiting palm. Maybe when he'd cleverly taken Riku's hands into his own.

He hesitates at first, as expected, but Sora begs.

"I need it. I need to feel.."

Riku relents, mainly because he'd do anything for Sora, but also because in the back of his mind, he knows he wants this too.

He thinks about the past, about why he turned to darkness in the first place. The glass shard is twirled lazily between his fingers as Sora turns away from him, and kneels in the sand, which has chilled in the absence of the daytime sun.

Riku takes his place behind his best friend, who leans forward so his hands press into the softness of the ground beneath him, and his back is presented; every smooth curve and contour is captured by the moon's gentle glow.

Sora is beautiful like this..

And yet, Riku wants to do this, because he wants Sora to hurt like he had.

He wants to be the one to hurt him.

The first cut is deft; it isn't deep enough to cause real damage. It's merely deep enough to separate the skin, and raise a bit of that precious essence of life to the surface.

..A bit, or maybe a tad more.

Riku raises the glass, drawing the sharp tip further up to just below Sora's shoulder, and painting that thin line of red as he goes.

It hurts at first, but Sora knows he's undeniably happy. He feels the pain; he feels whole again.

He feels..

He breathes out a small sigh, and Riku digs just a smidgen deeper. He runs his free hand along the line, feeling the blood like liquid velvet against his palm. He loves it.

The granules of sand slip through gripping fingers, and Sora dips his head low to hide the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes when the makeshift blade curves, decorating the back of his shoulder with a single, decorative feather.

It stings so deliciously though, and the fire courses quickly through every nerve, spreading through his small body. He feels a certain tingling and tightening between trembling thighs.

Riku doesn't check to see if he's alright. He's too absorbed in his own dreamlike state. The blood runs down the smooth terrain of the boy's back, and the river only deepens when the rest of the feathers are added ritually, trailing farther down Sora's skin till about his mid back.

The older teen returns the blade however, and fixes up his designs, adding in neglected detail in order to portray that hint of realism. Smaller lines accentuate the feathers, and Riku draws with the certain precision of an artist.

The shard of glass is drawn around, and up one final time. It meets the starting point, and a new rivulet runs down smooth flesh. The work is done, and the bloody scar stands profound on Sora's back.

"It'll be pretty when it dries." Riku comments, but Sora can't respond. He's breathing hard now, and feels the slight sting of nausea and weakness. He'd fall to his side in the sand had Riku not intervened, and took him by the upper arm, just to tug him up and to him, allowing the weakened heap of the bloody mess to collapse against his stronger form.

With a soft, tired sigh, slightly panted through parted lips and coupled with the occasional whimper, Sora thanks him graciously, and snuggles up to his best friend as Riku draws his hand along his back, smoothing the blood against his canvas and savoring its silky texture before raking fingernails against the cuts. Sora practically purrs.

They sit like that for what seems like eternity; comforted in the silence and each other's company, until Riku finally decides to ask that bothersome question.

"Why only one?"

He's answered at first by Sora's shallow breathing, while half-lidded eyes languidly trail along the moonlit horizon.

But he sucks in a breath soon after, holding it deep in his lungs as he delights in his own anguish, the sparks of delicious, stinging pain reminding him how alive he really is.

And when he sighs after having held that air for some time, he tilts the head that had been resting against the elder's chest, just so he could regard his best friend with those gentle, loving eyes, and amid his pain, he smiles pure and true.

"I only need one when you're always there to help me fly."

Riku smirks faintly, reminded again of how much he loves him, and he tightens his arms around those smaller shoulders.

They stay like that for the remainder of the night; Riku's fingertips trace lazy circles against the smooth, tarnished plain of the youth's back, drawing shapes with his own blood beneath the moon's hauntingly peaceful glow.

Meanwhile Sora drifts off into a peaceful slumber while nestled within those strong arms where he feels warm, and safe, and whole.

Sora feels complete at last with the love of his best friend, regardless of how much pain it'll bring him, or rather, because of how much it'll hurt.

•- --fin

happy belated birthday me luff ;) I really hope you liked it, as well as anyone else that reads as well. as always, reviews always loved -heartheart-