Author's Notes: I'm not really pleased with this one, but I'm glad I got it out of my head. I'd take the characters' ages to be mid-twenties in this.

Onward.

"by number & size"

by: Rosalyn Angel

-

Riku looks like a doll. He slouches against the dining room chair, its back his only support, and his head lolls to the side. His arms and legs lie askew in the positions they flopped into; palms are upturned, feet are apart, and his mouth is parted just barely—but it's his eyes that disturb Sora the most. They're waxed over and faraway; they still gaze up even when his head hangs, and Sora sees the white rimming the aqua. Whenever he walks closer, the eyelashes flutter.

Sora's dress shoes clack against the wooden floor, and an echo carries the noise. "Riku," he calls. "I'm going home for the night."

Riku's eyes begin to sharpen. He tries hard to focus; some of his fingers twitch.

"I know," Sora says softly as he takes another step. A wall-length mirror decorates the dining room, and Sora wonders if the reflections are anything like Riku's mind: pretty imitations. "It's the medication. It won't always be this bad, though. I promise. The doctor says it'll just take your body a couple of days to get used to it. Something to look forward to, right?"

In his hand he holds envelopes, white and sealed. He smiles and waves them. "I'll pay your bills for this month, so don't worry about them. I'll do whatever I can to help, okay?"

Something wheezes out of Riku's throat. His eyes roll to Sora and widen.

Sora suppresses the urge to shiver. "I'll… come by again tomorrow after work. You'll feel better by tonight. Please remember your pills, Riku."

Little white round pills, 300 milligrams a day—

Riku stands in the shower. Warm water sprays across his form; little rivulets trail down his skin and drip off his hair. When it gets into his eyes, he barely blinks—just stands and stares at the blue tiles without movement or sound.

There's a squeak and water trickles to a stop. It collects and swirls down the drain.

The shower door is opened and a fuzzy towel is wrapped around his shoulders. Hands guide him out of the stall and the towel begins rubbing up and down his arms.

"Always nice to see you spick-and-span," someone says. Red hair invades his vision.

Riku's eyes focus. "Axel."

"I'm home," Axel says as he smiles and uses the towel to pull Riku closer. He buries his face into the nook between neck and shoulder. "You smell good."

Axel smells like his work: machinery and sweat. Riku doesn't mind.

Axel draws him into their bedroom. He sits Riku down on the bed and starts to dry his legs. Momentarily his fingers pause along Riku's inner thigh, but with a sigh, he moves on to dress him.

Contact your healthcare professional for dosage reassessment—

Riku can function now. Sometimes his hands are still shaky—he drops things a lot—but the disorientation has worn and his body has adjusted to the medication. He tries to do all the domestic needs because Axel does all the work (because no one wants Riku to work). Riku makes food, but Axel says never to worry about it because he eats out; Riku does laundry, but Axel says to just sit down because he can do his own; Riku tries to do something, but Axel says he can do everything and Riku should just take care of himself.

Riku tries, tries to even just please Axel in bed, or let Axel please him, but everything feels lethargic and filmed over. His skin is reveled and touched, but he has to concentrate so hard to derive pleasure from it. That good feeling is just underneath the surface but he can't reach it; it's coated over by little white pills.

Axel leans over him in the dark, and his head is hanging. Riku can barely hear him mutter about the medication and how it feels to do more harm than good.

Riku whispers, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Axel says as he rolls off him. He breathes deep and pulls the covers up. "You can't help it. Just go to sleep."

Possible side effects are as follows—

Things have gone missing lately. Physical things he used to see everyday—like gifts from old friends. The stuffed animal Roxas gave him when he was younger is nowhere to be found. He hasn't seen Roxas in months, but he cherishes it all the same.

"I can't find it," Riku murmurs. "Where is it?"

He looks under furniture and in closets, in dresser drawers and in the storage downstairs. He finds old things he forgot he had—like the picture of when he and Sora first met—but he can't find anything Roxas gave him.

His brow is scrunched in worry and he wonders how so many things could have disappeared (he swears it was right there, right there). He doesn't remember misplacing them, because he's always careful with his things, so he checks places a second time, and the horrible feeling in his chest grows and gnaws at him from the inside.

Axel comes home to find Riku sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. As Axel steps closer, Riku glances up, and his face twists angrily as he demands to be told what Axel did with Roxas's things. Axel had to have done something with them; Riku doesn't just lose things like that—it's Axel's fault they're gone. Axel knows where they are; he should give them back—

Axel holds Riku close. "It's the medicine working," he says.

He doesn't let go until Riku stops shaking.

Patients have reported the following positive effects—

Sora visits again while Axel is at work. He sits at the kitchen table while Riku makes sandwiches. Sora smiles and talks conversationally, and Riku responds in kind.

The sandwiches are placed on plates, and the plates are placed on the table. Sora reaches for his, but stops when he sees there are three instead of two.

"Feeling a little hungry, huh, Riku?" he asks, grinning.

"Huh?" Riku blinks slowly, then looks at the prepared food. He tries to hide a smile. "Oh. Not really. Axel's coming home soon, so I fixed him one."

Something flickers in Sora's blue eyes. "Oh. Okay."

Riku pulls out a chair and sits down. Sora munches weakly on his snack, distracted.

"Riku," he says suddenly, "you've been taking your pills, right?"

They've gone through this before. "Of course, Sora. You don't let me forget."

Sora purses his lips. "… Okay."

He falls quiet once more as they finish eating. The silence stretches out, dull, and the third sandwich lies untouched.

"Do you remember Roxas?" Sora asks; his voice cuts through the air loudly.

Riku smirks at the memory, but doesn't meet eye contact. "Yeah, I haven't seen him in a long time."

"That's good."

He glances up, startled, and frowns deeply. "Good? Why? He's a great friend."

The something in Sora's eyes returns, and Riku recognizes it as concern. "Riku," Sora starts slowly, "no one ever saw Roxas but you."

He can't find that stuffed animal.

Riku laughs. "That's stupid, Sora. Why couldn't they? I showed you the stuff he gave me."

Sora remembers staring at the empty space in Riku's hands.

He stares at the untouched food now.

"The pills aren't working right, are they?" he says quietly, looking down at his folded hands. "You need a larger dose. We should talk to the doctor—"

"Sora, stop it," Riku orders sternly, because silly Sora's talking nonsense again. "I'm fine."

Sora tries to reach out, but Riku flinches away. "I'm just trying to help—"

"I don't need it. Axel—"

That's when Sora stands, and he's adamant and furious, because he's been so kind even with no progress and he just wants his best friend back. And he doesn't really mean to shout; it just blurts out because it should be known—

"Axel's been dead for three months!"

A silence falls across the room, more terrifying than before. Riku's eyes are wide, and Sora can see their whites.

Sora pays the bills because Axel's income is low (there's no income at all). Axel doesn't need any food because he eats out (he doesn't eat at all). Axel never has any laundry to do because he does it himself (the clothes are never worn).

"There was no funeral—"

"You didn't attend. You said he was at home with you."

Axel sleeps next to Riku at night—he does; he's right there, and he's coming home soon.

"Riku—"

He's coming home soon. He is.

You'll see.

-fin