replica.

‘my body fell to ruin and the darkness took my broken mind. i was all ready to give up and let it happen’. he tells riku that, ever so casually. he was ready to just --- die. fade out of existence completely. because he viewed himself as a ‘failure’ and had lost all will to even exist. he was a broken wreck. and then riku showed up. and he was worth hanging onto, facing the end with.  UM???? NOMURA, WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT??  the replica is heartbreaking and i’m hereby adopting him away from canon to give him the life he deserves. 

          once, he would’ve flung his emotions in her face: weaponized their jagged edges and lashed out. like castle oblivion. had aqua known him then, would she have been so content to settle herself at his side and watch him with such kind eyes? ( maybe so. he saw her, in the choking murk of the realm of darkness. while he floated, heart rotten and body torn away, even still he felt her light. )          he intends to carefully refuse the offer. thanks but you don’t need to listen to me. he means to say that. the words stick in his throat and some selfish impulse to reach out to aqua grips him instead. would it be so bad to talk to her?           “i don’t know what to say. i’m just struggling to get used to... having a life. that’s all.”

          “don’t remember asking for commentary.” a certain sharpness lends some bite to his clipped tone. his mouth turns down at the corners. as if he wants to hear all about how he is not good enough, not strong enough, not enough. as if he asked for the reminder of how hard he’s had to fight to carve out an existence for himself, only to be reminded at every turn that, for all his strife, he is still not real enough for anyone.           ( maybe he doesn’t take so kindly to criticism. )          ah, but —          you can do better than that.          if he were an idiot, he might derive some encouragement from words like that.           “what’s it matter to you, anyway?” — and he lifts his blade again, eyes gone stormy. 

          “you don’t need to.” the refusal springs to his tongue without conscious forethought: an impulse, to deny and to be self-sufficient. immediately after, a faint sense of regret sweeps in. his gaze lifts from the cut-glass of the potion bottle, to the face of his other self. learning to inhabit a new body has been a difficult undertaking, in spite of his defiant assurances he’s managing. it’s new to him; it’s a learning process. sometimes, he fails in battle. sometimes, afterward, his hands shake and he cannot open a simple potion.           his wounds continue to ache. he swallows his pride and nods.          “alright. if you want. i just — my arm. it’s hurt. that’s all.” 

          “why’d it have to be you?” he’s made no secret of his lingering distaste for the ‘former’ organization members. ( forgive and forget? the only person he’s bestowed that honour to is the one he’s shared a heart with. ) to be stuck on a mission with axel of all people is infuriating. “can we just --- get this over with fast?” 

          “ah --- right.” something bittersweet grips his heart. he can read between the lines and understand that this world is ravaged. what citizenry ‘remains’ must be few and far between. ( and here he’d heard this world-hopping business was fun! travel to exciting places, meet colourful characters! instead he finds himself in a post-apocalyptic machine zone. typical. ) “so you’re like protectors.”           the android must be more than he appears. his face, what little of it is visible, is boyish --- cherubic. his stature is diminutive. riku the replica decides not to underestimate him.            “i can... help. watch your back. for a while.” 

pictured: a boy very soft for all rikus.

          “why do they call it ‘poker’? there’s no pokers involved.” he’ll outright deny any glimmer of interest in such games --- but it’s there, in the flick of his gaze toward the cards. “and for that matter, why do people bet money on it?” 

          “just --- don’t talk to me.” spine rigid, he twists away. better not to look at him. lea, he’s called now ( apparently ). he’s axel, though. manipulative, sly, self-serving. the memories are difficult to shake, and he doesn’t want to. memories are all he’s ever had to cling to. “i don’t care how different you claim to be.”

          “didn’t need help.” a flash of rage, quickly cooled to sulky disdain. he could’ve handled the creatures alone.