That's the thing about passion; obsession. You’ll always need more than you'll ever even know.

He sees her in the sun, by the sea, and he likes to see her alive. But he watches her fast asleep, too, and he likes that maybe just a little bit better. She's got swing to her step when she's awake; a soul. But with her eyes masked by lashes and lids, camera shutter down, it's like she's a bit closer to what he is right now.

He knows what it's like to hold her, lifeless and cold; memorizing her bloodlines like connect-the-dot constellation strokes guiding the sky. Playing trace-the-trail, to the horizon; to the part of her lips.

Sometimes? Her breathing gets less calm and she starts to toss and he knows what she's thinking of: stories of abyss-things and castle-homes she can't call her own anymore. And he wants to say, say, say it: What's wrong, Princess? I can make it better, promise, just trust this. But first it's gotta get worse.

Reach for that horizon.

And he's far far away before she snaps awake and screams.

--

"Kairi?"

There's a sandcastle between them, lopsided and dripping with high-tide decay. Everything smells like seabreeze and sun; sand baking under the everglow.

"Yeah, Riku?"

His voice feels tugged and twisted, spiralling tight in his throat. Clawed hands are wrapped around his heart, and he knows it—of course he knows it. He let his shadow right in, all on his own.

"There's something in me I don't trust," he tells her, because he has to. "Something that isn't me, and it's--it's after you, too."

Her eyes are wide, but she takes it calm. She says, "You're stronger than it. I know you are. And," hand in his, eye to eye, she smiles. "I trust you."

But even the tide-crash wave-splash backdrop sounds like mocking laughter.

—

Originally posted at livejournal; 12-08-07.

Written for i AM the Random Idiot.