A Closely Trailing Darkness

by KyuuketsukiShounen

In the dead of night, when Sora was knocked out cold from exhaustion-for the boy never lived through a day without finding some way to exhaust himself, even now that he'd gotten back to the Destiny Islands-Roxas played his little game of separation. He only ever did it during those times, intent on sparing his Other any insult implied, or worse yet, the guilt for imprisoning another consciousness inside of him. Sora had an awful sense of culpability for someone who reminded Roxas so much of the sun.

It was an easy thing to amalgamate his own identity inside of Sora, to become again the constituent Roxas as opposed to just another set of streaming emotions and thoughts and values that Sora had missed for three years. Sora's consciousness only rocked gently like the tropical tide so Roxas only had to let himself gather and float up to the surface. In this way, he could speak to Sora, whispers from Nobody to Other in times of great crisis to guide him. Bits of advice and knowledge he'd gained from his short life in detachment.

"Avoid his blade; it's tipped with poison," or, "Hurry, strike the base of the tail!"

Sometimes it was "Kairi will kill you, even if you think it'll be funny," or, "She'll appreciate it no matter what, so just pick a damn present."

And then there were the times when Roxas said nothing at all, but was there just to be there for Sora. Because everyone has forgiven Riku, and though his eyes may say otherwise, he'll eventually forgive himself, too.

Speaking to Sora was easy. Separating from the body was a whole other matter. The first time he had done it in a moment of dry-throat violence, ripping himself away desperately piece by piece as though they were carefully stitched together like Peter Pan and his shadow. The familiar dark with its neon signs blazing, it took that city at the end of the universe to revive his sense of longing. He had been able to make Sora disappear then, still channeling the powers that the Organization had threaded into him, and they had battled.

His defeat had tasted like Neverland. The fade of bittersweet memories, the thrill of new adventure. The wound of unfinished summer had reopened only for Roxas to discover that he and his Other never stood on equal ground. Sora was strong. And Sora was bright. And Roxas realized with dizzying infatuation that he wouldn't mind being this boy's shadow, the trailing darkness clinging closer that anyone else could. So the next time he drew himself out at the mouth of Kingdom Hearts, he clumsily groped his way into separate existence as a ghost, deferring full manifestation.

Theirs was an intimate friendship, sharing so much more than toys. They needed each other to stay alive, but more importantly they respected each other, wanted each other's company. And Roxas knew this little game of separation he played at night was a game he could never win. He would never let himself.

Still, when the boy was most certainly asleep, muttering dreamspeak of things he'd blush about if anyone ever knew, Roxas carefully undid the seams. He would soar out into the night, mixing himself into the crashing salty dark at the shore, consciousness relaxing to the point that he almost disperses into the ether. But while he did so, he never dared to touch the last few invisible threads that kept the two tied together. There was originally a forlorn vacuity in discovering his incompleteness; in knowing himself as a Nobody. But now that he's found Sora, the fear of losing his Other was even more terrifying. He enjoyed his moments of freedom, and then returned.

He would sink back into his Other, cradling himself in Sora's warmth. And Sora, Sora was always so very warm.

A/N: Hope you liked it! You can also find it on my new writing journal on LJ; my username is liongardant.