kh_drabble | [non-challenge] Second-rate Superhero

title; Second-rate Superhero
word count; 480
notes; Originally supposed to be part of a longer piece, I gave up trying to fit it into the piece itself because it simply didn't work. However, I still liked it as a, ableit a little long, drabble. CoM spoilers, implied Marl/Nami, ???/Nami

He heard the startled gasp behind him, and before he could stop himself he whirled around, but then his reflexes kicked in at the snap movement in the mirror, making him feel a little dizzy and off-balanced as he automatically tried to face off his...sort-of reflection.

It's just me, he told himself, staring wide-eyed at the man staring wide-eyed back at him, and in the corner of the mirror he could see Naminé covering her mouth, pale cheeks and hands dusted with white powder (flour, his mind said, she said she's learning to bake today), and somehow he didn't dare to face her, not with his dead rival's face.

"It's me," he said to the mirror, licking his lips and swallowing hard when the voice that emerged was deeper than his own, richer and almost drawling as he spoke, and he struggled to rectify it when Naminé leaned against the doorway, sky blue eyes filling with tears. "It's me. It's..." his tongue suddenly refused to work, and he belatedly remembered that he still hadn't chosen a name for himself yet. "It's me...Riku," he finished off lamely, "I can change back, Naminé. I'm not him..."

"How... How did you do it?"

"I...Zexion...some part of Zexion's ability became mine."

He was frowning, trying to bring up the recollection of Riku, trying to remember how Zexion had done it. There were still memories, sparse other-memories like smoke, a little bit of knowledge gleaned here and there from stolen experience. They all helped, but he needed to concentrate to bring those tiny memories back, and so he didn't see Naminé approach him until she was touching his shoulder with the tips of her fingers, whispering, "No, wait, don't change back yet..."

And her hands were moving along his body, spanning across his stomach and she was hugging him, leaning forwards against him, her golden hair ticking the back of his arm as she peered, almost shyly, at their combined reflection. In his borrowed image she was so much shorter against him, so much smaller, weaker, more vulnerable.

But her tiny, rosebud mouth was smiling against his skin, sweet and soft (she never smiled like that at him, not once, not once), and he was hesitantly whispering her name when she began to cry, whispering, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” her blue eyes spilling tears as they shuttered down, marking trails down his borrowed arm, tears that he couldn't understand, words he didn't know if they were for him or him and he was closing his own eyes tightly, trying to ward off the pain in his heart.

You never forget your first love.

Never mind that Marluxia might have intended to harm her, never mind that the promises Marluxia might have made were just lies to snare her cooperation and her trust. He didn't know what Marluxia did, but it was crystal-clear that Naminé missed him.

Missed him so very much.