It is said that eyes are windows to the soul.
Here are a set of eyes that hold a sky dipped in gold.
Lucid and vibrant with emotion, the hijacked "Savior of Light" looks up at his would-be nemesis.
Nemesis. Is this person really so intimidating? At first glance, this silver-haired youth with his sharp, silver-tongue...speaking in riddles, smiling so serenely, watching from the shadows--no doubt, he seemed suspicious. Whenever he was lurking about, Sora's gut would go all prickly with apprehension. And Sora had the utmost faith in his instincts.
But right now, all his sunset eyes could see was another boy. Just another boy, like himself. Dragged around by destiny, this way and that. Both of them burdened with great power, their curiosity desperately grappling with their own ignorance, and a tiny island to call home.
Sora didn't know if this was just a consequence to being possessed, but when he looked at Xehanort, it almost felt like he was looking into a mirror. It was just a vague feeling, purely subconscious. He wasn't certain where his thoughts ended and Xehanort's began. Thoughts, feelings, memories--his and Xehanort's were all meshed together in a gloppy, syrupy stew.
With a hazy mind and lazy limbs, Sora had been loafing around the new fortress until he found a suitable spot for lounging. A secret alcove with a nice view of the desolate world.
Young Xehanort had been searching around for Sora. Sora noticed Xehanort first, but he did not move from his spot, and he made no effort to greet him. He simply observed, relishing the faint look of loneliness and concern on Xehanort's face. He looked like a troubled child who had misplaced his new toy.
A soft, derisive chuckle gave him away. Not that Sora was intentionally hiding from Xehanort. It would have been pointless, anyway. After their coalescence, they always knew the general location of each other.
"Ah, so there you are."
Xehanort's words were spoken so casually, so offhandedly. However, Sora hoped the smidgen of relief in his voice was not his imagination. Xehanort's lips had curled into a smile, one that was certainly real. It was enough to convince Sora.
"Yup. Here I am. I was gonna shout out, 'Hey! You're getting warmer!', but I just kept on staring."
"Hmph, is that so..." Xehanort smirked in amusement, tilting his head. "And who said I was specifically looking for you?"
At this, Sora closed his eyes--to prevent himself from rolling them in mockery. He didn't know if he could get away with that. So instead, he just grinned and shook his head. Who was this guy trying to fool? When was Xehanort not seeking him out? Why else would he be down this useless corridor?
"Heh. Well, either way, 's not like I was hidin'," he admitted honestly. "Hide-n-seek is not as fun when you're practically bound to each other, right?"
Xehanort indulged in this thought for a moment, before taking a step closer to Sora.
"Hmm, I don't know...You're certainly fun to chase, regardless."
"Haha. Fun, huh...Think you won't ever get bored with someone as simple as me?"
Sweet, self-deprecating words, said in jest.
Sora was at arm's length, now. Closing the distance, Xehanort pressed a hand against the wall behind Sora, leaning closely until they were just breaths away.
Amber-colored eyes, deep and intense.
Xehanort's expression became unreadable as he studied Sora carefully, trying to find a hidden meaning in those words.
Yes, Xehanort thought. Sora was simple and clean--the perfect blank canvas for his grand designs. With a heart like Sora's, so huge, bright, and ridiculously inviting--it will be all the more pleasurable to corrupt it. Not break. Just corrupt. Just a mold of clay for Xehanort to shape. To engrave. To embrace.
Meanwhile, Sora's gaze drifted onto the firm line of Xehanort's mouth. Such a pretty mouth was capable of saying some pretty awful things. He wondered what it would be like to taste that bottom lip between his teeth. Tear it open. His fascination lasted long enough for Xehanort to realize his obvious gawking, but he just didn't care.
Tentatively, Xehanort's other hand brushed up against Sora's thigh, the sudden stimulation causing him to jolt in surprise. Shaken from whatever fantasy he was having, Sora firmly clamped his mouth shut. In spite of everything, he was determined not to embarrass himself in Xehanort's presence.
That being said, he wasn't quite prepared for Xehanort's warm breath against his ear. A husky whisper sent tremors up his spine.
"No. Never. Not for eons to come."
Such a wisp of words held such conviction--a velvety, gravelly hiss. He meant it.
Sora couldn't help it; he shuddered weakly under the gravity of those words.
"...Besides, they say simplicity is key," Xehanort continues after a pause. He pulls away slightly so he could regard Sora and touches his cheek. His thumb caresses Sora's lips, prying them open just a little.
"If anything, I worry I'll become too complacent with you. Too...content. I'm not used to that. You know, for a prison, Sora, this is just far too comfortable..."
So comfortable, that they could just melt together and vanish from it all. Forget everything, the roles they had to play, the war they had to rage.
Xehanort was so close to kissing him, but he was being such a tease. Sora was at loss, growing more and more frustrated. Whenever Sora tried to nip at his lips and draw him near, Xehanort would just turn away.
It was torture.
His nose and lips were ghosting over Sora's pulse, over the soft flesh of his neck. Every touch was too gentle, too ephemeral. Sora stifled a groan, shameless and impatient. Being naturally bold, he reached out and yanked onto Xehanort's coat without thinking. He roughly grasped at the leather, palming the warmth of Xehanort's back, and pulled him into his lap.
Xehanort settled cozily into Sora's space, laughing through his nose. He pressed their foreheads together and clutched a fistful of spiky, steel-colored hair. Xehanort closed his eyes, looking relaxed and catlike as he nuzzled Sora. Their lips touched when he spoke again, his voice low and elusive.
"You finally understand now, don't you?"
In all honesty, Sora was wedged in-between agreeing with that statement, and flat-out denying it.
He understood nothing, yet understood everything at the same time.
How this all came to be was still beyond him. Making sense of his combined consciousness with Xehanort--how their hearts bled into each other, overlapping. It was a painful mess trying to sort through which parts were uniquely him and which parts were Xehanort.
One who knows nothing can understand nothing.
But Sora wasn't empty. He has come to know a lot of things, too many things.
Even though Sora struggles to comprehend his own fate, he has gained a profound understanding of Xehanort, whether he likes it or not.
There was probably much, much more he still didn't know, could never hope to know--but there was a strong empathetic connection.
He experienced Xehanort's emotions like second-hand smoke, taking it all right into his lungs, into his core.
When Xehanort hugged him tightly, a feeling of bliss and fulfillment washed over Sora. Did these feelings belong to him? Or was he just basking in Xehanort's? Is this genuine? Is it mutual? Maybe. It didn't matter. It felt good and right--even if it was all wrong.
"This...This is all I ever wanted..." Xehanort confessed, his quiet voice filled with fondness and solemnity.
Suddenly, Sora started laughing. It was a little out of place. One might describe it as unsettling. It would have startled any other person.
Even he didn't know why. Maybe it was some weird reflex. Maybe he was laughing at himself.
Everywhere he went, he was always trying to make everyone happy. How was this any different? From world to world, everyone needed his help. Needed to make use of him. Relied on him. Xehanort was a person who probably needed his help most of all. And he felt so needed whenever Xehanort clung to him like this, sounding so sincere. He loved feeling needed. Feeling important. Feeling useful.
So why not give what he could? Peel everything away. Accept it.
Sora couldn't begin to make sense of his current circumstances, or what lies ahead. Not entirely. But he could laugh, because why not? He could laugh, if only to help cope with this warmth that was crushing him inside.
His laughter...it wasn't bitter. Not even angry or sad.
It was resignation.
"Then this what I want, too. Your happiness is my happiness."