Riku thinks often about the nature of light and darkness. The stronger the light, the deeper the shadows. How it's not about what came first, the Darkness or the Light, it's not deciding this that's important as much as how much the dark loves the light, ever chasing after. How it can't smother the Light entirely, how it burns brightly even in the deepest Darkness. In this nearly lightless world, he's learned how true that is, even if sometimes the light burns somewhat desperately.
His heart's been cracked by the strain it's been under, by the weight of his grief, even Braveheart won't answer its call. Its appearance as the broken Way to Dawn that night in the forest had been a warning, Riku thinks, and instead of heeding it he nearly tried to kill the person who had tried to help him.
While he was still tied up - both for their protection and his own - Riku thinks it was just desperation holding together the pieces. Determination, then, when Bruce released his bonds, tested the treatment he'd given his wrists as he slept, wrapped them again. He feels worn thin and brittle and he's glad for the relative privacy of the museum. It... feels like a place safe enough to be brittle in until he gets stronger.
Bruce doesn't press him, doesn't give the impression he needs to hurry up and get over it and he speculates that perhaps Bruce has been in this sort of position, that maybe he understands what it means to lose something so important it breaks your heart.
Vanitas always hurts, and his honest admission should shock him as much as the revelation but Riku has room for only one. He always hurts, like it's a matter of fact, and abruptly he understands why he's always quick to fight, on the offensive, why he claws out instead of allowing anyone in, why it would take someone like Sora to reach him. Why, with him gone, he might say something like how we don't all have to survive.
He stares at him for a long moment, the slight part of his mouth speechless.
"Nothing like Curaga," he automatically answers, just for something to say, "But what do I know."
Exhaling softly, Riku lifts his hand, reaching for the glass experimentally, "Never tried it."
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His heart's been cracked by the strain it's been under, by the weight of his grief, even Braveheart won't answer its call. Its appearance as the broken Way to Dawn that night in the forest had been a warning, Riku thinks, and instead of heeding it he nearly tried to kill the person who had tried to help him.
While he was still tied up - both for their protection and his own - Riku thinks it was just desperation holding together the pieces. Determination, then, when Bruce released his bonds, tested the treatment he'd given his wrists as he slept, wrapped them again. He feels worn thin and brittle and he's glad for the relative privacy of the museum. It... feels like a place safe enough to be brittle in until he gets stronger.
Bruce doesn't press him, doesn't give the impression he needs to hurry up and get over it and he speculates that perhaps Bruce has been in this sort of position, that maybe he understands what it means to lose something so important it breaks your heart.
Vanitas always hurts, and his honest admission should shock him as much as the revelation but Riku has room for only one. He always hurts, like it's a matter of fact, and abruptly he understands why he's always quick to fight, on the offensive, why he claws out instead of allowing anyone in, why it would take someone like Sora to reach him. Why, with him gone, he might say something like how we don't all have to survive.
He stares at him for a long moment, the slight part of his mouth speechless.
"Nothing like Curaga," he automatically answers, just for something to say, "But what do I know."
Exhaling softly, Riku lifts his hand, reaching for the glass experimentally, "Never tried it."