a/n: whoa.. and it's actually sort of faintly canon-ish. yay.
i've had this in my head for forever. actually got around to writing it... like 2 months ago.
posted tonight! chyah. for (the awesome, hilarious, amazing) cait.

regardless of raspberries:

Despite what people said, they weren't the same person. Wise bystanders explained so calm and smiling and lying and completely oblivious, This is the way things were meant to be. Nobodies had nobody to be. So what was wrong with having that lowly, little nobody sewn back together with a high and mighty and brunette hero at the seams? It was right. They were whole.

Whole. Wholly fucking insane.

And Sora always knew his thoughts weren't his. But, at the same time, they weren't not his, so what did it matter?

He understood. This was right, right? So when he found himself in Twilight Town telling Olette that the summer homework was a total drag, he thought nothing of it. He smiled like the clueless little Keyblade boy that he was and said he must have been dreaming. And he kept his toes carefully behind the line and grinned and grinned and grinned until it hurt to see color.

So it was comforting to know that while Sora dreamt in splashes of rainbow, Roxas dreamt in black & white—like beautiful poetry.

(while Naminé never dreamt at all.)

But, naturally, Sora was the heart and Roxas was the shell and edges and bitterness. Even all put together and sewn up while they both tried to convince themselves that they were Sora. He was Sora. Fully and completely. (Except that Sora smiled less and Roxas existed even less than he had before.) Even so— they weren't good enough.

And they were both so fucking sick of pretending— of course.

Sometimes Sora dreamt of Kairi and Roxas knew that all he was supposed to see was the blond, the ice and the pale around the edges. And sometimes Roxas made-believe that he dreamt of Naminé. (Sometimes he made-believe that he didn't remember seeing her back at the Organization. That he hadn't been just like the rest of them.) Sometimes Roxas dreamt of Kairi too—and Sora was the one who had to sit and shake next to her while he tried to sort his thoughts from his thoughts… But it was okay. It was just that Sora was too tired to think anymore. Eventually, he stopped hanging out with Kairi all together.

And still dreamt of her as much as he didn't see her.

But Roxas was too tired of pretending he was going to be the same person as Sora and of pretending that Naminé was Kairi's little clone and that it was okay and he was okay and the truth was that he was going insane.

It was Sora's heartbeat that went crazy with the anger.

And Roxas was only ever a shadow in the back of his mind.

There were colorful dreams of beaches and heartless and vivacity and adventure and laughing and red hair—beautiful, childish, naïve.

There were grayscale dreams of people who weren't people and light and adventure and smirking and red hair—poetry, pure, twisted.

They were so damn twisted.

(Kairi had to clench her fists to pretend she didn't love it.)

With dreams and thoughts and all wrapping around each other too blue, too blue, too blue. There's blond and brunette and one day Sora finds himself sitting alone in a dark neon city and sobbing on the pavement about something he doesn't remember. And try as he might, he can't recall why he wanted to forget.

Occasionally, they both wondered if someone else was lurking around in the shadows of Sora's head and it was times like this when he felt like he was going to explode and he ran and he went and he flew and he ended up nearly killing Leon in a tournament. (Stabbing the lion when he's down?) Oh my God, he was so sorry. And Roxas wasn't.

And there's something else that's maybe somewhere between yellow and brown and too blue, true blue, and…

Despite what they told themselves (each other), they weren't the same person.

So when Roxas peeks out through Sora's eyes and he sees that red-haired girl standing in Sor—Rox—Sora's doorway yelling at them both (or that's what he tells himself), he is the one who pulls out a grin on the same face he remembers seeing the mirror in a nice, little bedroom with imaginary parents and friends made of pixels. (A part of SoraRoxasSoraSora reflects on the fact that, essentially, it was this girl who did it to him.) But, then again, that would mean that it was Sora who smirked at a little blond girl locked in a birdcage.

And that would mean that it's Kairi who's still frowning at bit that Sora had been locked in a mind cage and she'd made it up from scratch. Drawn it. Ripped apart his memories—put one-sided versions of real people in place of emptiness. Put fake feelings in the place of a void.

At these thoughts, that Nobody boy sinks back into the obscurity and it really is Sora when he tells Kairi to come in.

Sora notices that her hair is like raspberries. And somewhere in his head there's laughter. It's more like fall leaves, really— Roxas tells his self. And his (perfect, innocent, brunette) self has never seen autumn.

RoxasSoraRoxasRoxas notices everything about her as she breezes past him and it's still Sora that she saved. Wrapped him up in those creamy, thin, strong arms and saved him. He's the heart and Roxas is just the shell.

Sometimes he counts the times in a day he tells himself that.

And his self doesn't appreciate it.

So, that red-haired girl frowns slightly as she looks up at him and says, "You know, Sora… you've changed." Just when she'd told him not to.

He'd gone from Sora to Sora & Roxas to SoraRoxas—and once in a while he tries to find the places where one starts and the other stops.

"I know," says Sora. Says Roxas.

There's this look in her eyes when she studies him.

Something stops. Something starts.

It's Roxas who kisses her—imagine that: the little nobody just a bit braver than the heart. A little more feeling. And it's Sora's hands that rest on her jawbone and it's his thumbs that count her heartbeats from behind her ears. It's Roxas who feels her eyes close, feels her kiss him back, feels those creamy, thin, strong arms around the small of his back, feels, feels, feels.

It's intoxicating.

For a second Sora forgets he's got someone else in his head, forgets to feel selfish. For a second Roxas forgets that he's not a blond-haired 15-year-old from Twilight Town, not really a Roxas at all. For a second, they manage to forget.

But the second passes and the too-blue, too-blue eyes shoot open.

And just for that half of a moment, it's Naminé whose lips are on his and whose hair is all tangled around his fingers. And who's looking so happy for that moment—feels Sora's arms, feels Sora's lips, feels Sora's feelings, and she feels, feels, feels. Feels him pulling away.

Then it's red hair and indigo eyes and quizzical glances up at him.

They all feel so much that Roxas wonders laughingly if this counts as an orgy and Sora obviously doesn't get it.

But then there's this bit of realization behind those eyes. (He wonders who she sees.) This bit where she bites her lip and looks away like, You caught me. The bit where KairiKairiNaminéKairi stares at the floor and she says softly, "I'm sorry."

And they're all so fucking sick of pretending that he kisses her again. Whoever they are. It's a boy and a girl and it's fiery and it's distracting and it's sick and it's right and wrong and it's a kissing contradiction. It's a string made of blue and blue and blue and blue and somewhere between dark and light—

Wrong, wrong and it's Sora and Roxas and Kairi and Naminé. They all know that this isn't how it's supposed to be.

Whoever they are.

They know.

That two of them are bleeding hearts—that the other two don't really have hearts at all—that it should be how it's supposed to be and it isn't, it isn't, it isn't.

But they try so hard.