Yeah, I know, it's not WSNHY, nor is it in any way, shape, or form, for valentine's day (uncapitalized to show my apathy), it was s'posed to be done a month ago.
Disclaimer: I do not own characters (Squeenix/Disney), their last names (Hiromu Arakawa and Robin Hobb, shut up), or the italic parts of the section headings (Satisfaction-Benny Benassi and the Biz).
Fragments are on purpose as is verb-tense retardation. Well, have at.
Autumn: Nothing Like a First Impression/Push me…
Zexion hated Demyx. Really, really hated.
It was the way he walked; not bouncy, but definitely-defiantly- happy.
It was the way everyone loved him, and he didn't even notice. It was as if there was a barrier between Demyx and this world; he could see it but he couldn't quite touch it, like it didn't really matter.
And they loved him. And he couldn't give a shit about any of them. Sure he was friendly and talkative and he laughed and he smiled but he'd never start anything.
And then there were the headphones, not that Zexion had anything against headphones. They were just always there. It wasn't the huge, ostentatious ones that yelled, "Fear me for I am all that is headphonic!" It was the earbuds. Small, stealthy earbuds he'd listen to during class and no one noticed because they were all busy with the decoys.
Ever since seventh grade Zexion had been cursed with having Demyx in at least one class. This year, senior year-so close to freedom- it was English.
Zexion spent more time glaring at the blond than paying attention to the teacher. This irritated him, not that his grades suffered any, simply the continual abrasive presence; always late, and loud, and fucking happy.
And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that Demyx had no idea.
Demyx had had a dream, and sometime, between the angst and the ecstasy, it had become an obsession.
He would create the perfect playlist; a combination of songs that he would always want to listen to, no matter what mood he was in or what he was doing.
To achieve this end, he thrust all else aside; school, friends, school again. He even ate less.
He was relentless. He listened to music continuously, trying to find the right combination of songs. He was aware of little else. Little, but not nothing.
Winter: I Sort of Hate You/…and then just…
This was ridiculous. Everyone knew that joint projects were for grade school. Well, maybe middle school, occasionally. High school seniors should not be paired up by their teachers to work on essay-project hybrids together, it was just wrong.
Zexion dropped angrily into the newly vacated seat next to his new partner. Because of course Demyx couldn't be bothered to move his ass. Oh no.
Zexion glared at him, "So."
He was acting petulant and he knew it.
Demyx obligingly pulled out one of his earbuds, "So."
Internally, Zexion was ripping Demyx's throat out. Externally, he suppressed a sigh and said, "What topic do you want to do?"
Demyx threw a sidelong glance at the teacher, making sure she was out of hearing, "Um, what's the assignment again?" The quirk of his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth said he thought he was cute.
Zexion flicked the assignment sheet and stared at the clock; another half-a-freaking-hour. Fuck.
Demyx wasn't attractive, Zexion decided swiftly. Nose too long and lips too thin for the width of the jaw. Or maybe the eyes were just too big, and the rest was all in sync. Either way, they were huge, blue-green (Phthalocyanine and arylide) maws waiting to swallow innocent passerby, rimmed by long, pale sienna lashes. Really, they were a girl's eyes.
He looked better when he smiled, mouth larger, eyes smaller, cheeks less linear, maybe that was why he did it so often.
Demyx scanned the print quickly, then raised his head and beamed angelically, "No freaking clue."
Zexion felt his eye twitch as he eyed the tip of his pencil; it was pretty sharp. If he shoved it hard enough, he might be able to puncture something. Seppuku was out of the question, but he might be able to get the heart… ah, frick, it wasn't worth it.
He sighed, "You know, the teacher said we won't get anymore time in class, do you want me to just do the damned thing and then slap your name on at the end?" He was generally opposed to cheating, copying, and the slacking off of others, but if it meant less time with Señor Braindead over here, it was looking well worth it.
"Uh, no. I'll do my part, thanks." Demyx had actually been intending to do as little as possible without being a complete asshole, now however, he was determined to do his half, and maybe more, just to get that condescending tone out of the blue-haired boy's voice.
His voice gave offense, Zexion thought angrily, high, and too thin for his age. But the odd, jilted but lilting, rhythm with which he spoke went a way to appeasement.
And he smelled good; really, really good. And Zexion was nothing if not a scent-whore, so he forgave him some.
Zexion grunted, "Nnn, so, any ideas yet?"
"Nary a one."
He glanced at the clock, twenty-eight minutes.
"Ahh, fuck me," he muttered, letting his forehead collide with the fake-wood desk.
"Well, I would, but that'd be kind of rude in the middle of class, don't you think?"
Zexion's head raised in disbelief, had he just- Surprisingly, he felt his lips twitch, despite the wrongness of being amused at the bastard's jokes. "We'd just make them jealous."
He was quite certain that he'd never seen that look on the blond's face. "Quite. Especially when we break out the whips."
There was a look in the blond's turquoise eyes that Zexion wasn't wholly comfortable with, but he'd be a pansy to back out now. "Now, now. No kink on the first date."
Demyx leers around his eraser, "You know you wanna."
"Really ought to buy me dinner first."
"French or Italian?"
"Italian, of course."
Demyx smirks and echoes, "Of course."
"I got Italian, does that mean I get to tie you up and have my way with you now?"
"Guh-" Zexion's mouth was open but no coherent sound was forthcoming.
Demyx tried not to laugh, Zexion tried not to have a psychotic episode.
"Sorry, you're just too easy." When Zexion continued to eye the take-out bag warily he added, "It's Chinese, no worries."
Thoroughly embarrassed, Zexion turned back to the computer and Demyx came to lean over his shoulder and smirk, "So, I leave you alone in my house for twenty minutes and you did… half an introductory sentence."
Zexion scrolled upward defensively, "And a heading."
"Zexion Vestrit and Demyx Aquroya, period 4," the rhythm of Demyx's speech faltered a quarter note, "Fräulein AssFace."
"Oh. Whoops." Zexion was still bitter about the group project thing.
Demyx mentally gave the boy points for not being embarrassed in the least. "Well," he said, pulling away and stretching, "at least I don't feel bad for tearing you away from your work."
"If you'd left me alone for five more minutes I might've come up with a title."
Demyx twisted to look at him, fingers interlocked behind his head, "We're totally fucked, aren't we?"
It was 5:30 AM on Monday morning, they'd been at it all weekend and they had gotten half an introduction, and a heading, by 4 AM. It was due at ten.
Zexion glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eye, he was still staring. He'd been staring at 5:28, 5:27, 5:26 and 5:24.
"Is there something you want?" he asked coldly, staring at the screen once more.
"Hmm?" Demyx needed sleep.
"Oh." His hand barely covered his yawn, "Just trying to figure out what color your hair is."
Zexion resisted, barely, the urge to wail and bang his head against the wall repeatedly.
"My driver's license says grey," he snapped helpfully.
"I'd say it was more of a navy… indigo… violet, yeah, navy-indigo-violet," he cocked his head to the other side, "with a silver sheen."
"No, it's not."
"Whatever." Zexion needed to focus on pulling semi-intelligent sounding, drawn-out sentences out of his ass. Not gap-eyed blond's and their idiotic musings.
Spring: Waiting For the Punchline / …touch me…
It was almost graduation, so close to escaping.
The school was mostly empty by the time Zexion left. He'd been helping Vexen, his chemistry teacher he actually liked, with an experiment. The teacher had promised him extra credit, but he didn't really want it, or need it.
It was raining. Zexion didn't like rain on the principle that being wet was reserved for showers and maybe swimming, if he was feeling drugged and extremely out of character. The walk home wasn't too bad, normally. He lived close enough to school to make driving a waste of gas. He regretted that habit a lot at the moment. He would be very, very wet by the time he got home, that he knew.
He was passing by one of the sports fields when he was distracted by-by- he didn't know what. Demyx was there, near the middle of the field, just standing, face tilted toward the sky.
It had been a while since that joint project. Sometimes, Zexion would see the blond in the hallways and pretend he hadn't, others he would nod, just slightly, maybe a tiny smile if he was in an extremely good mood. And Demyx would always return it, whatever it was. Other times, Demyx would give him a small wave, one that would make others jealous and Zexion struggle to repress a smug expression.
Occasionally, he'd see the blond in the library, and he might wander over to say hello if he didn't have any work that needed doing, and it never did seem so very pressing when he thought about it. Of course, he'd always forget his original intentions and end up staying the whole period.
Demyx never did seem to mind.
He could count on one hand the number of times they'd eaten lunch together. It was always an accident. He'd see the other waiting in line and Demyx would invariably smile and why had Zexion hated him so much? So, of course, Zexion was obligated to go say hello and next thing anyone knew the bell had rung and Zexion had spent the whole of lunch with Demyx.
It wasn't so very surprising when Zexion found himself walking toward him, forgetting about the rain and how much he hated being wet and the bag of stuff in his hand, he couldn't remember what was in it. It wasn't important.
"What are you doing?"
Demyx lowers his head to look at him and smiles. Zexion is idly fascinated by the way water drops run down the contours of his face.
"What do you want?" He says it like a gentle inquiry, not a demand.
And Zexion can't think of anything to say. 'You' isn't right and 'dry clothes' is too mundane. So he just says, "You're not wearing your headphones."
And it's true. Demyx's bare ears are as heinous and obscene as man who's always been bearded coming in to work one day clean shaven.
Demyx's smile grows and Zexion is vaguely aware that their clothes are plastered to their skins and didn't Zexion have somewhere to be?
Demyx pushes the eternally present hair off Zexion's face and smiles. Zexion hates to be touched but it doesn't occur to him to pull away until Demyx's hand is safely back at his side.
"I like you better this way."
"You're going to catch a…" He can't finish the sentence. Attempts at normalcy can crash and burn; normalcy be damned, that sentence is just too wrong.
Demyx is touching him again, this time he simply doesn't mind the fingertips resting on his jaw and neck.
And then Demyx's mouth is pressed lightly to his and the bag drops from suddenly numb fingers.
A wave of cold mud-water splashes up Zexion's already chilled calf.
Other than that he doesn't move, just stands waiting. He doesn't even shut his eyes.
Demyx pulls away and stares for a second before laughing breathlessly.
"You just," Demyx's hand is cupping his face and Zexion isn't sure what it is he's supposed to be feeling just now, his organs feel scooped away. The blond's grin grows, "You've got this look on your face like you don't have your next two hundred moves planned out. It's kinda nice."
Zexion opens his mouth to reply but Demyx cuts him off with a thumb across his lips and a quiet, "Come home with me."
"You mean sex?" He asks flatly. As a teenager, he's considered sex frequently; he's also considered Demyx frequently, though it had never quite occurred to him to consider the two together.
The idea that Demyx seems to consider him and sex at the same time is new but not so unpleasant as he might have once thought it would be.
Demyx flushes pink, though that might be from the cold, "Sure, if you want," he grins guiltily, "we can just, I dunno, do whatever. Lie on the couch and watch TV if you want." His eyes glint silver. He's taller than Zexion by an inch or two, Zexion hates him for it.
Zexion is at a total loss for words. "I-"
Demyx's thumb slides across his lips again, "It's cool, just go."
"Ah-" Zexion's mouth works but can't seem to think of the appropriate sounds to form the right words. He hates the awkward feel of the blush spreading over his face and down his neck.
So he runs; turns tail and runs.
He doesn't feel guilty because Demyx had told him to do so, damn it. But he has the nagging feeling that he's forgetting something important, and knows it isn't the bag.
Summer: Well, Hey/…till I can get…
Demyx had had every intention of returning it to him, the bag, that is. But the end of school necessitated the turning in of several papers that may or may not have been due at the beginning of the quarter and he couldn't seem to find any free time to find the navy-indigo-violet haired boy.
He'd called him once, and there'd been no answer. He refused to call again on the principle of trying to avoid feeling like a fool.
It wasn't like the contents were so very important. A couple of notebooks kept dry by the neatly folded sweatshirt on top.
It took a few weeks and a fit of boredom to make him go through them; nothing so very much of interest. Zexion is way too neat, he decided, meticulous, he thought, remembering his SATs. His handwriting may as well be printed type. And notes on derivatives and relative extrema are not Demyx's idea of light reading.
More interesting, but not by much, are the margins. The best so far had been a "I hate Demyx Aquroya" that had been carved in in ballpoint blue ink. He'd been insulted at first, till he'd seen the date, back in September, so he figured that was okay. Most of it was just notes to himself, "buy milk" or "add Orgy to iPod." Demyx raised an eyebrow at that one.
The notes had gotten messier toward the end, which wasn't really saying much. He'd started doodling sometime mid-March. They were about on par with those of Demyx's second grader of a sister; he had fun trying to figure out what they were supposed to be. Most he could get after a minute or two of study, there was one he was still unsure of. Was that supposed to be a pineapple or an owl? Wait, maybe that was a cat.
Then there had been one he'd been completely and utterly lost on, till he'd realized in a sleepy haze that it looked sort of like a person in profile, a person with hair that was sticking up maybe? Oh shit, was that him? The idea of studious, neat Zexion wasting time in class by drawing him was entirely fascinating.
Zexion was not always the quickest on the uptake, especially when it came to surface facts about himself. If he was going to be introspective, he was going to be introspective and go below the damned surface.
So it was a day or two before he realized that people shouldn't have to shout his name ten times in order to get his attention. Subconsciously, he realized this meant he was probably distracted by something.
It was another few days before he let himself begin to ponder what that might be.
And at least a week before he connected that to the odd, hollow feeling in his chest like his organs had never come home... and the probable location of his missing notebooks
This is commonly called denial.
It was raining. Zexion didn't like rain. Work had been slow because of it. It was a lazy summer afternoon and most people didn't seem to feel the need to buy pseudo-groceries from their local convenience store.
Zexion hated his job.
The parking lot was empty. He'd parked far away because his boss yelled at them, he and his fellow workers, when they didn't. Really, he just liked to yell and would take any opportunity to do so, but he claimed it was the rule of the whole shopping plaza that employees park in the rear, to leave the close spaces to customers.
Zexion paused halfway across the abandoned lot. It had occurred to him, for no reason whatsoever, that it hadn't rained quite like this since the last time he'd seen Demyx. Not that he'd thought about it much, he didn't really care that the blond had disappeared.
He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sky. What did Demyx think when he did this? Did he think about him? The rain tasted sweet.
He didn't miss him, really.
"What are you doing?" A not-quite-familiar voice called, the rhythm was right, but the voice itself was deeper, more mellow, like the speaker had grown some. Not that it actually could be De-
Zexion whirled, taken by surprise and hating himself for being caught in the childish act.
He tried to tell himself that his heart was beating more rapidly from surprise, not excitement, as he licked the rain off his lips and tried to find the words that he always misplaces right when he really wants them.
Demyx's lip twitched like he thought Zexion's awkwardness was cute; anger gives Zexion strength of purpose.
"Hey," Demyx bobbed his head, then grinned like he'd just remembered the funniest joke, "Been a while."
"Yeah, you sort of vanished."
He shrugged; the material of his shirt rode up and then stayed, "Had lot of late work to do."
"Not that I really cared…" Zexion was vaguely aware of the (untrue) inanities he was spewing, but much more aware that they've been edging slowly closer to one another throughout the conversation, if it could be called that.
And he found that his hands fit perfectly around the back of Demyx's neck and that Demyx's lips were rainwater-sweet. The fit of Demyx's arms around his waist was pretty good too, he decided.
Demyx pulled back and smiled at him, pushing the hair out of his face with a quietly murmured, "I like you better this way."
Zexion grinned despite himself and the fact that he had to stand on tip-toes to reach comfortably; damn boy must have grown again. "Come home with me," he breathed.
Since the spring, Zexion had found himself considering sex and Demyx simultaneously rather frequently. The combination was sounding better and better by the day. To be honest with himself, which he wasn't very often, everything seemed like a better idea with Demyx involved.
"You mean sex?" Demyx's grin was laughing and teasing and absolutely beautiful, how did Zexion ever find him unattractive?
"I mean come home with me," Zexion clarified, bored with this replaying of past events. He thought it best not to mention, or think about, what he'd do if Demyx were to disappear again.
Demyx didn't bother to dignify that with a verbal response.
Autumn: Here We Go Again/ …my satisfaction.
Zexion liked Demyx. Really, really liked.
It wasn't really any one specific thing that he could point his finger at and go, "There, that's the one." It was a collection of little things, that to Zexion's normally logical mind, made little, if any, sense.
It might've had something to do with the way the blond never really stopped smiling. The constant aura of happiness was comforting. It wasn't an in-your-face chipper/perky kind of happiness, just the happiness of one who was generally content with his life.
And the headphones. Once they'd been irritating, now they were irritating… and sort of endearing. In a way that made Zexion's head throb nastily to think about, so he generally tried not to.
And then there was the rain, and Demyx's infuriating habit of dragging him out into each and every rainstorm, infuriating, but endearing.
And the best part, the absolute best part, was that Demyx totally knew.
Yeah, I know, kinda random and pointless, whatevs.
If you cared enough to get this far, you should care enough to tell me why.