Each of them had one unexpected thing that they were really good at.
Riku worked with his hands -- at some point, Sora and Kairi had noticed that he was a craftsman at heart. He liked to carve little shapes out of wood and build rafts. Fishing was his hobby, but he wasn't as good at it as Kairi (who, ironically, didn't have the patience for it) and he preferred making things. They made him feel useful, he said; made other people think that he was useful, compliment him on his skill and his generosity in giving things away. They were no use to him once they were done.
More than once the other two had woken in the middle of the night to find that the spot where Riku should have been sleeping was vacated, and that the man himself was in another room, building a matchstick castle by candlelight.
"I couldn't sleep," he said sheepishly, and then Sora shoved him out of his chair and back to bed.
Kairi could tell stories. She would attribute meaning to the strangest things: sewing scissors, pumpernickel bread, debris in the water. As if her own experience weren't exotic enough, she made up origins for everything else she saw. This glass was blown by a frustrated artist who followed in the family trade when what he really wanted was to race, and that cashier down at the grocery store had had a fight with his wife that morning over a small thing because his marriage was failing, which was why he was so short with them.
They tried to get her to write them down, but it was like she forgot the words when she had paper. Riku hovered over her chair and Sora sat across from her, leaning on his arms.
"This soda can has carried across the waves the whimsical dreams of a midsummer contest among boys," Riku read aloud, and Sora said dubiously, "Really?"
"I don't know!" she said, frustrated, and threw the pen across the room.
Sora's gift was a simple one, although as children they would never have expected it of him.
He could cure any problem with a kiss.
"Just lie down with me," he'd coax Riku, slipping arms around his waist and pressing lips to his neck, his ear, his mouth. "When you're not here I hog the bed, and then Kairi kicks me out." Kairi curved against Sora's back and smiled over his shoulder at Riku. Somehow Riku would fall asleep, warm and serene.
Sora would hop up to retrieve the pen to find Kairi all but ready for a tantrum, turning an embarrassed red with her arms folded sullenly. He swept her right out from beneath Riku's nose, grinning and kissed her playfully. "So what? I like hearing them better than reading them anyway."
"That's because you don't read," Riku said, dryly.
"Shut up," Sora said, scowling at him, as Kairi melted a little in his arms and smiled reluctantly.
Both Riku and Kairi agreed that it was very tricky of him, and they loved him for it.
Kairi/Sora/Riku: "Tricky"
Riku worked with his hands -- at some point, Sora and Kairi had noticed that he was a craftsman at heart. He liked to carve little shapes out of wood and build rafts. Fishing was his hobby, but he wasn't as good at it as Kairi (who, ironically, didn't have the patience for it) and he preferred making things. They made him feel useful, he said; made other people think that he was useful, compliment him on his skill and his generosity in giving things away. They were no use to him once they were done.
More than once the other two had woken in the middle of the night to find that the spot where Riku should have been sleeping was vacated, and that the man himself was in another room, building a matchstick castle by candlelight.
"I couldn't sleep," he said sheepishly, and then Sora shoved him out of his chair and back to bed.
Kairi could tell stories. She would attribute meaning to the strangest things: sewing scissors, pumpernickel bread, debris in the water. As if her own experience weren't exotic enough, she made up origins for everything else she saw. This glass was blown by a frustrated artist who followed in the family trade when what he really wanted was to race, and that cashier down at the grocery store had had a fight with his wife that morning over a small thing because his marriage was failing, which was why he was so short with them.
They tried to get her to write them down, but it was like she forgot the words when she had paper. Riku hovered over her chair and Sora sat across from her, leaning on his arms.
"This soda can has carried across the waves the whimsical dreams of a midsummer contest among boys," Riku read aloud, and Sora said dubiously, "Really?"
"I don't know!" she said, frustrated, and threw the pen across the room.
Sora's gift was a simple one, although as children they would never have expected it of him.
He could cure any problem with a kiss.
"Just lie down with me," he'd coax Riku, slipping arms around his waist and pressing lips to his neck, his ear, his mouth. "When you're not here I hog the bed, and then Kairi kicks me out." Kairi curved against Sora's back and smiled over his shoulder at Riku. Somehow Riku would fall asleep, warm and serene.
Sora would hop up to retrieve the pen to find Kairi all but ready for a tantrum, turning an embarrassed red with her arms folded sullenly. He swept her right out from beneath Riku's nose, grinning and kissed her playfully. "So what? I like hearing them better than reading them anyway."
"That's because you don't read," Riku said, dryly.
"Shut up," Sora said, scowling at him, as Kairi melted a little in his arms and smiled reluctantly.
Both Riku and Kairi agreed that it was very tricky of him, and they loved him for it.