[It's a decision he's made. Doing this, coming here. It's a decision the same way going into the woods had been, the same way following Kairi had been, the same way choosing to meet Xehanort had been. Sora isn't sure if he's ever been the kind of person who runs. He doesn't think things through that way so the way forward is always the path right infront of him, not the one at his back. And that's okay. He's been called naive before- he's been reminded time and again of his own insignificance, of his lack of individual strength or cleverness or power. It's like he'd told Riku, in the end. Every step forward will bring him closer to home.
He has faith, in that.
Of everyone that had found there way here, it's strange to have only Riku and Vanitas left. To have only these two to say goodbye to. As far back as he could remember he's never been just 'Sora,' he's always been just one part: 'Sora and Riku.' If he was going to explain it to anyone, to be sure that he'd be heard, then that made sense. Riku isn't just a friend, he's a partner. They understand each other in a way he's never felt with anyone else- not even Donald and Goofy. But Vanitas is something else- a dark mirror that never throws the right reflection back.
He's been to this room once before, in the very beginning. When he helped Vanitas repair one of the legs of the bedframe. He wonders if it's still there, his little patch job.
One hand raises and Sora knocks, three short raps.]
[ He doesn't spend as much time here as he used to anymore. Those first weeks he had revelled in the concept: a room and a place to call his own. Something like what Ventus had, with a bed and a dresser, something he owned-- after a fashion.
The solitude didn't matter. After all, he'd always been alone, since the beginning. Sharing with a roommate was the last thing he'd wanted.
But things changed. Vanitas is learning that this is the constant way of things. The world wasn't a static as the desert. It wasn't only punctuated by a storm, or the night, or the rising sun; unchanging under those surface conditions. It was learning to eat, learning the consequences of hubris; it was finding out someone else could feel the way he does, want the same relief. It was hearing Sora's heartbeat under his ear, a faint echo of the thing that had imprisoned him unknowingly for a decade.
Always, he has one finger on that pulse, now. Tuned in to the faint throb not his own, a low, constant sound. Still, it surprises him when he crests the staircase and finds the back of Sora's head looking back at him. His compass needle swings and sticks, just there. ]
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post lighthouse mission
He has faith, in that.
Of everyone that had found there way here, it's strange to have only Riku and Vanitas left. To have only these two to say goodbye to. As far back as he could remember he's never been just 'Sora,' he's always been just one part: 'Sora and Riku.' If he was going to explain it to anyone, to be sure that he'd be heard, then that made sense. Riku isn't just a friend, he's a partner. They understand each other in a way he's never felt with anyone else- not even Donald and Goofy. But Vanitas is something else- a dark mirror that never throws the right reflection back.
He's been to this room once before, in the very beginning. When he helped Vanitas repair one of the legs of the bedframe. He wonders if it's still there, his little patch job.
One hand raises and Sora knocks, three short raps.]
no subject
The solitude didn't matter. After all, he'd always been alone, since the beginning. Sharing with a roommate was the last thing he'd wanted.
But things changed. Vanitas is learning that this is the constant way of things. The world wasn't a static as the desert. It wasn't only punctuated by a storm, or the night, or the rising sun; unchanging under those surface conditions. It was learning to eat, learning the consequences of hubris; it was finding out someone else could feel the way he does, want the same relief. It was hearing Sora's heartbeat under his ear, a faint echo of the thing that had imprisoned him unknowingly for a decade.
Always, he has one finger on that pulse, now. Tuned in to the faint throb not his own, a low, constant sound. Still, it surprises him when he crests the staircase and finds the back of Sora's head looking back at him. His compass needle swings and sticks, just there. ]
What are you doing here?