As Roxas opens the door to the mansion foyer, his breaths are coming in hard and shallow, his heart pounding and his head pounding even harder. He feels a disconnect to the world, like his feet aren't really touching the ground as he runs down the stairs - he feels like he should be keeping his eyes down just in case the next step isn't there, and he'd fall into some black nothingness and disappear.

Disappear. That's what Naminé had said. He just wants to know. He has to know. That's why he can keep his eyes forward - he's looking for her, any sign of her.

It's a sensation that feels somehow familiar. This frantic, nigh panicked searching. The fear of not knowing what may lie next. He has felt it before - he knows he has, because he can tell before it happens that the world in front of him could start spinning any second.

Of course, foreseeing this doesn't help him prevent it, and it's right at the end of the stairs that he falls forward, landing with a thud on the floor.

For a moment he doesn't get up. He lays on the floor as the pain spreads through this body, dull compared to the aftereffects even of whatever happened to his head in Naminé's room. Part of him wants to just keep laying here, to keep laying here and fall asleep and wake up in his room, having forgotten about all of this. But that won't happen, and he knows it won't - and even more than that, deep down, it's not what he wants.

He has to know. Everything. What Naminé meant, and who he is.

Yet still he can't seem to bring himself to get up.

He grips the keyblade tightly - so tight he can feel every groove of the grip digging into his hand. He simultaneously feels the strongest need to throw this thing, whatever it was, as far as he can away from him, but also to keep it close, to hold it like it's precious. The former makes sense to him - ever since this thing showed up, his life has just been going downhill. The latter, not so much. But the feeling is there. Perhaps it's the way the grip always seems warm to the touch. Not just warm, but familiar.

Somehow, he manages to lift his head.

In front of him is the table in the center of the room - the underside of it to be more exact - but what makes him look again is the… paper? laying on the floor in front of him.

He doesn't have time for this. But still, now he feels the strength to sit up, and so he does, getting on his knees and scooting forward a bit before reaching out and picking up the paper. It feels a bit warm, too, which he thinks is odd, because it wasn't in the sunlight.

He unfolds it with a delicate touch. Not because it looks fragile, but because he just… feels like he should. Inside, he's met with light, almost dainty handwriting.

Dear Roxas, if you ever find this,

Instantly he feels like the inside of his head is being split apart again. He nearly drops the paper, but manages to onto it tight. Still, his hands come to his head, because he feels like if he doesn't hold it together it's going to fall apart right off of him. He might've screamed - he's not sure, he can't hear, he can't hear anything over the pain, and not the one in his head, but the sudden, new one in his chest.

A few moments pass and he feels like he can open his eyes. His breaths are shaky and his hands shakier. He takes a deep breath, and then another, trying to get his eyes to focus again on the handwriting. His mind is swimming with questions, too many to count, and if even one is going to get answered in this mystery letter then it'll be worth this pain.

He starts to read again.

Dear Roxas, if you ever find this,

I want to start off by apologizing. I hope I can apologize to you in person, but the next time I see you, I may be too far gone. So I want to say it here: I'm sorry.

Actually, there's a lot of things I want to say. Now that I know what's coming, I feel like there's so many things I want to say… and things that I regret not saying.

But I don't even know how much time I have to do this. So I want to say what's most important.

Roxas, be happy. Be happy and take care of yourself. I'm scared that when you find out the truth… that you'll feel like you're less of a person… that's not true. Roxas, you are you, and nobody else. All those times we spent together, all those times you made me smile no matter how sad I was, just because you are you… that's proof.

Even if I'm just a replica, just a tool, my time with you makes me glad I was made. Tell that to Axel for me, too. I'm happy he was able to call me one of his best friends… I feel the same way about him.

Even if not even a memory of me remains, I'll always be thinking of you. So I'll always be with you, Roxas. And I think I can be happy knowing that. Because I guess this is how things are meant to be.

Thank you for everything. I'll miss those sunsets, those ice creams, and you.

Love,

And it ends. He flips it over to the other side - nothing. His head is in so much pain he really feels like he might pass out, and as he's staring again at the very end of it - "Love," - it gets worse each passing second. Yet he can't stop staring. Who? Who wrote this? It was signed - it was. It must have been. He knows it was. But for some reason, it's blank.

He reads the letter again, because maybe he missed something, maybe there's an answer here somewhere, instead of just more questions. His heart is drumming against his chest, deafening out any other sounds - except -

Sometimes, as he's reading, he finds himself reading it to himself in a girl's voice - it's familiar - it's soft, light, and -

And then he loses it, and he can't hear it anymore, and he can't remember how it sounded - was it even a girl?

Again he gets to the end of the letter. What was this person even writing about? It didn't make any sense. It somehow made less sense than everything around him.

Perhaps they were writing to another Roxas, he thinks, but it's an idea he immediately discards. No. This letter was meant for him. It definitely was. He knows. He knows because he knows the person who wrote it - ocean blue eyes and the softest black hair and -

He nearly doubles over, hands shaking as he tightly holds his head in the agony.

This time, it's at least a few minutes - though it feels more like hours - before he sits upright again.

He looks back down at the letter, his eyes moving to where it finishes. "Love…"

His head still hurts - a lot - but it feels dull. Now it's his chest, he feels like there's a vice around it, squeezing around his heart as it turns to lead and sinks down his body. The back of his eyes sting and feel hot.

Somehow, though, even though in more ways than one he feels a hundred times worse than he did ten minutes ago, he stands up. He can feel strength in his body, and the fear of finding out what Naminé meant wanes. Not that he's not scared - he is, but now, he feels like he can do it. Perhaps, truly, as this person says… he's not alone.

He has no reason to believe this letter. There have been so many weird things happening, and he has no way or reason to discern what's real and what isn't, and what or who he can trust.

But right now, for the first time in days, he feels sure.

He carefully folds the letter and pockets it. In his other hand, he holds the warm grip of the keyblade tighter, but now with a touch of gentleness - it's precious, he thinks, like the letter in his pocket.

As he stands up, he can feel the tears that he didn't realize were in his eyes rolling down his cheeks. And then he wipes them away, puts one foot in front of the other, and keeps going.

at the end of roxas's segment in kh2, thought of this and wrote it down... why did the letter continue to exist (especially in the virtual reality) even if xion didn't? why was it under the table and not in naminé's room or something? shhh, i don't know either because this is self indulgent trash, sorry

on the very off chance anyone who's reading this is following my jumilla fic (thank you!), i promise i haven't abandoned that, the next chapter is all laid out just.. not... written yet.

more importantly, thanks to anyone who read the fic and my notes too. it's greatly appreciated!