Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts I, II or CoM. It belongs to Disney and Square Enix.

Warnings: Character death.

Author’s Notes: I got my second Cervical Cancer vaccination today. It hurts like a bitch, has made me carsick and the back of my knuckles are sore and irritated. I’m cold. I have to go to my Father’s tomorrow. I can’t find my download. Windows Movie Maker won’t work. I’m rather pissed with the world, which is why I’ve reverted to crappy drabbles of murder and cheating and stuff like that. Forgive me.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, look at how you dance.

You watch as he twists and turns on the dancefloor, long silver hair swaying with the steady thumping of the beat. His hips rotate and grind against various other males, and his aqua-toxic eyes - ohsotoxic, poison – are half lidded.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, what tight clothes you wear.

He wears clothes so tight that nothing is left to the imagination, the top fishnet and black, allowing you to catch sight of his pink, dusky nipples pierced with silver, and the bottom short and clinging to his elegant hips, his shapely bare legs shaven shiny and delicious looking – ohsodeliciousiwantodevouryou – while his long swanlike neck is bared for all to see, and suckle upon.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, what bright drinks you gulp.

He’s stopped dancing, and is sitting in some man’s lap, all flirtatious giggles and laughter – suchcruelcruellaughter. He accepts the drinks the men give to him, wrapping pink cherry lips around the straws.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, your eyes are so dilated.

He accepts the drink you send him easily enough, and he gulps it down, mindless of the drugs you’ve slipped into it. His eyes are dilated, his lips parted, and his breathing heavy - SoraSoraSoraI’mcoming! –and he squirms in discomfort. You wait until the drug has really set in, before sauntering over, all dark blue eyes and tanned skin and spiky hair, and say, “Come with me, Riku”

The little fool nods and stands.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, all bloodied on the ground

You hit and slap and kick, your anger a bitter taste in your mouth. His mouth is gagged, his body bare, and the blood – – is a sweet contrast against his cream skin. Peaches and cream, you think joyously, and take your pretty knife and push it into his heart.

Pretty boy, pretty boy, why don’t you breathe anymore?