She takes his hand, on the cold nights where he can't remember whether his heart is beating or not. Her hand is warm; all soft flesh and firelight heat. It doesn't feel like Axel's, not quite. Hers is a candle's wick compared to his firestorm heat, but it's comforting nonetheless that she wakes and rolls from the comfort of Riku's arms to wrap him in hers. She calls him by his name—not the way the others had, but quietly, earnest. Roxas.
He can see why she is a princess of heart the same way that he can see the briefest flicker of Namine in her eyes.
Sora's body feels alien to him, too warm, heart churning liters of blood through veins that are not his. He's taller, as Sora. His frame too gawky; skinny where Roxas had a few extra pounds of baby fat.
From all the ice cream, probably, a voice whispers.
He clenches Sora's eyes tight and hangs on tightly to Kairi's hand; centering himself by listening to the soft sound of Riku's breath—Kairi's mumbled, half asleep enquires as to whether he's alright. He isn't all right. He isn't, he isn't. He should be nothing, just a spare part of Sora's heart, but instead he is here, waking every night between lovers who are not his to the voice of one who once was.
He opens his eyes, briefly, and over Kairi's shoulder he can see him, silhouetted against the window. He's reclining there, lit cigarette weaving smoke between the moonbeams, an affectionate half smile on his face.
"You aren't real," he whispers into the pillow, stroking Sora's leg against Riku's beneath the sheets. Ground yourself. You'll be okay. Even his ghost wouldn't hurt you.
The image of Axel sighs, and pushes off the window; leaning over Kairi so Roxas can't look away from his face—from Axel's hair mixing with Kairi's on her bare shoulder. He's still smiling, but his eyes are sad. Kairi sighs in her sleep and mumbles a name, something that might have been his, if she was more awake. Axel looks at her for a moment, and strokes her hair back, away from his. I am real, he whispers, so quiet that the sifting of the palms in the wind nearly drown him out.
I am real, he says again, and when Roxas looks up, there's determination there. Your memories let me live forever. Don't you get it Roxas? As long as you remember me, I'm immortal.
He turns his smile out the window, and reaches over to brush a knuckle across Sora's cheek—unconcerned when his fingers tangle in Riku's hair as well. Together, he whispers, we will live forever.