she often finds herself drifting between real &. make - believe, between ghost &. girl. most days, she knows the difference — she knows what she is and she knows who she is. logic, of course, only goes so far when a newly formed heart is still such a fragile thing ( strange, then, how it feels so heavy! she wonders if she will ever grow used to the weight of her heart &. the burden it brings ). roxas helps. these little moments help; the ones where she is surrounded by every other person who has fought &. earned their hard - won heart. before she can get caught in the war of her own mind, she reaches out to take the shell as if it's been done countless times before ( and, really, hasn't it? they both have quite the history with these shells ).

the texture of sand and salt is familiar — for her, this time, and not just a fabricated memory — and so she holds tight to it. the pad of her thumb runs against the shell, and the grit of sand grounds her.

the significance is not lost on her; she'd left countless for him when he'd been comatose &. she had left one as a final goodbye. this time isn't a goodbye; to xion, it signifies something better, something kinder — a new start, perhaps. or a continuation of where they'd left off before the world had cut what could have been between them short.

the hand not gripping the shell reaches out to find his. their fingers intertwine and this, too, is something grounding. real. roxas is real. xion is real. the sound of the ocean and the merriment of the others nearby... all real. right now, she isn't lost or drifting or a ghost. right now she exists in this moment, with him.