His Eyes
Roxas felt his eyes close, but he couldn’t force them to stay open. The further down they drifted, the more tired he realized he was. His hand cradled the mouse as he played the umpteenth game of solitaire that day; he was winning, but that could change any moment. His luck had been abysmal of late. Out of the last fifteen games, he probably had won maybe three.
Now, though, his brain was completely melted as he listened to whatever music his playlist could throw at him. He knew he desperately needed to go to sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to close out of solitaire, at least not until he won one more game. He used to be a Nobody; Sora’s Nobody. But now, he had merged with Sora once again, and his persona was once again submerged beneath Sora’s.
However, now that Sora knew that Roxas was there, the two sometimes swapped places; for an hour or so, Roxas could live his own life, without repercussions for Sora (he changed forms as well). No one knew it could be like this, and Roxas had no actual proof that he hadn’t gone crazy. Now, though, he relished the few moments he had left to goof off. When their body woke again, Sora’s eyes would open, the piercing blue occupied not by the Exnobody, but by the Keyblade wielder.
He really missed his friends from Twilight Town. The realization wasn’t so much a shock to him as a clashing of logics. (Even now that he shared a heart with Sora, his emotions were fairly subdued; it was just who he was.) When he knew Hayner and his gang, Roxas hadn’t had a heart. He’d had no emotions. How could he miss them if he never felt anything for them? Well, Sora felt for them; but then again, he was a woobie. He was friends with anyone that wasn’t a Heartless.
He had also been almost surprised to discover, that morning, that he missed Axel. Not just Sora, but him, Roxas! He missed Axel’s snarkiness, and the psuedo-friendship they had shared. Roxas sometimes wondered why they couldn’t have been born as their own people, with their own hearts and bodies. He was fairly sure that the two of them would have met anyway, and become friends. There was a concept that Roxas hadn’t tangled with in a while.
He had no friends; he had psuedo-friends, and he had people he had once regarded as friends. However, the first were all dissipated now, except for Namine, and… well, she was different. And the second, well…he had learned later that neither them nor the relationship had been real. Oh, the people were real enough. Just not his ‘version’. Even if they had been the real versions, he wouldn’t have been able to care for them anyway. He had no emotions. Well, he did–does–now, but that’s a bit of a digression.
At the moment, he was trying his hardest not to fall asleep. His eyes kept drifting shut, and he was very tempted to just lay down his head on the desk and sleep, as Roxas. However, he knew he couldn’t.
Yawning, he stood and stretched. Taking off his shirt as he walked to his–Sora’s–their–bed, he flicked a hand through his hair, checking the sandy blond color in the mirror. Closing his eyes, he felt the physical changes of his personality submerging. The bones of the body shifted slightly to allow for the difference in frames, and when he opened his eyes, the same haunting blue, he saw Sora’s astonished auburn streak through the hair that was quickly changing in natural style and even hair type.
Roxas was nearly sucked under by the physical change, but he held on long enough to raise a hand–Sora’s hand–to the drawer, opening it and retrieving a shirt. Slipping it on, he slipped between the sheets and, before he got comfortable, reached up and flicked off the light. The last thing he did before sleep overcame him was close his eyes. His eyes, the only physical trait he and Sora seemed to share. The haunting blue eyes that were Sora’s eyes, but his. He closed his eyes.
