Apologies for taking so long!
I'd personalize all my reviews but, well… I'm in Physics.
Sorry you guys, I'm going through a bit of writer's block, and it's midterms week, and if I ace everything in Physics from this point out, I might be able to scrape up a B in this class. Let's hope, okay?
Nothing but Perception
by Darkness Princess
So this was hell. Zexion figured this had to be hell, stuck in his tiny apartment—meant for one, most certainly—with this new oddity known as Demyx. And he had been weak enough to allow the boy the privilege of staying in his house for the night, hoping that sleep could assist in bringing the blond to reason once his brain refreshed in the morning.
After all, Zexion didn't want Demyx.
He didn't want this man—Demyx should be called a boy, acting in such a gleeful, innocent childlike manner—in his dwelling for any longer than he had to deal with him. This just didn't make sense. None of it, not at all. Zexion's brain couldn't rearrange any of these situations into becoming a logical sequence of events, asides from 'Gepetto is dead'. That, easily, was understandable. But this… this 'Gepetto leaves his nephew in Zexion's custody'… this didn't make sense.
Gepetto had only been a neighbor. He had been a nice man whose grandniece sometimes baked cookies for him. Sometimes, his grandnephew would leave him some snacks he could put together later. Miniature cakes, packages of tea, sometimes even a few novels. And on some afternoons, Gepetto would spend his time indoors, downstairs in his study, making puppets for his nieces and nephews. He wasn't married so his brother's children had to visit often. Zexion never saw them, and sometimes he wondered if Gepetto was imagining his family—another senile coot, he had first thought—but a new sort of sweet would appear each Thursday he visited.
And now, that nice, lovable old coot was deceased and he was stuck with… his nephew.
Zexion wasn't sure why he, of all people, had been given a human, of all things he could've received… especially a human who seemed so… happy. Their personalities clashed. They coincided with each other in just about every sense of the word and there was no way they could get along. Opposites most certainly did not attract, and people with no common interests were bound not to cooperate. Ever. Zexion was hoping it would stay that way.
And yet Demyx didn't seem unhappy about that at all. He was extremely joyful, especially as he had been given Zexion's forced approval and the opportunity to survey the tiny apartment, still acting as if he would be moving in. Zexion was getting rid of him tomorrow morning no matter what. But… how?
That, most certainly, was the million-dollar question.
"Oh, wicked sweet!" Demyx shouted gleefully from down the hall.
With a flustered sigh, Zexion turned and headed in the direction of the call, his small feet carrying him quickly down the clean, empty corridor. Demyx had slipped into the den. Zexion had almost forgotten about the den. It was actually rather easy, for the door seemed like just another door leading into the hallway, and he had only been inside the room three times in all five years of living in the apartment. The door remained shut, windows closed to prevent light from pouring into the hallway.
He preferred it that way.
It was his place to keep his secrets and he didn't have to focus on them if he didn't choose to.
…and the door was open.
Zexion skidded to a stop in the doorway to find the mullet-haired boy standing innocently in the middle of the wooden floor, waist-deep in boxes. He was grinning happily, hands delicately supporting an old acoustic guitar. Zexion immediately recognized it as his father's, the old "country guitar" as he had called it when he was younger. His father had always found some silly song to play on it when he had pulled it out…
And now Demyx was tainting it with his fingers.
Zexion let blue eyes narrow into dark slits, expression reading 'danger,' yet he stood simply by the doorway. "Demyx…" he said slowly, voice icy. "Put… that… down."
Demyx turned to look at him, shifting the guitar into playing position. He beamed. "Don't worry, Zexy, I won't break it!" he told him. "I can play the guitar, you know! I didn't know you had one—"
"I said put it down!" Zexion yelled at him. It had been sudden.
His eyes stung. He quickly ignored them, eyes narrowing more, Demyx barely visible, the boxes unseen…
"Put it down and get out!" he shouted. "I didn't give you permission to snoop!"
Zexion had shut his eyes by this point, hands formed into tight, stressed fists as he tried to calm himself. Here he was becoming upset…
How long had it been since his temper got the best of him?
He could remember afternoons in the room of beige-tinted walls and mahogany wood desks, a fuchsia couch and matching armchairs settled about in a set arrangement for comfort and style. The books always smelled used and tainted… their scent filled the office. He remembered the afternoon he stood on the couch and yelled at the man who had been watching him so quietly, attempting to tell him that everything would be okay.
Zexion had debated that.
Everything was not okay. Especially now. Especially with this blond, who had taken the liberty of coming into his house and declaring himself Zexion's personal property, who had offered unwanted love and comfort, who had stepped into Zexion's secrets.
The slate-haired man hadn't noticed Demyx set down the guitar and approach him until he felt a set of thin yet firm hands on his shoulders. "Zexy, I'm sorry…" he apologized, speaking in a whisper. "If you want, I'll never go in there again, okay? I didn't mean to make you cry…"
Cry? Sure enough, tears had dampened Zexion's face, leaving a few trails of salty water down his cheeks. He hadn't noticed it. And the stinging warmth in his palms… Zexion turned down, holding up his hands to see bruised and newly bleeding palms through a teary vision. A few droplets fell onto his hands.
Glaring up, Zexion used the back of his hands to push Demyx from him, and he quickly ran to his bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
He… he was cracking, breaking again…
"My little porcelain doll…"
Fingers struggled for a few brief seconds before turning on the cold-water nozzle. Zexion slid his hands underneath the pouring spout and looked at the sink quietly, watching as streams of red danced about in the clear water.
Demyx was calling him… He knocked on the door. "You okay, Zexion? I'm sorry, really, I am!"
Zexion could hear it in his voice. Demyx hadn't meant to cause him any harm… it was unfair to put the blame on Demyx to begin with. Zexion hadn't even drawn limits when he let Demyx explore. This… this was all Zexion's own fault in a way.
Slowly, Zexion reached a wet hand to the door handle and pulled it open, looking at Demyx quietly. "I apologize for yelling," he spoke curtly.
He then promptly slammed the door and let his eyes roam about in the search for finding his first aid kit. It only took him a few seconds to realize that he had moved it to his bedroom a few months ago. He hadn't needed it since then and had never moved it back. Sighing again, he turned off the water and opened the door to find Demyx staring at him with wide eyes.
"Zexy, do you need any help?" he offered.
Dull eyes blinked in response and he made his way to his room, Demyx's footsteps creating a small pattern behind his own. Demyx didn't need to take as many footsteps as he did, but, when compared to Zexion's calm, short strides, Demyx took almost three times as many. They weren't an even pattern, either. Two here, three next step, once even four. Zexion hadn't meant to listen but there wasn't much else to hear in the emptiness of the hallway.
"You should get a radio," Demyx spoke idly, trying to fill the silence. "Your house is so… quiet!"
"Perhaps I like my apartment to be quiet," Zexion answered quietly. "Maybe you're just too loud."
There was a moment of silence and Demyx's footsteps strayed from the pattern. He quickly rushed to Zexion's side, blurting out a question, "Are you calling me noisy?"
Zexion almost took him seriously. If Demyx hadn't been attempting a pout and some odd sort of wink at the same time, then the younger would've considered answering. Instead, he merely continued to his room, sitting on his bed.
Demyx glanced around in awe—abnormal, for there was nothing special in the room—as Zexion withdrew the first aid kit from his top drawer and set it on his lap. He frowned once he opened it, staring at the empty bottle of antiseptic. He had basically doused his injury when he last used the kit… he should've expected it. There wasn't much to do about that, so he ignored it, tugging out the bandages and pulling them open.
"Let me help!"
The blond hadn't even received the silent denial before he was taking Zexion's hand in his own, bandage held calmly. From there, he began to tend to his wounds.
Zexion stared at him but could only manage to roll his eyes and look away. Demyx… was immensely annoying.
"That's not too tight, is it?"
"Good! Now give me your other hand…"
Surprisingly, Zexion complied, staring at his closed window as Demyx secured the bandage wraps about his second hand. He only turned to look back at Demyx when he felt the older one touching his cheeks. Stroking his cheeks…
"You're… still crying?" Demyx asked softly.
Zexion narrowed his eyes, smacking Demyx's hand away. "No, I'm not," he answered, rubbing at his cheeks furiously. He allowed the bandages to rid his drying tears and then fixed a red-eyed glare at Demyx. The blond shrank back for only a second before sinking to sit next to him.
"What's the matter, Zexy?" he inquired. "What's in that room you didn't want me to see?"
Looking away, Zexion focused on rearranging the items in the first aid kit. Band-aids and bandages to one side, wet-wipes on this end… out with that empty bottle…
"And now you're avoiding the question!"
Zexion slammed shut the lid of the kit. "Will you hush?" he snapped. "You're noisy! You're too noisy!"
"And you're nosy. You want to get into everything! I permitted you to look, not touch everything within reach!"
"And I didn't even want you! I didn't ask for you, I don't want you here!"
Zexion finally looked up, to find a pair of tearful emerald eyes staring at him. Demyx looked on the verge of tears, holding a hand to his face with curved fingers barely touching his quivering bottom lip, and he sniffled, lifting his head with the sharp breath as if trying to contain it. And failing. Miserably.
And Zexion felt bad. He immediately felt horrible for yelling at him, especially after what he had been thinking about earlier. None of this was Demyx's fault, and yet Zexion had just placed all the blame of the situation upon his shoulders.
Demyx looked away, rubbing roughly at his eyes. "I—I'm sorry…" he squeaked. His voice had cracked, faintly audible to Zexion as he turned to look at him. "I d-didn't mean anything… s-sorry…" He looked over at him, the faint glistening of moisture smudged next to his eye. A smile found his lips, this one unsure and upset but beaming with a plea of forgiveness and hope. "I won't do it again, okay? Not if you don't want me to."
Inwardly, Zexion's heart broke.
Outwardly, he fell back against the pillows again, eyes shutting as he draped an arm over his eyes.
"Zexy? Zexy?" Demyx asked quickly. "Did you faint again?"
Demyx sighed in relief. "Good! I guess you're sleepy then," he said, and quickly began a monologue about sleep and walking around and being energetic at nights… and concluded it with five simple words: "So where do I sleep?"
Zexion groaned loudly.
believe with your eyes
This… was not what Zexion wanted to see upon awakening. He had, out of the sheer goodness of his heart—sarcasm, of course—given Demyx his bed. It was the only piece of furniture, it seemed, long enough to accommodate the young man in Zexion's smaller-than-average home. Zexion had a small apartment with small pieces of furniture to accommodate his small family of one, and yet he received this horribly sinful gift which he was supposed to take care of until he found something else to do with him.
His only problem was he didn't know what to do with Demyx.
Especially after waking up in his bed with the blond lying next to him, his soft breathing gently blowing against the unruly strands around Zexion's face. How he had been moved here was a mystery.
He remembered angrily grabbing his spare blanket and carrying it into his living room, and then collapsing on his couch—at least he had planned that—but this morning… he was in his bed…?
At least Demyx was sleeping…
With a sigh, he shifted from the mattress, tugging the blanket so it still covered Demyx before stretching.
Why am I being coniderate?
Zexion mumbled unhappily to himself as he moved into his kitchen, starting a pot of coffee. Well, he might as well cook for Demyx… and cooking would give him time to contemplate. What to do with Demyx…
He gave himself a deadline: he would create an answer by the time he finished pancakes.
Ya… I'm sorry about this ending. I just… didn't know where to go with this. So I ended it where I could end it… Expect less crap next time.
Probably after Halloween, though. I have to finish my Saïx wig so I can take some miniskirt pictures.
Reviews and love make me happy! Critique if you want to!