Set in Neverland, directly after the battle between Aqua and Vanitas.

DISCLAIMER [I do not own Kingdom Hearts, or that Quote below the Title] DISCLAIMER


How fortunate it would be to be your tears...
To be born in your eyes, to live on your cheeks, and to die at your lips…

His keyblade soared high into the air, deflected by one of her powerful strikes, landing with a clatter on the ground. But she was exhausted, her grip on her own keyblade weakening. She did not even have the strength to follow with an attack while he was vulnerable. She barely had the strength to stand at all. If he did not yet fall defeated, then she would.

But it seemed that fortune was on her side. There was a thud as her opponent fell onto the ground, flat on his back. He breathed out a sigh of defeat, consciousness escaping him. His body lay limp, lifeless to the tips of his fingers.

"I've done it... He's…finally…finished…" said the blue-haired Keyblade Master. But she, too, eventually succumbed to the exhaustion from battle. Her last thoughts were with her friends, her sight on the vast blue ocean, glittering as though brimming with a thousand diamonds…

He woke first, dazed, disoriented.

She was more powerful than he had first thought. It was supposed to be easy; he was supposed to take her life now that he no longer needed her. Perhaps she did deserve the title Master after all. He scoffed, and hissed as the pain of his injuries struck him, but he promptly ignored them.

Why, he wondered, did she leave him alive?

He stood, first unsteady, but he recovered quickly, and his vision slowly cleared. And when he noticed her, lying mere feet from him, still unconscious, he laughed. "You should have made certain I was dead," he said, mocking. He summoned his keyblade and walked towards her. "For that mistake, you will have to pay with your life."

He dared to laugh again when he reached her. It was almost too easy. There was no response from her at all. He nudged her with his boot, making her lie on her back. As soon as he did, however, he had to jump back, taking an offensive stance.

Were those…tears…?

He waited a moment, cautious. But when she did not rise, did not move at all, he approached again. He had the point of his keyblade at her neck when he reached her. He studied her face. Her cheeks were lined with wet streaks, connecting her long, dark lashes with the corners of her soft, pink lips.

With narrowed eyes concealed by the shadowy visor of his helmet, he murmured, "Why…are you crying?" Was she really? Crying unconsciously?

Guardedly, he knelt down so as to lean closer. He still held his keyblade steady, in case she woke. They were definitely tears, marring the Keyblade Master's otherwise flawless face. He felt an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation stir within him. Frowning, he removed his helmet and laid it aside, finally dismissing his keyblade at the obvious absence of threat.

He stared at her, as unmoving as she was, watching. His lips tightened into a deeper frown as a newborn teardrop peeked from under her lashes. It followed the path created by the tears that preceded it, refilling the rivulet that already ran along her cheek, before finally fading on her lips.

Slowly, he slipped the glove off his left hand. And tentatively, he touched her cheek with his fingertips. The contact lasted half a second, and then he drew back.

She was so warm…

As he hesitated, yet another tear made the journey, and he felt the same unfamiliar sensation assault him again. He gritted his teeth. He brought his face closer to hers, his fingers brushing away the stray strands of hair that rested across her temple.

"Stop," he whispered, commanded. "No more…" A desperate plea that did not suit his voice.

He brought his fingertips to her cheek once more, this time to wipe away her tears. No more followed. So close to her, he could inhale her sweet scent, and feel the warmth of her breath on his lips. He was vaguely aware that every time she exhaled, a tiny breeze was dancing from between her lips and soaring to his own. He wondered what it would feel like to close the distance between them, to catch that tiny breeze before it escaped her lips…

Curiosity got the better of him, stifling his judgment. He leaned still closer, intending to touch his lips to hers, to find out what it would feel like, taste like. And the distance between them was only a hair's breadth, when he felt a sharp jolt. It was as if a shock, like lightning, had prevented their lips from meeting. It brought him back to his senses and he stood. He wore both his glove and helmet, wresting control of his emotions.

He was breathing deeply, desperate for air that was free of her intoxicating scent, desperate to clear his mind of whatever enchantment it was that pulled him to such ridiculous actions.

He turned away from her, his thoughts disturbed.

What was that feeling?

Where did it come from?

Why did I touch her?

Why did I try to kiss her?

Why could I…not kiss her…?

He cursed at the last thought. Before him, a shadowy doorway appeared. He stole one last look at her over his shoulder, and, for a moment, he envied her tears.

How fortunate they are, he thought, that they are born from your eyes, that they live caressing your face, and, in death, they are a kiss on your lips…

He smirked.


It felt so good to have a familiar, dark emotion course through him once again.

He walked into the darkness, vowing silently that he will kill her, knowing that he must. The next time they meet, there will be no more hesitations. He does not need her. And to want her…was simply unacceptable…

(Continued in
To Die at Your Lips II)

Thank You