' hey, riku ! ' he calls, his voice more so an echo as he appears beside riku in the blink of an eye. ' you're not gonna believe what i found ... ' a slight smirk, as a small, wooden, sword is revealed from behind his back. ' i'm surprised they held up after all these years ... but, here ! ' his grin is assuring as he offers the toy, his presence almost transparent as his words turn into a sort of mumble.
“ you’re not gonna believe what i found. ”
funny, riku thinks to himself, i could say the same about you.
against every aching and need that riku has to believe in what he sees, in what he hears ( the echoes aren’t close enough to him, and he knows exactly what that means ), he doesn’t believe his eyes -- not really. all the same, he makes no move to disprove it; in fact, he doesn’t even allow himself a breath, lest it take him away again.
he isn’t here. he knows that. he thinks about it too often not to be brutally and uncomfortably aware of the fact that sora dove in, brought back their best friend, and never came out with her again -- he knows too well the gravity of the danger his best friend is in, and yet, he looks at him as though he’s really here, and not just a ghost of a memory.
he knows better, but his heart doesn’t. it’s that which clings desperately to the scene unfolding before him, and it’s that which draws his lips apart and takes out his voice, against his better judgment. “ ... what is it, sora? what did you find? ”
i didn’t really find you, did i?
presented to him with clarity too strong to be a daydream, but too foggy to be tangible, is a wooden toy that he’d truly never thought he’d see again; that he never thought to consider whether he might, until it was there, right in front of him. “ i'm surprised they held up after all these years ... but, here !”
riku wants to smile, wants to breathe, wants to -- what doesn’t he want about this? he wants him, and right then, he doesn’t care that it’s not real. he’s not here. slow and shaking, instinct draws his hand out to reach for the toy, but it hovers over the handle in hesitance, eyes locked in sora’s gaze and desperately clinging. he’s not here. something in the way sora looks back at him prompts his hand to close, something that says come on, just take it! and he doesn’t hear that part anymore, but he feels it.
... just -- don’t go, anyway?
just, stay?the sound of his glove closing in on itself around nothing but air is what grounds him in the end -- and both the sword and sora are, as they have been, long gone. riku’s eyes bore straight ahead where sora had been and the ocean crashes louder at his feet, the sun dipping lower and faster into the horizon. in the middle of swallowing past a choked on sob, riku clutches that glove over his heart and rapidly blinks tear-heavy eyelashes, all in attempt to stop his cheeks from wetting.
