Oneshot. AkuRoku. Roxas is running from the Organization. Read and Review Please.

It was all a matter of running. Running fast enough, long enough, hard enough, just enough, not stopping, not fighting, just running through the swimming and churning shadows in the spaces between the rays of neon lights to get from one dead end to the next to the turn now and don't look back because no one would miss him anyways. There was no pain in his hurried footsteps and leaps and dodges and tripping only to catch himself because there was no one beside him pulling him along even though he sword he felt a hand grip his wrist in a fiery touch with every stumble so that he didn't fall.

But there was someone hunting him, only a few steps behind him, matching his pace as soon as he sped up, never able to escape, only able to run and prolong what he heard was waiting for him, what was to be his fate should he be brought back, what no one could save him from, and maybe not even himself.

This world was a prison, after all. Just an empty existence of a town with nothing but unanswered incomplete existences of its own born of the incompleteness of others who lost purpose – and if that was true, what was the purpose of those born from no purpose, of nonexistence, of nothing but incompleteness. He couldn't answer that, he couldn't think too long, he had to keep running, from the shadows, the pursuer, the fate, the Organization, and from the only person he ever had the ability to trust and even care about, but even that wasn't enough, was it. Even that wasn't completeness, and it wasn't even care if there wasn't a heart to care with.

What could it be called, what could they be called, if they were nothingness in abundance, bound by what seemed like skin, bones, and muscle, muscles built to fight and hurt and run and run and run. What could it be called if he knew that he had to leave Axel behind as he ran, and he knew that he would find something worth his while outside of the Organization, but he still wanted to turn back to the green eyes glinting in melancholy and worry, burdened with things that couldn't be said because all of what they were stood to contradict them.

So he ran, to find substance, to find life, to find more than what he was, to hope that someday he could feel a pulse when he touched Axel's hand. He ran as hard as he could, to explain away the breaking in his lungs as fatigue rather than what it was but never could be.

He halted in the waves of heartless and called his keyblades and looked up at the tower. And saw someone familiar but lost in the recesses of his mind. And he knew.

Some things he just couldn't run away from.

And he would lose the only thing he ever held close to something he never understood.

And as he lifted the blades to cut the hordes back, a small crack echoed in his chest, and a distant voice echoed a name that would be forgotten.

He stopped running.

He stopped.