Chapter Text
Sora wakes up in a room that isn’t his own.
That’s enough to panic over, because Sora clearly remembers going to sleep in his own bed last night… but there’s something much more pressing, something that sends chills like icy fingers down Sora’s— nude?— back.
He stares up at the vaguely familiar ceiling, and his mind is completely quiet.
Sora has never had a quiet mind in his life.
His mind is always racing, jumping from thought to thought, as though his brain is trying to squeeze as many thoughts as possible into each day.
Sora also usually has the irresistible urge to hop straight out of bed, his body humming like an engine, primed and ready to drive him forth towards… anything that will occupy his attention.
Activity. Movement. Stimulation.
He quietly panics as he stares up at the ceiling, something reluctant and sluggish about his body, which feels more like it wants to— he balks at the very thought— sleep in.
Maybe he’s getting sick? It’s been quite a while since he’s had a bad bout of the flu or something… but he doesn’t feel overly hot, dizzy, congested…
He moves to curl on his side, debating over whether he should just bury himself under the blankets, and his eyes catch on the unique star-shaped windows of the Mysterious Tower.
Ah. Well, it’s not his room, but he’s still in his makeshift home, so that’s a relief.
Very slowly, his thoughts decide to stop complaining about being awake. He remembers that he and Riku are staying in Yen Sid’s old tower on some sort of forced rest after everything that happened in Quadratum. He thinks Mickey and Kairi might still be here, but it still doesn’t explain why Sora isn’t in his own room.
They all have one, after all.
The more he tries to think, the more his brain hurts, like there’s a horrible storm brewing inside his skull, battering his head from the inside. Sora’s taken a few blows to the head before, but nothing like this; his stomach turns and his eyes ache, so he closes them against the light streaming through from outside.
There’s a crash across the room, and the door slams open dramatically.
Sora sits up, startled out of the strange, sluggish paralysis, his arm reaching for his keyblade and only proceeding to knock over something on his bedside table. He pays it no mind, staring at the door in horror as he watches himself stumble into the room.
“What the fuck,” he says, watching himself fall to the ground in a flailing tangle of limbs. His voice comes out low and rough, no inflection in the question at all.
“Ow,” the Sora on the floor mumbles, struggling to get his legs under him as he flips over and finally manages to kneel on the floor, eyes wide and shocked as he stares up at Sora-on-the-bed (the real Sora, thanks very much!)
Floor Sora bites his lip, getting to shaky feet before trying to compose himself, crossing his arms like he didn’t just fall on his face. “We’ve, uh,” he says, and his voice is Sora’s, but something about the way he speaks isn’t. “We’ve got a problem, Sora.”
Something about the way he says Sora’s name makes alarm bells ring in Sora’s head.
He finally looks down at himself, eyes bugging out of his head when he sees his body, the pecs right in front of his face, the bare, muscled arms, the abs—
“Holy shit,” he chokes, managing to drag his eyes away from the smooth, pale skin on display before he embarrasses himself. “Holy… Riku?”
Riku’s wry, lopsided smile looks strange on Sora’s face.
“Ugh,” Sora says, his head pounding. “Riku, my head is… How are you even upright when I feel like I've been run over by a truck? It's not fairrrrrr.”
Riku winces. That looks weird on Sora's face, too. “I'm so sorry, Sora. I… I get migraines, sometimes.”
Sora closes his eyes once more, then elects to cover them with Riku's (big) hands, letting out a shuddering breath when the darkness soothes the thudding pain screaming through his skull.
How can Riku live like this? With a dull roar pounding through his head like this?
“You've gotta have a Curaga or somethin’,” Sora mumbles, flopping back down onto the bed and groaning pathetically when his only reward for being horizontal so quickly is vertigo.
Riku shuffles closer, and his footsteps sound far too loud, echoing through Sora's already tender brain. “Sorry,” Riku says, and it sounds extra sincere and pathetic in Sora's more expressive voice. “I've tried before. It doesn't work. Coffee helps, sometimes. If you can stomach getting to the kitchen…?”
The mention of his stomach reminds Sora of the nausea rising up his throat, and it is only worsened by the thought of traipsing all the way down the stairs to the tower's kitchen.
“Nooooo…” he whines, and cringes at how weird Riku’s voice sounds coming out of his mouth. Even if his mouth is currently Riku. Wow, this whole thing really is confusing, and Sora's aching head spins in circles trying to process it all.
“I'll… I'll go make you some,” Riku mumbles, sounding as uncomfortable as Sora feels. Moments later, Riku's door snaps open and closes in quick succession.
Sora is left alone with his thoughts once more.
He huffs out a frustrated breath. If there's one thing he hates, it's forced bed rest.
The amount of time it will take Riku to traipse down a few staircases, figure out the correct portals to use to find the kitchen, and then brew coffee should take a while, so Sora isn’t expecting his door to click open for at least twenty minutes.
He jumps when his door clicks open within like thirty seconds.
“Here,” it’s Sora’s voice, but Riku’s tone, oddly rough.
Sora swallows hard as he feels gentle hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his aching eyes. “It hurts,” he complains, but allows Riku to slowly pull him into a seated position against the headboard.
“I can’t believe you kept this,” Riku says, and then he’s wrapping impossibly soft fabric around Sora’s eyes. The fabric dulls the bright light, and something about the gentle pressure against his eyes, his temples, and the back of his head soothes some of the throbbing. The storm abates and takes some of the persistent nausea with it. “Is that better? Not too tight?”
Sora inhales slowly, oxygen shuddering into his lungs. “Y-yeah, that’s… that’s much better. Thanks, Riku.”
Riku ruffles his hair reflexively, and that’s one of the weirdest things yet, because Riku’s hair is so fine and silky. Feeling a hand against his (much more sensitive) scalp sends a strange, pleasant shiver down his chest that he tries desperately to ignore.
“I’ll, uh,” Riku says, fumbling over his words. He’s probably feeling just as wrong-footed as Sora is. “I’ll go get you that coffee, alright?”
Sora nods, hesitantly opening his eyes even though he knows he won’t see Riku leave.
He can’t see anything through the worn black fabric, but he lets out a relieved sigh. His eyes feel a lot less like they’ll implode, with the dark fabric shielding him from the worst of the sun streaming through the windows. All he can do is lean against the headboard and wait for Riku to return. It should probably be frustrating, feeling so helpless, but… it feels sort of nice?
He knows Riku will take care of him, no matter what.
Why they’ve seemingly switched bodies… that’s still something his throbbing head doesn’t want to allow him to muse over, but he’s… he’s not afraid. No matter the cause, he and Riku can figure it out.
Together.
✧ ♡ 🗝 ♡ ✧