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Darkness was supposed to be cold.
Cold like wind before an ice storm. Like moonlight on a still lake. Like Riku’s hand against Sora’s fever hot forehead. Darkness was not supposed to feel like sickly fire beneath Sora’s skin, trailing through his veins and leaving ash in its wake. A wave of violent shivers wracks Sora’s frame, and he curls further into himself, clutching at his sides to try and stop himself from shaking apart.
Riku lies behind him on their shared bed, one arm loosely draped across Sora’s waist to act as a much needed anchor, the other looped above Sora’s head to press blizzard chilled fingers to his face, somewhat soothing the nauseous heat tainting his body. Sora moans miserably as a fresh wave of sickness rolls through him, made worse when Riku pulls his hand away.
“Shhh,” Riku soothes in Sora’s ear. “I’m just grabbing some water. You need to drink something.” The thought of drinking anything makes Sora’s throat constrict, and he barely manages to not gag at the sensation. He feels Riku shift behind him just before a glass of water enters his field of vision, and Sora weakly tries to push it away, unable to muster any embarrassment when Riku bats his hand back without any effort. “Sora, come on.” Riku’s voice is soft but stern, equal parts demanding and comforting. Sora really does not want anything except to be very unconscious right now, but Riku is already tilting the glass to Sora’s mouth. Sora doesn’t want to make Riku even more upset or sad or worried, so he parts his lips and lets water flow into his parched throat.
Swallowing is painful and dreadfully uncomfortable, and halfway through the action Sora chokes and sputters pathetically, his body so weak that he barely manages a few useless coughs. Riku’s broad hand is rubbing little circles into Sora’s side, and even through the fabric of his shirt Sora can feel that Riku has cooled his hand down again. Everything feels horrible and intense and awful, but through the haze of agony Sora still feels a comfortable little light swell in his chest at Riku’s actions.
Sora loves him so, so much. He wants to tell Riku just how much he loves him.
“‘M sorry,” is what comes out instead.
Cool fingers card through Sora’s sweat-soaked hair. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t apologize,” Riku gently coos. “It’s gonna get better, just try and rest.”
Sora loves him so fucking much.
And Riku is right, this will get better. It will pass. Sora’s been through this before. He’s no stranger to the way his body collapses on itself like a dying star, drained of the brilliance of rage and destruction and left with only deep pain and sadness. He’s spent more than one night burrowed into a bunk on the Gummi ship, eyes clenched shut in a futile attempt to ward off the creeping sensation of shattering while Donald and Goofy wring their hands and watch him shake to pieces with sad, worried looks. It never gets easier in the moment, because he can’t ever really get used to the way he crumbles under his own weight, but it does eventually get better. Sora always wakes up the next morning with tired eyes and a lingering ache and they don’t talk about it. They never talk about it, because Sora, Donald, and Goofy pilot a ship powered by happy faces, and Sora can’t keep a happy face when forced to face his own darkness. Sora, Donald, and Goofy don’t talk about it.
Sora knows Riku wants to talk about it.
He can feel it in the too steady rise and fall of Riku’s chest against his back, the subtle stiffness in his otherwise gentle fingers. Sora’s falling apart and he knows that Riku wants to as well. He knows Riku wants to grab Sora by the shoulders and ask what the hell just happened that caused Sora to erupt in hateful rage, to shred through every heartless that entered his sight and to enjoy each swipe of clawed hands through fleshy darkness. Sora rarely remembers what happened during his episodes, but he remembers a sticky sick laugh bubbling out of his raspy throat, and he remembers the raw horror on Riku’s face as he watched the carnage unfold.
Riku definitely wants to talk about it.
And Sora feels a bit like death, wispy around the edges and half certain he’s going to float away, but he owes Riku this. He wants to give Riku this, so even though the barest flex of his hand sends sparks of pain ricocheting up his arm, Sora slowly reaches up to grab Riku’s hand on his head, barely managing to link their fingers before he pulls it down to rest on his hip. Riku quietly chides him for moving and tries to untangle their hands to resume petting Sora’s hair, but Sora is always more stubborn than he is sick, and he weakly tightens his hold. Riku could easily break it if he wanted to, a strong breeze could knock Sora over at this point, but he stills his hand and settles for rubbing a thumb over Sora’s knuckles.
Deep breath in, or at least as deep as Sora’s constricted lungs will handle. “Riku, I-” Sora starts, but the words come out garbled and raw, feeling more like gravel than speech as they leave his lips, and he wants to flinch at how much it sounds that unhinged laugh but he’s too weak so weak that his body can’t even manage that and what a useless idiot Sora is for doing this again and in front of Riku of all-
The pad of Riku’s thumb softly swipes tears from Sora’s cheeks, and when had Sora even started crying? He realizes, far too belatedly, that faint tremors are cascading through his body and his lungs hurt with the jerky, hiccuping sobs he can’t seem to stop. “‘M really, really sorry,” he gasps out. Air is sparse and thin and he can’t get enough of it, but he continues anyway. “I should’ve told you about this. It’s-” Break. Breathe. Try again. “It’s happened before.”
Riku stiffens, only for a moment, a half-second before he recovers and resumes the motion of his thumb on Sora’s face, but it’s enough for Sora to know that he’s hurt Riku with his admission. Riku’s fingers press a little harder against Sora’s cheek, the beginnings of a tremor starting in the tips of them, and there’s nothing left in Sora to break but he still feels split in two all over again. He’s so stupid . He knows not to hide things from Riku, knows that any secret, any darkness, is safe in Riku’s hands, but Sora could never get the words out. How could he admit that he’d fallen to darkness not once but countless times? No matter how temporary the change, Sora knew that each fall left a little stain on his heart, a growing smudge of blackness that became harder and harder to reveal without shame burning his throat. So Sora chose to keep it hidden. Sora chose wrong.
There’s definitely not enough air in Sora’s lungs as his sobs increase in speed. He hurts in body, heart, and soul now, because he’s stupid and scared and weak and Riku’s not saying anything . Sora curls into himself as far as he can, Riku’s hand falling from his face, and he can’t think and can’t breathe and he hurts and all that he can manage to say is i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry .
“Sora.”
Cool fingers rest on his forehead again, and this time the magicked chill of them seeps deeper into Sora’s skin, trailing languidly through his body and soothing the frantic heat within him. Sora feels pleasant numbness in the wake of the cold, relieving in its emptiness, and he leans into Riku’s touch without thinking. A sigh escapes his lips, and oh- he can breathe again, still too shallow and still pained around the edges, but the burning of his lungs is easing, his chest relaxing from the harsh spasms of his sobs.
“There we go,” Riku hums in Sora’s ear again. “I was starting to lose you there.” An arm wraps around Sora’s waist again, tugs him back against Riku’s solid chest, and oh Sora wants to turn around to see him. But he’s drained and empty and moving hurts, so he settles for pressing back into Riku as much as he can manage, satisfied when Riku tightens his hold.
As Riku trails his fingers back down to Sora’s cheek, Sora sighs and chases the touch. “I’m so sorry,” he moans.
“Sora,” Riku repeats. “I’m not mad, okay?” Relief sinks into Sora’s bones at the words. “I do wish you told me, but I’m not mad. Just worried.” He traces the curve of Sora’s cheek, and Sora nuzzles into Riku’s hand with a whine and thinks about how much he loves him. Riku is everything. Riku is the beginning and the end and Sora would do anything or become anyone just to make sure Riku was safe and happy.
Drowsy weight drapes itself over Sora’s frayed emotions, lazy and warm and somewhat fizzy with the faint tingle of magic. Even as sick and weary as he is, Sora easily recognizes the caress of a sleep spell, just as he recognizes the familiar hum - like gentle rain on a summer day - that accompanies all of Riku’s magic. There’s a press of warmth atop Sora’s head, followed by gentle murmurs that Sora is already too sleepy to really hear, but he’s tired and sick and safe as he finally, finally relaxes enough to drift off into slumber.
The last waking action Sora manages is a clumsy love you . He doesn’t hear the reply, but he feels the hold around his waist tighten, secure and protective, and falls asleep with raindrops humming in his ears.