Title: Slow Dancing
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairings: Sora/Riku, Sora/Kairi
Rating: Mature
Length: 1,216 words
Content notes: Contains graphic depictions of self-harm.
Author's note: Title taken from the Joji song of the same name.
Summary:
Riku's not like them.


He has to think Kairi’s so pretty. He has to think a lot of things about Kairi, the way he’s always gazing up at her, chin in his hands, stupid grin on his face, big red blush just above. He looks at her like she’s a princess. Riku can’t compete.

How could Riku ever compete with Kairi? With anything that Kairi is. Kairi’s pretty. She has long lashes that flutter the way boys are supposed to like, soft, delicate hands like boys are supposed to want to hold, small, pink lips like boys are supposed to want to kiss, and Sora probably thinks about holding her hand, kissing her.

It’s not just that, though. Being pretty’s one thing—any girl can be pretty, most girls probably are—but having a heart of pure light, no darkness inside it at all, it makes Kairi radiant. Sora’s probably drawn to that light, the way any boy would be.

It’d be easier if Riku was the same. He pretends like he is. They play games. Swordfights on the shore. Races across the obstacle course, over treetops and back again. Whatever game they play, the winner gets to share a paopu with Kairi. That’s always the goal, Riku makes sure of it every time. It’s always his idea. He suggests it right from the start as if he has the same crush on Kairi that Sora has, as if he sees Sora as his rival in winning Kairi’s heart.

But he’s not Sora’s rival—same as how he can’t compete with Kairi. When Riku wins their games, which he usually does, he always turns down the prize, says he’s not hungry, or not in the mood for paopu. He can only pretend so much. And besides, Sora’s the one who wants to be with Kairi. Riku would only get in the way.

He can’t win all the time, though. Sora comes out in first place today, beaming with victory even as his chest’s bursting for breath.

“It’s yours,” says Riku, holding out the paopu he’s just torn off the tree to Sora. “Make sure to take the smaller half when you share it with her, okay?”



“Thanks, Riku.” Sora’s smile settles as he takes the fruit from Riku. It’s different to the way he smiles at Kairi.

Of course it is, thinks Riku, leaving them to be alone the way they probably want to be. Sora looks at Riku the way he always has. Sora makes it so obvious that his feelings remain the same even as Riku’s have changed.

The day’s getting on, anyway. The sun’s sinking down toward the sea by the time Riku’s over on the other side of the island, getting his bag from where he left it flopped over beside Sora’s and Kairi’s in the crater in the rock wall. It’s quiet over here, and Riku leans back against the rock wall, pausing, sore.

He shouldn’t have brought it with him. Should’ve just left it in his room, under his mattress where he usually keeps it, where his mom won’t find it, where Sora and Kairi won’t stumble upon it whenever they’re all hanging out in his room. But he’s been bringing it around with him for a few days now. Last time he was on his own like this—waiting around for Sora and Kairi so that they could all go back to the main islands together, the way they always do—he was nearly suffocated by the thoughts he couldn’t stop having.

Undoing the zipper of his bag, he puts his hand in, feels around for the dagger shape made by the overlapping metal, wraps his hand around it when he finds it. This isn’t a good idea. What if Sora and Kairi are already on their way back?

Taking the scissors out of his bag, Riku lets the bag drop back down on to the sandy earth, where it makes a thud and wilts into itself.

He holds out his other hand, palm facing up. The underside of his arm is bared, smooth and pale. It’s only when he tugs at the small black wristband, pulls it up his arm like a sleeve, that the scars start to show.

Some have healed over. Some are scabbed, brown and crusted. He knows he should hold off until he’s back in his room, like he had to last time, when he didn’t have the scissors with him. He wrenches the scissors apart until they’re open in an X-shape. He grips the bit between the handles, finger and thumb clamped over the pivot point between the open blades, squeezing tightly.

Riku slashes his skin fast. He cuts over white lines of healed skin. He cuts across the scabs, tearing them open. He cuts into whatever clean skin’s left on this sliver of wrist, it’s Kairi who should be with Sora. Through gritted teeth, his throat tight, Riku lets out a small sound. Kairi should be with Sora. Riku can’t compete. There’s no jealousy in Kairi’s heart, no anger, no weaknesses, just light—she has the same heart Sora has. Riku’s nothing like them. The rock wall casts a shadow over his shoulders, his arm, his hands. It’s so much darker here, on his side of the world.

Sora’s made up his mind, course he has. He likes Kairi, wants to be with Kairi. He doesn’t lose sleep staring up at the ceiling, struggling to understand the thoughts he keeps having about his best friend. Doesn’t spend days wishing his best friend would look at him the way he looks at Kairi. Sora doesn’t hate himself for what’s in his heart. He’s not broken like that.

There’s blood on the blade and Riku keeps going, tearing and wincing and not stopping until the stinging in his wrist shuts up what’s in his head. It used to happen so easily—the first time he did this, it only took three cuts to put the hurt away. Maybe he’s gotten used to it since. He should move on to the other wrist at some point, even if he’s not left-handed and doesn’t trust himself not to accidentally make a cut on his arm that his friends will see.

Above the scars, his hand squeezes shut. Red beads of blood are filling the cuts now, some of them rolling out and along his wrist. Riku moves his feet so that the drops won’t fall on to his shoes. The blood drips down on to the sand instead. It doesn’t make a sound on contact, and Riku realizes after a moment that his thoughts have gone quiet, too. Fine. That's enough. He’ll stop for now.

He shakes the scissors dry, kicks sand over the blood on the ground, covering it up. The scissors are zipped up shut in his bag and his bag’s on his shoulders and his wristband’s pulled back in place like nothing’s wrong when Sora and Kairi come back around. They’re waving at him and laughing together like there’s nothing wrong in this world.

Riku’s glad that Sora’s happy, and Kairi, too. He’s so glad. Holding up a hand to keep the sun out of his eyes, Riku steps away from the wall and heads over to his friends. He’s strong. He's strong. He’ll have to be.