towerofanimus | identity wank ahoy

Entry tags:

identity wank ahoy

Characters: Roxas and Aqua to start...Ven and Nams later on since I'm not wasting space making multiple posts for his angsty business.
Setting: People's rooms, though he's going to move around quite a bit.
Format: Whatevs, we coo' guys, we coo'.
Summary: Set after this thread. Roxas, naturally, has to go inquire about this possibility with a few people in a specific order.
Warnings: I am expecting someone to angst before this is through. If not, we're doing it wrong guys.

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There was a long moment of silence, and his popsicle dripped a bit down the side of his hand.

"...just, tell me."

Why not. He was tired. "I don't want to keep jumping to conclusions. I don't need to know everything, just..." Frankly, he didn't know what he wanted or was expecting. But some sort of direction would have been nice.

Her own ice cream was melting, too, but she paid it no mind. "...You and Ven are connected, but... you're not the same person." Not exactly, anyway. If only this ~~canon~~ were less complicated. After all, what made a person who they were? Their memories? If that was it, then they were definitely not the same person.

"...so I don't have any doom, keyblade thing?" That was half his concern, at this point. "I just don't want to cause any more problems. They told me about the Xehanort guy, sort of."

Roxas finally dove back in to his popsicle, as if he wasn't just discussing the series final badguy. "I'm sorry I have to put you on the spot like this. I just don't know what to do..."

She couldn't help wondering exactly what he'd been told, but refrained from asking. "...No." Of course, that was complicated, too. "The keyblade can be a tool for great good, or for great evil. It's not the keyblade that decides, but its wielder." The keyblade chose it's wielder, of course, but that was something else entirely.

Noticing his attention shift to the popsicle, she remembered her own just in time to keep it from making a mess. "It's alright, Roxas, really. I want to help you."

"Why? Why do you want to help me?" Seemed like a good a time as any to continue 20 questions. "Were we friends before...? I know I've forgot things, but I don't want to forget stuff like that."

His popsicle was almost gone, and with it went any distraction. "It feels weird, people knowing me, and not knowing where I stand with them."

A pause, and he shook his head. "...it's always about me. I should be asking you about yourself, not the other way around."

"Well..." That was a complicated question to answer, especially without telling him anything else. "...not exactly." At first, she'd thought his memories were missing, but with the new information she'd gathered, it wouldn't have surprised her if it was instead that he was from a slightly earlier time. "We met briefly, but... it's-- complicated." Everything was, and she was saying that a lot, these days. "I would have liked for us to be friends, but we didn't really get the chance." She contemplated the last dregs of her popsicle. "I want to help you because..." There were so many reasons, and so many of them were ones she couldn't tell him, ones she'd wanted to tell him for the longest time. "... because of that." Although it was one of the reasons, it was probably one of the smallest, and the reason for that reason itself was a bigger one.

She listened quietly to that musing, intending to say something to comfort him, but he changed the subject. "No, it's alright. You don't have to worry about me." ~~Not to mention it would be difficult to talk about herself without it leaking into talking about him, too.~~

Roxas passively listened, discarding his popsicle stick beside himself carelessly, before crossing his fingers together over his knees. The colored strings were bothering him all of a sudden, or were very fascinating, because he didn't speak up for quite a while.

"I do have to worry about you, Naminé. If we didn't get a chance to be friends before- we're making up for that now, right?" He started off speaking softly, but quickly grew in volume. Frustrated, but not at her directly. "You know- you know a lot, about me and Ven, and you can't tell us anything. Don't tell me that isn't hard or painful." Roxas wasn't the sort that showed restraint too often, so he couldn't imagine trying to talk to people he knew but couldn't tell them how. "I don't want you suffering any more than I want to, okay? I mean that."

Naminé's eyes widened, both at what he was saying and later his frustration. It was an unbearably kind thing to say, at least to her, who had had so few kind words spoken to her in her life. It was actually rather jarring; she'd spent so long sympathizing with him, with his troubles, wishing things were easier for him that it was utterly bizzare to hear him say something like that to her. She wasn't certain what to think, but her chest hurt-- in a good way? One of her hands came up to press against it as if to make sure.

Was it hard, to do this? She hadn't thought about it. It was, it was true, but even as she began to realize that, she shoved the thought away. She'd wanted to be friends, to talk about everything, but... one out of two was good enough. It had to be, even if she was always fighting with her voice to make sure everyone else could stay happy. "...Right." It was soft and late and in response to that first question, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes; they could make up for the machinations of destiny here (because of the machinations of destiny?). But... all of this kindness, his concern for her-- it was too much. She knew she didn't deserve it, would never deserve it. If only he could understand that.

This thought was met with simultaneous acceptance and rejection by the rest of her thoughts. It was true, too true, and yet at the same time the idea of him actually realizing that made her feel ill. Oddly enough, it was actually her concern for him that made her finally say, "Roxas--... that's so, so kind of you, but..." There was a pause where she spent a moment trying to get the rebellious parts of her mind to cooperate. "...I'm not worth worrying about." The way she said it left no room for uncertainty. This was fact, pure and simple. (At least to her.)

Was she really denying it? Why did she have such low self-worth...? His gut reaction was to get, well, angry. Not at her, but on her own behalf- because so help him if he had to defend Naminé from herself, he would do it. Yet, Roxas softened his harsh look after a minute, shifting closer to Nams. He wanted to do something to prove his point, but...frankly, physical affection would be weird.

"That's fine. You don't have to agree with me." Roxas sighed, looking at his hands again, but picked his gaze up and stared right at Nams. "But you're worth worrying about to me. That's how I feel."

Eventually, he reached his arm out, wrapping it around her shoulder in some awkward sense of a hug, but didn't bring his other arm up to complete it. He didn't figure closing her in like that would make her feel better- if anything, she might get more flighty.

The girl raised her head as he shifted originally, her curiosity and instinctive discomfort driving her. Briefly, she had to remind herself that this was Roxas. No need to get nervous about him getting closer. He wasn't going to hurt her-- probably, unless he'd really taken what she said to heart, which... knowing both him and his Other, didn't seem likely, even if he did believe her.

Her expression attempted to move toward apologetic but got sidetracked by surprise at his response, and she automatically followed his eyes until he looked back at her. That part of his answer made her feel rather like she'd just been punched in the stomach, both because it was another startling concept and because he said it was how he felt and that... that couldn't be, and she couldn't TELL him it couldn't be because--

She was still reeling from that when she felt him wrap his arm around her shoulder. She went rigid, reflexively turning her head to try to see even though she could easily tell what it was. Still, she had a very hard time processing what, exactly, was going on here. Her eyes went from his arm to his face and back again once or twice, then turned toward the ground. Hesitantly, she reached up to place her hand lightly on his arm. Whether this was her way of telling herself that it was really there or returning the sort-of-hug was unclear even to her, but she left her hand where it was. She wished she could think of the words to tell him that he was wrong, to find some way to make him believe it, but she found all she could think was, "Thank you." It came out like a gasp, and to her surprise, her eyes were beginning to prickle. She wanted to add that he was wrong, so wrong, but she couldn't get her throat to cooperate.

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identity wank ahoy

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