𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖆

Sora let out a small laugh, barely hiding the way his eyes rolled skyward at Riku’s usual confidence. Of course they didn’t need directions—until they did. But hey, arguing with Riku about navigation was like trying to convince Donald to skip the fireworks. Pointless… Riku was definitely right.

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, swinging his arms lazily at his sides, letting his boots scuff the dirt path just for the fun of it. “Next you’ll tell me we’re ‘not lost,’ we’re just—what was it? Spiritually detouring?” The thought made him snort.

Honestly, he didn’t even mind being sidetracked most of the time. Some of their best adventures started that way—chasing rumours, chasing shadows, chasing cats. Lots of cats, recently.

He glanced toward the horizon, where the sky was already starting to blush with dusk. “Guess it’s not really about where we’re going,” he said, half to himself, voice lighter than the air. “Just… who we end up getting there with.”

And then, with a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth, he added, “But if we do end up in another forest with creepy identical trees, I’m making you be the one to talk to the next weird old mushroom.”

❝ If you're going to get on me about spiritually detouring, then we got to have a word about your constant spiritually napping. ❞

Who they end up getting there with, indeed. Ironically, the two of them seemed to have already gotten distracted just now. Not by cats (this time), but by their chiding exchanges. What else was anyone to expect when putting childhood pals on the job? But Riku wasn't about to let Sora throw him off track so easily.

There was one way to get Sora to focus.

❝ Fine, we'll get a better idea of where we are headed if we go somewhere higher, don't you think? So... why don't we make it fun. ❞ and he'd smirk in such a way that Sora would surely know what was coming--

❝ First person to get a bird's eye view wins. ❞

❝  pfft  non-slip  shoes  ,  ❞  she  echoed  with  a  small  laugh  ,  a  real  one  ,  the  kind  that  curled  at  the  edges  of  her  mouth  like  the  crust  of  a  perfect  pie  ,  the  kind  that  you  do  unexpectedly  and  causes  you  to  snort  water  out  your  nose.  her  hand  rested  soft  at  her  waist  ,  elbow  angled  out  ,  fingers  brushing  a  spice-stained  apron.  ❝  well  ,  i  reckon  remy  would  still  be  faster  than  most  line  cooks  ,  suit  or  no  suit.  ❞  the  words  weren’t  just  banter  —  they  were  a  bridge  and  she  offered  them  like  a  slice  of  cornbread  at  the  table  ,  warm  and  easy  ,  no  pressure  to  take  it  ,  but  there  if  riku  wanted.  sora  had  been  this  giant  ball  of  warmth  and  sunshine  that  mirrored  tiana's  own.  but  riku?  he  was  more  subtle  ,  more  subdued  in  how  the  light  inside  his  heart  stone  with  goodness.  it  wasn't  as  loquacious  or  rambunctious  but  tiana  knew  it  was  still  just  as  good  ,  still  just  as  genuine.  even  so  ,  he  was  quieter  than  the  noise  around  them  —  didn’t  fidget  ,  didn’t  talk  too  much  ,  but  his  eyes  were  watchful  ,  and  tiana  could  tell.  he  was  soaking  it  all  in  :  the  smells  ,  the  laughter  ,  the  layered  joy  of  people  being  fed  and  feeding  others.  the  princess  of  maldonia  knew  that  underneath  that  calm  ,  she  could  see  it  —  the  readiness  of  him  ,  like  someone  used  to  fighting  off  more  than  his  fair  share  ,  someone  who  didn’t  know  how  to  be  still  unless  stillness  was  earned.  so  when  he  spoke  again  (  all  awkward  and  unsure  and  ,  seemingly  ,  deliberating  ):  tiana  was  mindful  of  how  his  fingers  brushed  the  back  of  his  neck  like  maybe  if  he  pressed  hard  enough  he’d  disappear  and  her  gaze  softened.  just  a  little  ,  just  enough.  because  she  knew  how  that  felt.  how  one  wanted  the  world  to  swallow  them  than  deal  with  the  reality  in  front  of  them.  for  tiana  ,  she'd  been  ten  years  old  and  the  reality  of  her  being  different  than  lottie  had  settled  into  the  back  of  her  throat  and  she  wanted  to  scream.  but  no  words  would  come  out.  it  had  been  bitter  knowing  of  just  how  much  something  she  could  not  change  defined  her  (  of  how  much  it  caused  others  to  define  her  ):  but  she  swallowed  those  feelings.  and  instead  ,  choose  to  focus  on  the  young  man  before  her.

❝  suga  ,  you  ain’t  neva  gonna  be  in  da  way  ,  ❞  she  said  ,  voice  low  and  warm  ,  the  kind  of  warmth  that  filled  a  pot  from  the  bottom  up  and  made  food  that  reminded  you  of  a  rainy  day  during  childhood.  ❝  if  you  were  ,  i’d  have  said  so  already  ,  trust  me  on  that.  i  have  no  issue  telling  folks  they've  got  ...  other  talents  outside  the  kitchen  ,  take  ol'  lottie  for  example.  ❞  a  small  giggle  escapes  her.  ❝  love  me  some  lottie  but  she's  the  cat's  meow  ,  but  damn  she  couldn't  boil  water  without  burning  the  joint  down.  lucky  for  her  mr.  eli  got  that  new  money  and  a  habit  of  never  telling  lottie  no.  ❞  and  she  meant  it.  she  loved  lottie  but  just  as  tiana  had  her  own  claim  to  fame  ,  so  did  lottie  (  a  firm  fashionista  and  only  person  tiana  would  ever  consult  on  outfits  or  decorating  sense  besides  her  own  mother  ):  this  was  her  kitchen  ,  her  home  ,  her  kingdom  —  built  with  her  bare  hands  and  every  dream  she  never  let  go  of  —  and  she  didn’t  have  time  for  pretending  or  polite  half-truths.  if  he’d  been  a  bother  ,  she’d  have  shown  him  the  door  and  truly  meant  no  offense  by  it.  after  all  ,  no  use  crying  over  spilled  milk  and  to  tiana  ,  playing  errand  boy  was  more  than  enough  of  him.

but  instead  ,  she  folded  a  dishtowel  in  her  hands  —  once   then  twice  ,  a  pause  between  each  fold  like  a  heartbeat  —  not  because  the  towel  had  need  for  it  ,  but  because  she  did.  because  there  was  something  about  him  that  drew  her  in  ,  and  she  hadn’t  decided  yet  if  it  was  curiosity  or  compassion  ,  maybe  both.  but  maybe  it  didn’t  matter.  ❝  besides  ,  ❞  she  added  ,  ❝  ain’t  no  one  ever  overstayed  their  welcome  when  they  offer  to  help  with  dishes.  ❞  cooking  for  the  masses  was  a  labor  of  love  and  tiana  had  love  in  over  abundance  but  it  also  meant  her  dish  pile  was  twice  as  stacked  as  the  trays  of  food  she  made.  her  words  came  with  a  wink  ,  sugar-sweet  and  just  a  little  teasing  ,  the  way  you  tease  someone  you’re  not  afraid  to  let  close.  ❝  come  on  back  ,  then.  i’ll  show  you  where  we  keep  the  good  soap  and  scouring  pad.  ❞

she  didn’t  wait  for  riku  to  decide  (  plus  he  did  say  wash  dishes  now  ):  the  princess  just  turned  on  her  heel  and  headed  toward  the  back  ,  passing  trays  and  prep  stations  ,  dodging  a  waiter  with  a  tray  full  of  catfish  and  shrimp  po’  boys  without  missing  a  beat.  her  fingers  trailed  along  the  stainless  steel  counter  and  when  she  passed  him  ,  her  hand  brushed  his  arm  (  like  an  invitation  sealed  with  butter  and  good  grace  ):  back  in  the  dish  pit  ,  the  heat  was  wetter  ,  and  the  air  smelled  like  lemon  oil  ,  sanitizer  ,  and  industrial  concentrates  of  bleach.  it  was  like  the  kind  of  clean  you  could  eat  off  of  (  the  kind  that  made  folks  say  :  so  clean  i'd  eat  off  the  bathroom  floor  ):  a  stack  of  pans  sat  beside  the  sink  ,  and  one  of  the  junior  staff  had  left  a  sponge  soaking  —  far  too  long  —  in  water  that  rivaled  that  of  the  bayou  tiana  had  spent  too  much  time  in  as  an  amphibian.

tiana  clicked  her  tongue  ,  plucked  it  free  ,  wrung  it  out  with  practiced  disdain.  ❝  lord  ,  i  keep  telling  them  ,  don’t  let  these  sit  like  that  ,  even  when  it's  busy.  ❞  before  this  ,  tiana  was  a  waitress  and  knew  just  how  chaotic  breakfast  or  dinner  rush  could  be.  but  letting  the  dishes  pile  up  was  all  fun  and  games  until  you  ran  out  of  clean  plates.  not  fun  ,  not  fun  at  all.  thus  ,  she  dumped  the  old  water  ,  ran  the  tap  till  it  hissed  clean  and  hot.  ❝  alright  ,  riku  ,  show  me  what  you  got.  gloves  are  under  the  sink.  soap’s  labeled  in  big  red  letters  ,  'cause  someone  keeps  mistaking  it  for  the  damn  chili  paste  ...  don't  ask.  i  try  to  give  everyone  a  fair  shot  'round  here.  ❞  there  was  a  rhythm  to  this  too  ,  a  quiet  one.  not  the  shouting  of  orders  or  the  hiss  of  the  fryer  ,  but  the  shared  labor  of  hands  in  soapy  water  (  the  knowing  of  what  labor  and  hard  work  really  meant  ):  the  kind  of  work  that  made  people  equal.  didn’t  matter  if  you  were  of  royal  blood  ,  a  glorified  delivery  boy  ,  or  more  favored  patron  of  society  :  everyone  looked  the  same  within  tiana's  palace.  ❝  and  don’t  go  thinking  i’ll  let  you  off  easy  just  ‘cause  your  buddies  wit  sora  but  i  don't  think  you're  the  type  ,  hun.  though  i  will  need  a  willing  taste  tester  to  make  sure  everything  taste  nice  and  fine  for  little  remy.  ❞  she  added  ,  peering  sidelong  at  him  with  a  grin  lurking  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  ❝  and  i'll  have  plenty  more  that  needs  doing  ,  maybe  i'll  even  teach  you  how  to  mince.  anyone  can  ,  if  'veen  could  learn.  ❞  the  sound  of  dishes  being  rinsed  ,  stacked  ,  dried.  jazz  threading  through  the  kitchen  like  a  second  pulse.  her  voice  ,  all  velvet  steel  (  rising  above  it  like  a  benediction  ,  like  a  first  seat  soprano  ):  ❝  and  just  so  ya  know  riku  ,  seems  like  ya  need  to  hear  this  :  your  alright  by  me  just  the  way  you  are.  ❞  and  he  was  ,  while  it  wasn't  like  tiana  was  the  hardest  person  in  the  world  to  work  with  ,  he  had  still  shown  upto  deliver  her  a  letter  on  behalf  of  another  (  someone  he  didn't  know  from  adam  ):  quiet  and  uncertain  but  fairly  willing.  and  ,  well  in  tiana’s  kitchen  ,  that  was  more  than  enough  to  start  with.

❝ Good. I'd hate to have you go easy on me. Besides, I know my way around some chores. ❞

Riku had, in fact, been something of a spoiled boy compared to his humble companions, but his parents made sure not to let those privileges get to his head. Hard work was instilled at a young age and with it tempered Riku's talents for being something of a 'handyman' around the islands. Nothing made the boy's eyes sparkle brighter than being asked to carry crates, scrape barnacles, or even fix a leaky faucet. 

And so, he doned the gloves and got to work. Though he was fully immersed in the task, with that overly serious face to match it, he couldn't help but to steal peeks of the kitchen in between motions. The space was alive with a litany of good smells, but there was also the busied sounds of pots and pans, boils and sizzles and clankity-clanks. He sure doesn't get to see this side of restaurants very often–not that he'd be opposed if Remy invited him to help, but he's seen the way that guy operates Sora… somehow Riku doubts his pride would allow his hair to be messed around with so violently. One of these days he was going to have to learn how to speak rat to be of better use in the Bistro.

He continues on like that, the mechanic motions of scrubbing, rinsing, drying, and setting. Content to listen to Tiana go about her business, stealing his attention here and there when he couldn't help but smirk at her straightforward commands, or her gentle guidance. He got comfortable like this, and just when he pried a suds covered metal sheet out of the pool, she went and said something that threw him off.

your  alright  by  me  just  the  way  you  are.

His fingers stuttered and the soapy sheet flew from his fingers. Now mister 'cool' and 'useful' had to go and flail about just to catch the thing before it went clattering about. And once he caught it, he hung his head. A little nervous, but not any sort that took anything she said in a bad way–much of the opposite, really. 

❝ Geez, chef, can't be too soft on your staff, or else they'll slack. ❞ he gives a lackadaisical shrug, but can't commit to fully playing it off. Riku can't hide the softness in his gaze now that it was there. So he stops, ruminates on it for a moment, before speaking up. ❝ You don't waste time with nice words. You say what you mean and that's that. So... it means a lot, Tiana. Really. ❞

He hastily clears his throat, putting away the last dish and freeing himself of his gloves. ❝ A-Anyway. Speaking of chili paste… ❞ Hand on hip, he composes himself as he turns to face her, ❝ If you really need a taste tester, I hope it's nothing too spicy. I might not be much help there. ❞

“What are you drawing?” he asks her. In the evenings, after a day of re-chaining Sora’s mind, Naminé draws for herself. Not for Sora, or for DiZ, but just for her. Sometimes she thinks it’s selfish, but necessary, still.

“A knight,” she replies, “but it’s not coming out right. I don’t know how to make him act.” She looks at Riku with that honest, full-eyed stare- “What does a knight do, really? Besides rescuing princesses.”

It takes Riku a moment to think that over, because he’s not really sure. (He, who dreamed of being a knight, of slaying dragons and saving princesses; but working for dragons and kidnapping princesses.)

“I guess… they protect people. That’s their job.” His answer comes across straight-faced and serious, and it stirs something in Naminé that she would call laughter if she thought she had a heart. She laughs anyway and it sounds real, but feels empty. “How do they act, though?”

“Polite…” he begins, thinking it over again. “Kind. Chivalrous?” Another pause. “…Like this.” Without thinking, he takes one of her hands gently, carefully. He presses his lips to her hand just like every storybook he’s ever read and imagined and for a moment he really feels like a real knight with a princess to protect.

The moment is over and he lets go of her and draws away again, blushing slightly. Naminé doesn’t blush, but there’s a light and sweet smile playing on her lips as she goes back to her drawing. “I think I know how to draw him now,” she says, and Riku would like to stay and watch but he’s afraid of turning a darker shade of red. The sharp smell of his darkness tinges the air, and then he’s gone.

The ship moved beneath her like a living thing—quiet, steady, obedient to her hands. But her thoughts were anything but still. Riku’s voice was no longer in the air. It had already retreated into memory, but it hadn’t left her. It clung to the curve of her ear, warm like sunlight after rain. Every word he’d spoken, every subtle correction of her fingers over the controls, had settled inside her like rainwater filling an empty well. Gentle. Deep.

And now, in the hush that followed, she felt… full. Brimmed with something that wasn’t fear. Wasn’t duty. Wasn’t even awe. It was him. It was the weight of his presence without pressure. The grace of being seen without being asked to perform. The way he never once reached for her power, but instead gave her the space to feel it for herself.

Her fingers lingered against the worn, humming panel, but her mind wandered—unravelling threads she had spent so long knotting tightly, keeping herself from thinking too much, hoping too fiercely. And now, with the soft flicker of stars ahead and the memory of his breath close to her skin, it was all beginning to come undone.

What had changed? He hadn’t said anything out of place. No grand declarations. No lingering stares. Just the same Riku—quiet, perceptive, always a few paces behind her or beside her but never ahead. Never pulling. Never pushing.

But maybe… that was what had changed. Not him. Her.

Because now she noticed the way her heartbeat jumped not from nerves, but from something gentler. Something that blossomed slowly whenever his hand brushed hers—even accidentally. The way his silences weren’t voids but invitations. The way she felt a little more like herself when he was near. More whole. Like she didn’t have to try so hard to be the warrior, the princess, the girl who had waited too long for someone who always ran ahead.

Riku didn’t run. He stayed. And in the silence of the cockpit, in the gentle click of buttons and the soft whir of space stretching out before her, she realized that she had stopped thinking of him as just a friend a long time ago.

It hadn’t come in a rush. It had crept in during the in-betweens. In the way he looked at her when he thought she didn’t notice. In the way he carried her name in his voice, not as a title, but as something treasured. Kairi. Just Kairi.

Not Sora’s light. Not the seventh heart. Not the missing piece of a prophecy. Just… her. And maybe it was foolish, or maybe it was brave, but she let herself sit with that feeling. Let it settle over her like a blanket—warm and terrifying and unbelievably real. Because Riku wasn’t a fleeting wish or a far-off dream. He was here.

Breathing in the same ship. Close enough that if she turned around, she could reach out and feel his heartbeat again. And gods—she wanted to. She wanted to press her forehead to his shoulder and tell him all the things she didn’t have the courage to say aloud. That she had noticed the way his voice softened around her name. That she remembered the first time he held out his hand and didn’t pull her forward—but stood still and waited for her to take the step herself.

That she didn’t feel small around him. She felt safe. Not protected. Not shielded. But safe in a way that meant she could be strong without apology. That she didn’t have to shine like a star to be held like one.

She blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes. No. Not here. Not now. Instead, she exhaled. A breath full of things unsaid. And without turning, without needing to see him to know he was still watching, she whispered—just loud enough to cross the quiet space between them. “…I think I understand what you meant now.” Her fingers tightened on the controls. “One foot forward. Not both.”

Because the truth was—her heart had already stepped toward him. And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to find out if he would meet her halfway. "But you might need to stay close, just in case I drift." And it's a half-truth, maybe. She's steady enough to fly, but her heart? That's what's wavers. That's what is quietly crashing in waves at the realisation that maybe the boy who once chased darkness now made her feel the safest she ever had.

Riku liked to make himself more composed than he really was. He stays sturdy and resolute, even offers a seamless, ❝ you got it. ❞ His grip on the pointed edge of her seat firm, but controlled, and his posture straight as his eyes beam into the blanket of stars known as the 'other sky'.

All the while the hand hanging at his side... the fingers curled into the palms until the knuckles beneath his gloves turned white. Yearning danced like sparks across his skin, and made his nerves prickle in delightful agony.

Maybe he is only strong in the way that palm trees were. They remained rooted, even when they swayed and bent in the wind. He'd stay where he was, his feet firm in place, but Riku found himself always -- always -- bending for Kairi.

Now as it towards or away?

They say that plants bend towards the light, don't they? Riku thinks he might be okay with that... he's spent so much time hiding from it. Lingering in the shadows, and thankful for even one taste of that saccharine warmth. But now it was okay, wasn't it? To be seen. To see each other.

❝ Heads up. We're coming up on some asteroids. ❞ Intimidating as their masses were, Riku was confident Kairi would figure out how to maneuver the ship, but just in case he would remind her. ❝ It's not a lot, but still. Don't floor it. Boost it with your turns to get out of the way, but slow down when you approach them head on. ❞

Riku can't help the budding smirk as they make their trip through the cosmos. There is subtle amusement that tinges with all the other -- extremely messy -- emotions that stirred between them in this little cockpit. Namely, that they were put into this position where it was Riku offering guidance. It certainly wasn't the only time he's done it, but there is something fresher on the mind... when she had guided him.

❝ You know, this kind of feels like I'm getting payback. ❞ He props his elbow on the shoulder of her chair, his gaze growing a little distant. ❝ When I finally came back to the islands, I was way behind on school... can't believe it was such a big deal to my folks, but it was. ❞ A humored scoff before his lashes lower and he calmly smiles as the memories come. ❝ Wouldn't have made it if it wasn't for you tutoring me, Kairi. ❞

And if he's 'composed' now, then he was a complete wreck, back then. Riku remembers how hot in the face he'd been back then -- thankful all that hair in his face hid his bashfulness away from her. All the while they sat elbow to elbow in the school library -- exchanging sparks that danced violently from his heart, begging to make contact with hers even despite how wrong he believed it was -- her chiding remarks when she tried to get him to focus on lines and lines of equations that sat before them, in seemingly endless pages. But how could he possibly focus when Kairi was so close to him?

... It appears some things really don't change.