Just like that, all gravitas shatters. It's so quintessentially Sora that he can't help the sound that Riku makes, somewhere between an amused snort and a choke on the relieved sigh in his lungs. It's him. It's really him. It's Sora, he's here, after all the fruitless searching, the too-brief reunion in that lightless world, and then...
Riku yanks on the reins on his own hope, his enthusiasm. He's been in a place where hallucinations weren't just routine, they were incredibly convincing. He's come to expect that anything that seems too good to be true surely can't be, and skepticism drives him to reach out.
Once, in a castle devoid of color, he took the king's face in both hands like this, because he'd been alone for so long he could scarcely believe his own eyes that a friend was there at all. Because... before, he'd only been a kind of mirage. A message given visual shape.
The face under his palms is solid, warm. As soon as he feels it, Riku draws back his hands like he'd touched a hot stove, exhaling a hard sound of surprise. It-- It hangs up on something lodged in his throat. His heart, maybe. And it transforms into a brief burst of laughter, disbelieving, elated, a half-dozen or more other feelings.
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Just like that, all gravitas shatters. It's so quintessentially Sora that he can't help the sound that Riku makes, somewhere between an amused snort and a choke on the relieved sigh in his lungs. It's him. It's really him. It's Sora, he's here, after all the fruitless searching, the too-brief reunion in that lightless world, and then...
Riku yanks on the reins on his own hope, his enthusiasm. He's been in a place where hallucinations weren't just routine, they were incredibly convincing. He's come to expect that anything that seems too good to be true surely can't be, and skepticism drives him to reach out.
Once, in a castle devoid of color, he took the king's face in both hands like this, because he'd been alone for so long he could scarcely believe his own eyes that a friend was there at all. Because... before, he'd only been a kind of mirage. A message given visual shape.
The face under his palms is solid, warm. As soon as he feels it, Riku draws back his hands like he'd touched a hot stove, exhaling a hard sound of surprise. It--
It hangs up on something lodged in his throat. His heart, maybe.
And it transforms into a brief burst of laughter, disbelieving, elated, a half-dozen or more other feelings.