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Author of 16 Stories |
Disclaimer: Yeah. So, I’ve hired the services of ACME. You know, of Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote fame. An anvil should be dropping on Riku’s head any minute. Take that, you pasty-haired idiot. Sora will be mine /Insert evil laugh here/
Author’s Notes: Y’know, I have a bad habit of being a magnet for plot bunnies and their babies. I don’t do it on purpose. I’ll just be walking down the streets on a rainy day, and my umbrella will bump into a kid walking beside me wearing the cutest earring. I’ll offer him my umbrella, we’ll walk to the bus stop, and Gumdrops will be born. Anyway. I needed an idea for a Zemyx, because I offered to write NatsuTsuki one as thanks for making me an update to use when I updated SGW. So there I was, sitting in my dorm with a roommate and a friend, and the friend’s sighing because he’s in One True Love, but he believes she’s out of his league. (Cue Aww!)And then I tell him, ‘Hey, don’t worry, there are girls all over the place! Just check it out: you see that window right there on the dorm across from us? The girl that lives there does a strip tease every night! You’ll be getting laid in no time!’ Now, what does this have to do with anything? Nothing, except that when I sat down at my laptop to plot, I remembered the words strip tease, and it sorta grew from there.
Dedication:To Na-chan. I’m sure I’ve squee’d enough in front of you to just about banish whatever dignity I may have once had, but…damn that icon was love!
Look Away
It began three months ago.
Or at the very least, Zexion had first seen it three months ago. He had no idea how long it had actually been going on, or if anyone else had ever noticed, or if there had ever been anything else to notice. And in the end, none of that mattered. Zexion had first seen it three months ago, and it had become an addiction.
Even now, he couldn’t quite remember how it had begun. Oh, he could remember quite clearly the first time it had been brought to his attention, the first time he’d looked out his window and seen something no one had the right to see, but the why of it was still quite a mystery to him. Maybe he’d accidentally left the blinds open. Maybe he’d entered the room at exactly the right - wrong? - time. Or maybe he’d been looking all along, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that would grant him his daily fix. It could have been whatever, but the why and how of it did not matter. Zexion couldn’t stop, anyway.
The stocky youth glanced at his watch. Just a few more minutes.
Zexion switched off the lights and stumbled towards the bed, propped along the side of the wall bearing the window. He shrugged his t-shirt off, throwing it into his laundry basket and pulling on a plain tank-top. He sat on the corner of his bed, head bowed, slipping off his shoes and jeans and socks, refusing to lift his head to stare out the window. Not yet. Just a little while longer. Wait just a little while longer.
Zexion smoothed out his tank and boxers, then turned and slid underneath the covers. And then he twisted onto his side, propped himself up onto an elbow to gaze out the window, and waited.
It was disgusting. He was a terrible person for doing this. He was. But it didn’t matter. Zexion didn’t care. He had never been one to worry about morality and respect and anything that could prevent him from getting what he wanted.
But if that was true, then what was this emotion curling in his chest? This feeling of pain, sadness, and so much guilt? Zexion felt sure that it wasn’t the act itself that hurt him even to commit it. No. It was something else. The thought that one day, his actions would be brought to light, and that there would be no forgiveness from the only one whose opinions he truly cared about. The thought that by doing this, he was hurting someone.
The show began.
Fifteen feet away, across the small strip of grass separating their respective dorms, a young man entered the room directly opposite of Zexion’s third story quarters. He turned on the light, bathing the room in a soft sort of fluorescence, and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it onto a desk chair.
Zexion frowned and sat up, secure in his anonymity. The man in the other room looked tense today. That much was obvious by the way he was lolling his head around, massaging his shoulders as he stretched. The movements accented the slight muscles along his torso. Zexion felt his mouth go dry. He’d give anything in the world - he’d do anything, give up everything - to be over there, in that room fifteen feet away, where one young dirty-blond was stretching his arms over his shoulders, throwing every curve and muscle into sharp relief.
The blond paced the length of his room once, then threw his head back in agitation. Zexion leaned forward. Anything. He would give anything to have that neck beneath his lips, to have it arched and quivering as he sucked and licked and nipped all over, leaving no bit of skin unmarked. He’d suck a collar of bruises around the pale column, a sign to the world that it belonged only to him, that no one else would ever be able to touch it, that they could look all they wanted but in the end…in the end…
The figure in the opposite window clasped a hand over his mouth in a yawn and sat down on the corner of his bed. An ocean blue comforter, sky blue pillow, and oh how it would feel to have that cascade of blue pouring over their bodies as they writhed and twisted along the mattress, marking the sheets with the evidence of their need and lust and…and love.
Love.
Love was the reason why - when the blond stood up from the bed and began to peel black boxers from slender hips - Zexion closed the shades and flopped back down onto his pillow, unfulfilled and wanting. Love was the reason why - when Zexion realized that his right hand had unconsciously stolen beneath his shorts and had wrapped loosely around the flesh it found there - he pulled it away reluctantly and closed his eyes, taking deep, soothing breaths in an effort to calm himself.
He’d never been able to watch past the part where the slim blond took hold of the waistband of his boxers and began to slide them down. Never. He wanted to see, oh how he wanted to see. He wanted to hold a picture in is mind of him, bare and supple and arching off the sheets. He wanted to know how large a tunnel his fist would make when he grasped the blond and brought him fumbling over the edges of ecstasy. He wanted to know how large he would feel in his mouth, how the other man’s flushed erection would feel against his stomach as he drove into that slim, supple body, as he tore cries and shouts and groans of pleasure from that beautiful throat.
Oh God, how he wanted to see. But he couldn’t, and - so much more importantly - he wouldn’t. Because what he felt for the blond in the window was not affection or infatuation or lust. It was all of those, yes, but if it had been merely that, Zexion would not freeze his hands every time they slipped under his shorts in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure building there. If it was not love, Zexion would not close the blinds every time.
If it was not love, Zexion’s heart - and the scientist in him had yet to figure out how a simple muscle could feel so much pain - would not throb and pulse and convulse every time that blond waved his hand goodbye and walked away to his next class. It would not feel so horrible to see him walk away every day. And it would not hurt so much to picture Demyx - beautiful, wonderful Demyx who killed him inside every time he turned that bright smile away from him and to another - as he would be in ten years; married, happy, and utterly out of his reach.
Because Demyx was Zexion’s best friend, he was Zexion’s one true love. Zexion wasn’t Demyx’s. And for this reason, Zexion betrayed Demyx every day he waited at his bedroom window like a stalker, aching for the tiniest glimpse of that pale expanse of flesh, wishing and hoping and praying a steady mantra over and over again in his head: Look at me, notice me, pay attention to me, love me, Demyx, why won’t you love me?
But Demyx did love him. Just not in the way Zexion needed him to. Demyx loved Zexion in the same way he loved the rest of the world: completely and wholly and platonically. And, no matter how Zexion wished it to the contrary, Demyx belonged to the world. To everyone.
And it was never more evident than it was every night when Demyx stripped at the window, his blinds open, his beautiful, slim body bare for the world to see. Anyone could be watching. Everyone could be watching.
Zexion closed his eyes and fought the urge to pull the covers over his head. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
Last semester, Demyx had rushed up to him after Chem and proudly declared that he’d finally decided on adding a second major to his already chosen one of music theory. He wanted to be a marine biologist, especially since he’d heard that Professor Ariel was an amazing teacher, and to learn under her was to gain an almost personal knowledge about the ocean and its mysteries.
And how could Zexion say no, really? He couldn‘t. Not when Demyx was staring at him with that huge grin and those teasing eyes, not when his melodic voice - the same voice that every Sunday brought the church congregation to tears at the sheer beauty of it - was begging him, asking him, saying ‘C’mon, Zexy, sign up with me! Please? I don’t wanna be alone in that class, and you’ve gotta take bio courses anyway, right?’
As if summoned by Zexion’s thoughts, a dirty-blond appeared, his ocean eyes laughing and brilliant. He plunked down onto the seat beside Zexion and slung his book bag of his shoulder and onto the floor, opening it and withdrawing a notebook and pencil. He was a good student, really, Zexion thought almost fondly. He wanted to learn so badly, wanted to soak up every bit of information the pretty redhead professor could offer them. He wanted to live by the ocean, to play songs to its waves and enjoy the beauty inherent there.
Zexion bowed his head, zipping open his own backpack. His slate-colored hair fell over his face, concealing the look of desperate bitterness lying there so apparently. How many girls would ever pack their bags and their makeup and leave everything behind to chase dolphins and study coral reefs? How many boys would ever leave their cozy civilization and their I-pods and PS3’s to follow Demyx to the depths of the sea, to spend their lives among sharks and octopuses and schools upon schools of fish? No one. Not one.
Zexion would. He closed his eyes, fishing a pen out of the confines of his bag. He didn’t even like the ocean. But he would go. He would study it. If Demyx asked it of him, Zexion would follow and learn about the wonders of the sea. He’d create and conduct his own experiments. That’s all he wanted, really. A lab to research in. A species to study. And Demyx. Just Demyx.
“You okay over there?” Demyx asked, face drawn slightly. “You look like you’re stressed about something.”
‘You!’ Zexion wanted to shout. He wanted to leap onto his chair and point an accusing finger at the boy who was his everything, his reason for existing, his torment. ‘I’m stressed about you! Can’t you see, don’t you notice how I always stare, don’t you see how I always give you everything, how I give you my everything?! Why don’t you see?’
Zexion shrugged and willed a small smile to his face, if only to appease the blond staring at him worriedly. “Nothing really,” he said simply. “I just realized that I’ve yet to study for the exam next week.”
The ocean-eyed boy laughed, reaching out a hand to muss up Zexion’s hair affectionately. “Shut up,” he grinned. “Zexy, you don’t need to study, you remember everything the first time you hear it. Don’t tease the rest of us who actually do need to store away ten hours just so that we can pull an A.”
Zexion forced a quiet smirk onto his face and batted his best friend’s hand away. ‘Don’t do that, Demyx. Please don’t. You can’t possibly know what you’re doing to me.’
“I almost wanna see what would happen if you missed a class and had to borrow notes from someone,” Demyx chuckled. “I wonder if you actually have study habits.”
“Of course I do,” Zexion sighed, opening his notebook to a blank page and scrawling the date atop it in a neat script. “What do you call researching every weekend with Xemnas and the rest?”
The blond grinned, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands behind his head. “I call that playing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Admit it,” he crowed, nudging his friend on the thigh with his foot, completely missing the way Zexion’s entire body froze and how he bent forward, hands clutching around his pencil the slightest bit tighter. “You enjoy researching whatever you all research every weekend. That’s your playtime. There’s nothing in the world you enjoy more than playing with your chemicals.”
‘Of course there is,’ Zexion thought. ‘There’s you. I’d leave it all behind, Demyx. I would. If you would only open your eyes to see. If you would only give me the chance. If I could only tell you. If I wasn’t so fucking scared.’
“I suppose so,” he sighed, flipping his pencil between his fingers. “It is enjoyable. We’re trying to find the link between emotions and the heart and brain. Everyone knows that the limbic system and the amygdala and hippocampus play some role in the creation of emotions, but how is the heart connected to this? Why does the heart hurt when you feel sad, why does the heart soar when you feel happy? It’s all very interesting.”
The blond beside him grinned. “I believe you,” he smiled, and then turned his attention to the front, where Professor Ariel was beginning her lecture.
All through class, Demyx’s presence beside him was a warm comfort. His crossed legs were brushing against the older boy’s calf. Zexion thought he might scream from the unfairness of it all.
When class ended and Demyx left, waving a hand over his shoulder as he rushed to catch the bus to his next class, Zexion raised an arm slowly and rubbed at the skin over his heart. Fucking muscle didn’t know what was good for it.
There was Roxas’s twin brother, Sora, lying on his own bed, his limbs all but undistinguishable from those of his two best friends lying atop him, though if Zexion looked closely enough he could see a pair of clasped hands, both male, within the pile of arms and legs. Beside them, a group of the brunet’s other close friends were squeezing against each other as they ooh’d and ahh’d at the film’s special effects.
And then there was Demyx, his upper body all but lying across Zexion’s legs as he tried to get a closer view. “Dude,” he whispered to the slate-haired boy in awe. “Where did that guy’s head go? It was there a second ago, wasn’t it?”
The older boy shrugged, then shifted his knees apart slightly. “Get up, Demyx,” he sighed. “My legs are falling asleep.”
The blond frowned and waved an unconcerned hand at him, peering intently at the screen. “That’s okay, Zexy,” he muttered. “You’ll live. This is the best view I can get.”
Zexion clenched his eyes shut tight. Please. Why couldn‘t he just be left in peace? Why did Demyx have to hurt him so badly? And the worse thing was that the blond didn‘t mean to. He was acting just as he would with anyone else. He was treating Zexion exactly as he would another close friend. How could he hate him for that?
“If I need to amputate them,” Zexion hissed quietly, “I swear I’ll kill you.”
Demyx grinned and rolled over onto his back so that his head was cradled in Zexion’s lap. “No, you won’t,” he laughed quietly, reaching up to pat the other man on the cheek affectionately. “Because you love me.”
‘Why?’ Zexion asked; to whom, he couldn’t quite figure out. ‘Why are you hurting me like this?’
“Shut up and watch the movie,” he muttered, and raised his head toward the film.
Onscreen, the male lead was returning home to his wife, victorious and tired. He lifted a hand towards the face of his one true love, and she ran into his arms. Tears of sweet, sweet joy were running down her face. They were happy.
Zexion closed his eyes. ‘Why? Why won’t you love me?’
The thing about Demyx was that he was always there. He’d always been there. They’d grown up together. They’d built sandcastles together. They’d go to the ocean, and Zexion would bring his blond best friend gifts of sea shells and sand dollars. They’d visit the river, and Demyx would bring his slate-haired best friend gifts of frogs and salamanders. They’d stumble along the beach and the riverbank, holding hands and pulling each other along, laughing giddily. They were kids, and they were happy.
And then all of a sudden, Zexion wasn’t happy any more. Because his best friend was suddenly something more. Because he’d fallen in love. Because he no longer looked at those ocean eyes innocently. No, now he looked at those eyes and imagined what they’d look like clouded in ecstasy. He no longer looked at that slim body in a vague sort of jealousy for being an inch taller than his own was. No, now he imagined what it would look like arched off the bed, coiled in pleasure.
When they visited the beach, they no longer held hands. Demyx would run ahead, laughing and diving into the water, and Zexion would stay behind, combing the beach for sand dollars and sea shells. The river had shriveled into a trickle, and the frogs and salamanders were gone.
In the back of his mind, Zexion had always believed that, at the very least, he’d be able to keep Demyx to himself. He’d always believed that no one else would ever notice how wonderful the happy-go-lucky blond was, how beautiful and precious. Now, he called himself a fool, of course. They’d entered high school together, and everything and nothing had changed. They were still friends, still best friends. You would still rarely see one without the other. The girls still fawned over Zexion’s confidence and over Demyx’s charm. The only difference was that, sometimes…every now and then…Demyx would fawn back. He never dated, never accepted whatever proposals flew his way, but Demyx no longer belonged solely to Zexion. He had other friends. Other good friends.
Zexion had only Demyx.
But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Zexion had plenty of friends. He and Lexaeus had met during freshman English, and they’d formed an easy sort of camaraderie. Vexen, though an upperclassman, began joining them for lunch and study breaks. Those pretty, platinum-haired triplets from sociology- though they were two years younger, and only seniors in high school even now - were nice to talk to, and good friends of his to this day.
The difference, of course, was that Zexion placed Demyx above all of them. Demyx held everyone equal.
After high school, it had only gotten worse. They’d all decided on Hollow Bastion University, in Radiant Garden for various reasons, not least among these being that Demyx wanted to go for their amazing music program, and Zexion wanted to follow Demyx.
On the first day of class, Demyx met Axel, who introduced him to Roxas, who introduced him to Sora, who introduced him to Marluxia and Larxene and Xemnas and the rest. Demyx arranged a meeting between Zexion and the others, and friendships were born. They were good friendships, strong friendships, and the slate-haired man appreciated them all. He really did.
But every new friendship drew Demyx just a bit further away. Every new friendship was one new person for Demyx to smile at.
Zexion didn’t care who Demyx smiled at, he wasn’t that much of a freak. The only problem was that he could see no difference between the smiles directed at him, and those directed at others.
And Lord God Above, but that hurt. It just wouldn’t stop hurting. No amount of research regarding emotions and chemicals and synapses and hearts would ever make it stop hurting. Only one person could, and he was the cause of the pain to begin with.
“Demyx,” he sobbed, fisting his left hand in the sheets. “Demyx.”
He came quickly, violently, biting his lip until it bled. He could not remember slipping his hand into his shorts, but the evidence on his fingers spoke for itself. He brought his hand to his eyes, face blank. And then he wiped the residue onto the sheets and threw them to the floor.
He was disgusting.
Demyx always remembered.
Zexion kept his own blinds closed every night, though. Just in case.
Demyx looked…he looked horrible. No, that was the wrong word, he was still as beautiful, as transcendently gorgeous as ever. But he looked sad. Dull.
Zexion’s chest tightened. No, no, no. He was the sad one, he was the stoic one who was built to carry the weight of Demyx‘s worries on his own shoulders. Zexion was the one meant to bear their pains upon himself. Demyx should never be anything other than happy, he should never be anything other than safe and protected and full of the joy that made him so vibrant.
“I don’t know what to do,” Demyx sobbed by way of greeting. He stumbled towards Zexion and the slate-haired man immediately opened his arms. The blond tumbled into them, clutching at his best friend’s hair and shoulders with all the strength he possessed in his body.
“Zexy, I just don’t know what to do,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the other man’s shirt. “I can’t, I fucking can’t…”
“Demyx,” Zexion murmured, bringing his arms up slowly to clasp them lightly around his friend’s waist. No. He would not ruin this moment with lust and impurities. He would not betray his best friend by wishing for something more, not when Demyx was crying. Crying!
“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step backward and leading Demyx towards his bed, setting him down gently. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll try to fix it.”
His one true love shook his wild head of hair violently, swiping an infuriated hand across his eyes. “Shit,” Demyx growled through his sobs and hiccups. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying. We don’t cry, do we? We’re not supposed to cry, grown-up’s aren’t supposed to cry. I…I don’t know why I’m crying…”
“Demyx,” Zexion shouted, pulling him away by the shoulders and glaring into his eyes. “Tell me what the fuck is wrong!”
“Nothing!” Demyx cried, breaking away and jumping to his feet. “Nothing. Everything. My mom’s sick,” he sobbed, wiping furiously at his eyes. Zexion shot up, and the blond laughed through his tears, waving an arm. “She’s okay, she is, she really is. She broke her arm last night tripping down the basement stairs. I fucking told her that those things weren’t safe.”
Zexion walked forward, taking his best friend’s shoulders between his hands. “Demyx,” he whispered. “If that’s all, you have no reason to be crying.”
“I know that, you jackass!” Demyx shouted. Zexion stepped backwards, eyes the slightest bit wider in his face. Demyx had never…never in his life sworn at him. Not like that.
The blond slumped, his head drooping. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just started thinking. What if it had been her neck? What if I had woken up this morning, and my…my m-mother…”
Zexion opened his arms and Demyx walked into them again, his head bowed. “And I want to go see her but my fucking physics professor won’t let me reschedule our exam, and I don’t know what I’m doing in that class, and now you just won’t talk to me anymore-”
Zexion’s hands had been gently soothing the tension from Demyx’s back, but now they froze. “What do you mean, I don’t speak to you anymore?” he asked. “I always speak with you-”
“Liar,” Demyx whispered. “You talk when I make conversation, you answer when I ask you a question, but you never look me in the eye, you never speak to me on your own. And it’s hard, Zexion. It’s hard trying to be happy when my best friend starts thinking of me as dead weight, or a bothersome idiot…”
“Stop, Demyx,” Zexion hissed, pushing the other boy away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that I’m dead weight and a bothersome idiot!” Demyx cried, bowing his head and clenching his fists. “But you’ve been putting up with me for years! Can’t you just pretend that you still care about me?! Can’t you just pretend that you still like me?!” He shook his head, eyes shut and droplets of water shaking themselves from his eyelashes. He was beautiful. It hurt to look at him.
“Why?” Demyx sobbed, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Why are you throwing me away?”
And then Zexion was in motion, years of anger and sadness and so much ever-present, bone-wearying love overflowing in a maddening kaleidoscope of feeling. He grabbed Demyx by the waist and hauled him over to the bed, depositing him there and shoving him down, ignoring the blond’s startled cry. He climbed over him, knees on either side of that too-beautiful body, hands planted on either side of that too-beautiful face, and bowed his head until it rested on Demyx‘s chest.
“Don’t,” he whispered, completely ashamed at how broken he sounded. That wasn’t his voice, that was not his voice!
“Don’t you fucking say that,” he hissed into Demyx’s blue-blue-oh-so-blue shirt. “Don’t you dare say that. You have no idea what you’re talking about, you Goddamn idiot. I forbid you to ever say something like that again, do you hear me?” That was not his fucking voice!
“You don’t know anything,” he whispered into the fabric. He couldn’t meet Demyx’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the emotions there. “Not a single thing. You’ve always been the one moving forward, making new friends, discovering new places…it was always you. I’ve always been the one left behind, running after you, begging you not to leave me behind because you’re all I fucking have! And the worse thing, Demyx - the very worst thing - is that you wait for me to catch up, you wait for me…but it doesn’t matter because you wait for everyone else, too.” And the words erupting from that voice too broken to be his just would not cease.
“And it hurts. Because you’re my everything, Demyx, you’re my everything, but I’m just your friend. Not even your best friend anymore, huh? I’m just one of them, one of the people drawn to you because you’re beautiful and perfect and…and you’re just…everything. And what am I except a fucking nobody, I’m nobody when compared to you.”
Zexion collapsed then, his arms suddenly not strong enough to support himself. What had he done? What on earth had he done? How could he have…how could he have ruined everything like this? How…Why?
The body beneath his was trembling, but he could not find it in himself to look up. He wanted to apologize…he should apologize…make everything better.
“Zexion,” Demyx whispered, a hand reaching up to thread itself in slate-colored hair. “I…I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t…know what you mean.”
Zexion shook his head. He was not going to answer. He was not going to make this worse. He’d said too much, far too much, he would not ruin anything more than it was already ruined.
“Zexion…please,” the blond whispered, placing a hand on the older man’s cheek and tilting his head up. “Please. Please answer me. Do…do you l-love me?”
Zexion raised his eyes slowly. Would Demyx never stop crying? If he kept crying, crying like a child, like a girl, like someone whose life was tearing itself apart…then Zexion would…he would…
“So much,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing and his mouth stretching in a grimace of pain so deep it killed the blond to watch. “So…so much. Forever. I’ve loved you forever. My entire life.”
He would do that.
He shook his head, bowing it again and thumping it against the other boy’s chest. “Why?” he asked quietly. “Why would you make me say it? Why would you do such a thing? It was okay…it would have been okay. We would have graduated and you would have gotten married and I would have been…I’d have been your best man and I would have handed you away to your wife and…and maybe we’d have been friends forever. And that’s all I wanted, Demyx, that’s all I hoped for. How am I supposed to do that now? How are we supposed to pretend that I never said this?”
“We’re not going to pretend,” Demyx whispered. Zexion’s every thought froze. ‘Don’t throw me away. Why are you throwing me away?’ The words had been echoing in his head since he’d heard Demyx utter them a bare few minutes earlier, and he wanted to beg.
“I won’t forget this,” Demyx said. “I won’t. I can’t. You can’t make me.”
“Demyx,” Zexion whispered against the blue shirt. “Calm down. P-please. I’ll stop. I’ll never repeat this. I’ll never say it. You don’t have to worry about me ever pulling a stunt like this again. Just calm down. Please.”
The chest underneath his face suddenly quivered, and a soft laugh sounded throughout the room. Zexion’s head shot up.
That sound…
He…he’d never…in his entire like, he’d never…heard anything so beautiful. It was loud, building in intensity and strength, echoing across the walls, irregular and brilliant, and…and so…so happy.
Zexion shuddered, and lifted his head.
Demyx's face was still shining with tears, his body was still trembling with emotion, and laughs were still ringing themselves from his pink lips, but…
“You’re smiling,” Zexion whispered. “I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”
Those lips widened, and ocean eyes squinted slightly, glittering with something Zexion had never seen directed at anyone else. ‘Me,’ he thought numbly. He clenched his jaw tight, and closed his eyes, just for a moment. The emotion - that sudden, crashing tide of sweet longing and sheer, indomitable hope - sweeping through him was terrifying. ‘He’s looking at me.’
“I’m happy, idiot,” Demyx smiled. His eyes fluttered shut, the wrinkles on his brown smoothing in an expression of serenity so deep it was almost painful to watch. “I’m so…so happy.”
“W-why?” Zexion asked. ‘Please,‘ he whispered to himself. ‘P-please. Don’t tease me. Not with this. Don’t build up my hopes if you’re going to tear them down, please please please please please-’
“Because,” Demyx grinned, wiping at his eyes with one hand. “Be…be-cause.” He reached up and wrapped his arms around Zexion’s neck, pulling him down. Their noses bumped together and Demyx laughed again, tilting his head back to plant a kiss on the tip of Zexion’s.
“Because, idiot-mine,” Demyx whispered, and then leaned up to meet Zexion’s lips in a kiss so simple and chaste and wonderful that Zexion was sure he’d never felt anything so perfect. He pulled away, resting his head back on the pillow, and looked up at a silent and still Zexion. Demyx smiled.
“I love you, too.”
Owari.
BGM: Disappear - Hoobastank
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