Author's Comments:This is a short one shot written as a Valentine's gift for A Heart For My Nobody. It's probably the closest I've ever gotten to portraying my view of Sora/Riku. Thanks for reading!

Sora had a birthmark on his knee, thirteen freckles on his left arm, and a tan line from the watch he wore on his right wrist—the watch he'd worn almost everyday until he went swimming and learned it wasn't water proof—and Riku was sick of being in love. Was sick of counting Sora's birthmarks and freckles and tan lines. Because Sora's birthmark looked like a goldfish, and Sora might have new freckles under his tee-shirt sleeve—but Riku doubted it—and because the watch had been a present from Kairi. Because Sora was his best friend, and Kairi was a hair's breadth away from being Sora's girlfriend.

Kairi would kiss Sora's cheek and Riku would wonder, stupidly, what Sora's skin tasted like, smelled like, felt like. Like salt and pancakes he imagined, like sunshine and sand, like palm leaves and kittens. He'd imagine it until it was something tangible, until he could close his eyes and surround himself with it. Riku had it bad. He'd stopped eating, because when he thought about Sora—which was all the time—his stomach did back flips and tied itself into knots, and food—just the idea of food—made him feel nauseous. He'd also stopped sleeping, since he couldn't turn his brain off. Instead he'd lie awake in bed and pretend Sora was with him, telling him secrets and dreams.

Sora sat with Riku on top of the shed, alone in the summer twilight, and ate a paopu—which was extra juicy this time of year, and some of that juice was dripping off Sora's chin. Riku admired Sora's smile, and hated himself. Sora took another bite out of his paopu and put his hand down on top of Riku's; and that was awkward, because Sora hadn't held his hand in two years. And Sora caught on, noticed the way Riku's shoulders tensed, but probably not the way it became increasingly difficult for him to swallow, and turned to him and smiled, his eyes closed. And Riku wanted to kiss him, more than he'd wanted any thing in his life—or at least it felt that way—wanted to tangle his hand in Sora's hair and kiss his smile—hoped he'd keep smiling, because he wondered what it would feel like to kiss that smile.

Sora opened his eyes and Riku's breath caught, because Sora was beautiful and Riku was stupidly, crazily, dangerously in love. Sora took another bite of his paopu and held it out to Riku. Riku almost said, "I love you," probably would have—might have even kissed him—if Sora's mother hadn't called his name. As it was Riku took the proffered paopu, and watched Sora hop off the roof, waved goodbye to him, nodded when Sora said "see you tomorrow," and took a bite of the half fruit in his hand. It wasn't until much later, when the sun had fully set and he was sure Sora was in his house that Riku said "I love you," and kissed the paopu—which tasted like Sora would have. Riku hated being in love.