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Kingdom Hearts: Unknown, Drink and Be Merry, Becoming Real
Warnings: Three disconnected Nobody drabbles, some very short, some less very short. None especially shippy except for apparently a Sora/Namine...? Because Kay is weird like that. No spoilers for KH2 (unless you didn't know Roxas was in OXIII, in which case, sorry?) but kind of one for KH:CoM in the last drabble.
.unknown.
He felt armored, each definitive thud of heavy black boots against the marble floor reinforcing his strength, thickening his skin. The thick black trenchcoat, the fitted black gloves, the shrouding hood that hung low over his face... They were his shield against the emptiness. Without them he was a boy with no heart and no memories; with them, he was a Nobody, and in an odd way, that made him somebody.
"We go now to the Castle That Never Was," Xemnas had told him, "where the Organization makes its home. This will be your new home as well. And the Organization shall be as your brothers..."
But the Number Thirteen didn't believe in brotherly bonds. They were a conclave of the similar: they respected only strength and if he faltered they would devour him, too weak to be one of the pack.
That was fine, Roxas thought. He would do the same. He was armored and ready for this battle.
* * *
.drink and be merry.
The first time Axel really appeared to notice that Roxas was young was when they were at a bar in the former Radiant Garden. The redhead said cheerfully, "A mug for me and my friend," and the bartender said with wide eyes, "Your friend is a little underage, don't you think?"
Axel blinked and swung back around to stare at Roxas as if never having seen him before. Roxas folded his arms and tried not to look irritated. It had been a mistake to take down his hood, even if it would have been glaringly conspicuous to keep it on. Other people were not like Nobodies -- weren't like Axel -- they saw the surface and didn't know any better, didn't know the depth of determination and the void where fragile emotions should have been.
They saw only the surface.
He had been enjoying this and now it was going to end. Axel was going to treat him differently: talk down to him, second-guess him, humor him. The friendship (so close to real, so almost the real thing) that had been growing would cease being equal. Born in mutual admiration and a recognition of strength... killed by a single offhanded observation.
"Maybe," Axel drawled, turning back to look at the bartender. "And maybe you're a little deaf? I said a mug for me and my friend."
The bartender puffed up slightly as if to argue, but a single look into two pairs of flat eyes, one startling green and the other piercing blue and both cold enough to freeze his fragile pride in his throat, and he deflated again and skittered off to fulfill the order.
Axel exhaled, a sullen sound, as he leaned against the table on his elbows. "Prissy bastard. Thinks a little beer is going to hurt you; he's never seen you take down two dozen Heartless in fifteen seconds."
Roxas lifted a gloved hand to rub at his face so that Axel wouldn't see him smiling. He said, "You never know. The beer in this place could be bad enough to give two dozen Heartless a run for their money."
* * *
.becoming real.
She stayed in the White Room, although she didn't have to, not anymore. She could have gone anywhere, gone with him, or left, if she'd wanted. He had asked her to come with him. But she was worried that without her he would fall apart, and so she stayed where she could save him if things got worse.
Curled up on her chair, she drew. A rose in a glass case, an ancient vase on a pedestal, a treasure trove deep underground. She was getting better, she thought. Her art was becoming more real. The thought warmed her, even though the White Room was always cold.
Often she drew a brunet boy and his friends, or things they had seen in their adventures. Sometimes she drew a blond boy all in black, and then she felt guilty. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort -- perhaps she should tell him -- surely they would be happier together -- but then she thought about becoming whole herself and she let them be.
He came to visit her a lot, although he was still searching for his friend. He sat with her and smiled at her and touched her hand gently and it thrilled her somewhere deep inside to know that this time it was for her... really, genuinely for her.
"I'm sorry," she told him every time they were together, and he told her every time, "It's okay. I'm not angry anymore. Are you happy?"
Namine curled her fingers around his hand and watched him lean close without thinking about it, waiting tensely on her answer, willing to be sad or relieved on her behalf, and she said honestly, "Yes. I am happy."
He broke into a dazzling smile. "Then it was worth it."
If this wasn't what it was like to have a heart, then she had no interest in having one. She didn't need to be whole. This was all she wanted.
.unknown.
He felt armored, each definitive thud of heavy black boots against the marble floor reinforcing his strength, thickening his skin. The thick black trenchcoat, the fitted black gloves, the shrouding hood that hung low over his face... They were his shield against the emptiness. Without them he was a boy with no heart and no memories; with them, he was a Nobody, and in an odd way, that made him somebody.
"We go now to the Castle That Never Was," Xemnas had told him, "where the Organization makes its home. This will be your new home as well. And the Organization shall be as your brothers..."
But the Number Thirteen didn't believe in brotherly bonds. They were a conclave of the similar: they respected only strength and if he faltered they would devour him, too weak to be one of the pack.
That was fine, Roxas thought. He would do the same. He was armored and ready for this battle.
* * *
.drink and be merry.
The first time Axel really appeared to notice that Roxas was young was when they were at a bar in the former Radiant Garden. The redhead said cheerfully, "A mug for me and my friend," and the bartender said with wide eyes, "Your friend is a little underage, don't you think?"
Axel blinked and swung back around to stare at Roxas as if never having seen him before. Roxas folded his arms and tried not to look irritated. It had been a mistake to take down his hood, even if it would have been glaringly conspicuous to keep it on. Other people were not like Nobodies -- weren't like Axel -- they saw the surface and didn't know any better, didn't know the depth of determination and the void where fragile emotions should have been.
They saw only the surface.
He had been enjoying this and now it was going to end. Axel was going to treat him differently: talk down to him, second-guess him, humor him. The friendship (so close to real, so almost the real thing) that had been growing would cease being equal. Born in mutual admiration and a recognition of strength... killed by a single offhanded observation.
"Maybe," Axel drawled, turning back to look at the bartender. "And maybe you're a little deaf? I said a mug for me and my friend."
The bartender puffed up slightly as if to argue, but a single look into two pairs of flat eyes, one startling green and the other piercing blue and both cold enough to freeze his fragile pride in his throat, and he deflated again and skittered off to fulfill the order.
Axel exhaled, a sullen sound, as he leaned against the table on his elbows. "Prissy bastard. Thinks a little beer is going to hurt you; he's never seen you take down two dozen Heartless in fifteen seconds."
Roxas lifted a gloved hand to rub at his face so that Axel wouldn't see him smiling. He said, "You never know. The beer in this place could be bad enough to give two dozen Heartless a run for their money."
* * *
.becoming real.
She stayed in the White Room, although she didn't have to, not anymore. She could have gone anywhere, gone with him, or left, if she'd wanted. He had asked her to come with him. But she was worried that without her he would fall apart, and so she stayed where she could save him if things got worse.
Curled up on her chair, she drew. A rose in a glass case, an ancient vase on a pedestal, a treasure trove deep underground. She was getting better, she thought. Her art was becoming more real. The thought warmed her, even though the White Room was always cold.
Often she drew a brunet boy and his friends, or things they had seen in their adventures. Sometimes she drew a blond boy all in black, and then she felt guilty. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort -- perhaps she should tell him -- surely they would be happier together -- but then she thought about becoming whole herself and she let them be.
He came to visit her a lot, although he was still searching for his friend. He sat with her and smiled at her and touched her hand gently and it thrilled her somewhere deep inside to know that this time it was for her... really, genuinely for her.
"I'm sorry," she told him every time they were together, and he told her every time, "It's okay. I'm not angry anymore. Are you happy?"
Namine curled her fingers around his hand and watched him lean close without thinking about it, waiting tensely on her answer, willing to be sad or relieved on her behalf, and she said honestly, "Yes. I am happy."
He broke into a dazzling smile. "Then it was worth it."
If this wasn't what it was like to have a heart, then she had no interest in having one. She didn't need to be whole. This was all she wanted.