4A/N: Written as a request to the prompt 'breaking point' for someone on livejournal, crossposted to ffn by my friend's request.
Anyways, I'm not quite sure what happened to this fic. I ended up reworking nearly all of the original draft and it kind of went off in it's own direction. I fear it may have turned into some kind of cliché, overdone fic, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. ;;
I hate him, he thought with furious conviction. I hate him, I hate him. He repeated this statement over and over in his mind as he slashed through the hordes of Heartless—Heartless, Heartless, nothing but an endless swarm of Heartless. But it was always like this in the Dark City, and he welcomed them, effortlessly cutting them down with his Keyblades.
He didn't pay the rain (Which, too, was a common occurrence in this world; but today it was an unusually heavy downpour, one he felt reflected his current state of emotional mind quite accurately.) much attention, ignoring the stinging slap of the water as he ran down the streets, fighting his way through more and more Heartless. What it was he was running from, he wasn't quite certain. But it was a good distraction nonetheless, something to let him vent his roiling emotions.
I hate him.
He was always lying to himself, really, but it was his best form of protection. His best, maybe only, way of holding the cracked pieces of himself together. Through self-deception.
Like how he wore his gloves all the time. Even though they were a part of their uniform, he preferred to think that he wore them because he liked to. They gave him a detached feeling, like he wasn't really touching anything. Not directly, at least. It was fake contact.
Fake, he reminded himself, like everything else.
And his 'fake contact' may have been a lie, but, damn it all, if he told it to himself enough times, he could almost believe it.
Just like the way he kept repeating fiercely to himself, over and over like his own personal mantra, I hate him. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him. If he said it enough, then it was true.
It might have been the rain, or it might have been the exertion, both physical and mental, that was making it difficult for him to breathe. As there was a lapse in Heartless, he paused and leaned against a building, closing his eyes and trying to make the world stop spinning.
"Careful," a voice warned. "Stay out here in the rain too long and you'll get sick."
He gritted his teeth, recognizing the voice. Dammit. Why did he have to be here? He already had a horrible headache; he really shouldn't have to deal with this right now. With effort, he pushed himself upright, resisting the urge to reach out to the wall for support, and started to walk away, ignoring the speaker.
"So, that's it, then?"
He didn't answer, just kept striding forward. Even above the rain, he could tell that the person behind him was following him. Stop it. Stop coming closer. Go away, he thought forcefully. I hate you.
"Just up and walk away? Do you think that will change anything? Fix anything? Roxas."
He halted now as his name was stated with a familiarity that made his insides twist. "I don't care," he growled, disintegrating the Heartless that had just leaped at him with a clean sweep of his weapon. "It's got nothing to do with me."
"It's got everything to do with you. Running away will only postpone the inevitable."
"Stop acting like you care, Riku," he spat, pouring every ounce of contempt he could muster into the other's name. "I don't need your false sympathy." Never again, he added to himself silently as he began walking again.
"It was raining then, too," Riku commented softly, falling in step beside him.
"I hate you," Roxas said, giving voice to his thoughts. They sounded more convincing being spoken out loud than just as a mere repeated litany running ceaselessly through his mind.
"You were so innocent then." Riku sounded amused. "Didn't know a thing about the world."
"And you were just as much of a jerk back then as you are now," Roxas snapped. "Is there a point you're trying to make, or are you just talking to hear your own damn voice?"
"I'm just trying to tell you that leaving won't make a difference." Riku shrugged slightly.
"Yes. So you said. And I still don't care. The worlds can be consumed by darkness. Just leave me out of it."
"Do you really think you can turn your back on the worlds and act like nothing's wrong?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. God, you're annoying. Can't you just leave me alone?" His legs were shaking; it was becoming hard to stand. Roxas staggered to one of the buildings and leaned against it, fingers curling over the smooth brick.
A cold, ungloved hand touched his forehead. "Are you okay? You aren't really sick, are you?" asked Riku.
Roxas jerked away and spun around, grabbing Riku by the wrist and twisting his arm. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"
Riku seemed unbothered by the aggressive display. "I'm just worried about you."
"Yeah right," snorted Roxas, squeezing the wrist his hand was around. He never felt more grateful for his gloves than right now. He pushed back the feelings of disgust and revulsion at having to touch Riku, because he wasn't really touching him, he told himself. "You're just worried about him."
"Roxas, I told you, I don't..."
"Dammit, you do, okay?" Roxas released his grip and shoved Riku roughly away; the other stumbled, feet slipping on the slick pavement, and he fell backwards against the ground.
"I know, I know!" cried Roxas. "So stop lying! It'd hurt less if you were honest!"
Riku pushed himself to sit upright but made no move to stand. "Roxas..."
"I know you're just...just using me. As a tool, as a replacement, whatever the hell you want. I'm sick of it. I hate it. I hate you."
"Is that really what you think?"
In a rush of rage, Roxas raised the Keyblades in his hands. "That's the truth!"
Riku summoned his own Keyblade to parry the blow just in time, bracing a hand on the flat of his blade as Roxas rained blow after blow down on him. With a sweeping kick, he knocked Roxas's legs out from under him and disarmed him with the hilt of his weapon.
Roxas moved so that he was on his knees, glaring. "I hate you...I hate you, I hate you."
The corners of Riku's lips curled up into a smirk. "Really, Roxas? Stop lying to yourself."
"I'm not lying," said Roxas coldly, trying not to show how much the words affected him. Always lying. "I hate you. I really do. I hate you so much..." He brought one of his hands to his chest, eyes screwing shut as he grabbed a fistful of the fabric above his heart. It hurts, dammit, it hurts.
"Why do you have to keep saying it?" Riku asked. "Isn't it because you're scared that, if you don't, you'll realize it's not true?"
"No. No." Roxas swallowed hard, shaking his head. "That's not it. I hate you. I don't care about you."
Even though his eyes were obscured, as always, by his blindfold, Riku looked almost amused as he half-sat, half-lay there on the cement, propped up on his elbows. "But I care about you."
"That's not true. You only care about him," Roxas insisted. "I'm just temporary. Until...until he comes back. Just admit it."
"You're wrong, Roxas."
"Say it!" yelled Roxas, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. He's only denying it because it's true.
"What does it matter? What if I did say it? What would you do?" Riku asked.
"Just say it!" he begged, his eyes welling with unbidden tears that threatened to overflow. "It's the truth!"
"Roxas, I'm not lying."
"Say it!"
"What do you want me to say?" Riku demanded angrily. "'I love Sora'?"
"Are you admitting it?"
"Stop it, Roxas," Riku said, almost pleadingly. "You're killing yourself right now."
"Stop pretending to care."
Riku shook his head, replying. "It's not an act."
"Shut up. I hate you," hissed Roxas.
"Do you really not care? Am I nothing to you?"
Roxas's mouth twisted into a sort of grimace. "You're less than nobody in my eyes."
"I don't hate you, Roxas. I could never hate you. But if that's how you feel, I'll disappear from your life forever." Riku reached out his hand, the ungloved one, and tentatively touched Roxas's face.
And that little contact was all it took for the pieces of himself that he'd been holding together to fall apart. Roxas drew back, swayed a little, then crashed against Riku, pushing him hard against the ground and pressing his lips against his. As he kissed him, he fumbled to pull off his own gloves, desperate, for once, to feel something real. He cupped Riku's cheek, cold and clammy and wet, with one hand, and entangled the fingers of his other in his long, silver hair. Salty tears dripped onto Riku's face as he finally let them fall, mingling with the rainwater. He pulled away briefly, uselessly rubbing a drenched arm across his face, then kissed him again with desperate fervor.
When Roxas finally withdrew, gasping for breath and with tears still running down his cheeks, he buried his face into Riku's chest. "I still care," he whispered brokenly, voice muffled. "I still care. Don't leave. Please don't leave."
"Damn it, Roxas," murmured Riku, pulling the shivering form as close to him as he could. "It's not Sora I want. It was never Sora. It was always you. And only you."
Roxas stared at him, vision blurring with fresh tears, mouth opening and closing like a fish, then started crying again. And, though hardly noticeable in the pouring rain, tears slipped out from beneath Riku's blindfold now, too.
And the next morning maybe they'd be sick from laying out there in the rain, crying together in the night, maybe there'd be tense, confused feelings lingering still and maybe there'd be suspicions from others, and maybe the other problems of the world would come back again after having granted them their one short night together, but it was okay because those honest tears they'd shed had spoken the truth, and maybe...maybe that was enough for now.