Unfinished.

--

With out a heart, it's hard to tell what love is. At the same time it is easy to tell what love isn't. On days like this when a pencil trails over pigment-less paper one thing is for sure: she is alone. It's unfortunate (to say the utter least amount) that everyday is like this, a repetitive cycle of serving the Organization XIII, a group so vile that they manipulate and go so far as to abuse her -- displaying everything love isn't.

A Nobody isn't meant to exist, so perhaps this shouldn't even bother her and maybe it really doesn't. When you can't identify feelings properly, there is almost little keeping you from knowing right from wrong let alone the prospect of finding your own self-identity when your entire being belongs to someone else who is a full entity.

"Naminé?"

Even if she hasn't got a heart and probably has no right to attempt to read into others she can tell with out her blue eyes sliding up to lock a gaze with his cerulean eyes that he wants to know what he's doing here. And indeed he does want to know, his step forward becoming a gradual descent into helping her succumb to an emotional breakdown -- channeling emotions she's sure she doesn't even have, or at least was sure of a moment ago.

A single tear slides down her cheek, it almost blends into her skin fully and she's sure it's doomed to be unnoticed.

"I just wanted to see you."

He can't fathom why he feels like he knows her so well. He doesn't know her at all. The only thing he sees in her that he knows is Kairi. He knows he'll never have Kairi and he might never have his best friend back, so for whatever reason when he sees the emotion running down her face he almost feels like he can understand. Kairi may never be his, Sora may never forgive him for turning to the Darkness but Naminé has never had a friend.

Still, the look of perplexity must have crept onto his face and rather swiftly because he hadn't had time to clear it off and the girl had gotten up.

"Wait -" A hand reached out, unsteadily and it settled on her shoulder. It wasn't as though she had anywhere to run; no other way than to turn her back against him but it was still not a meaningless gesture. He'd never been one with words so he doesn't know what to say next and while he tries to figure out what's happening between the two he takes a moment to take her in.

Why had she done it?

Was it the loneliness? The feeling of utter, pure loneliness and nothing but shadows reflecting off the walls of white she was surrounded by? Was it the longing for love, an emotion she couldn't feel? Was it for someone to speak to, to pay her any mind that would perhaps be meaningful but all the same -- a deliberate lie crafted by herself?

The Witch isn't even sure but when she looks up at those eyes, she suddenly doesn't feel bad about leading him here anymore. It might've been against his will and he could've been angry but he was looking at her with strangely soft, understanding eyes that seemed to mirror her pains.

A mass of white was sinking into his chest, blonde hair splayed along his torso as the girl wept silently. Slowly, his arms moved around her figure in a position he'd longed to hold her Other in for a while and also always envisioned Sora winning. Though, he felt like the winner now and there was no hint of competition. There was no Sora in sight, there was nothing -- not even a drawing laden around the room that hinted of him being summoned up anytime.