Title: What's Left of Me Now
Genre: Kingdom Hearts, AU/post-KHII
Rating: PG14
Pairings: Zexion/Demyx
Summary: Zexion/N. Schaduw is a college student, Demyx/Dillian Kawako is a traveling street musician. Being reborn isn't all it's chalked up to be. Really. Sidestory to Nothing is Whole and Nothing is Broken (linked in profile).


Chapter 2 "Standing On the Edge of This"


"We're standing on the edge of this,
When our soul is gone - what will we miss?

--"Save Us" by Cartel


Dillian hadn't meant to move, but suddenly he was staggering towards the table that held those pale grey eyes hidden behind narrow glasses and that all too familiar mix of grey, blue, and purple colored hair. Something, something so damn familiar. He walked as if he was entranced.

The closer the blond got, the more his heart seemed to calm and instead of its vague fluttering beats of before, it beat strongly and clearly. As if it was trying to say See? This is where I belong.

Each step took forever, but also was so fast—like the speed of freaking light here—that he didn't have the time to make heads or tails of what was happening.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Each beat of his heart seemed echoed by the person standing in front of him. In unison, their lungs expanded, their eyes blinked, their hearts beat.


"Number IX." N. heard the greeting title roll off his tongue that suddenly wasn't his anymore, but rather belonged to someone older, wiser, someone who was him but also wasn't.

"Oh Zexy, I've told you a million times—Call me Dem." The response was puzzling but just as strangely—almost wrongly—familiar about all of this.

"Cinnamon Dolce Latte with whipped cream!" The order rang out and the blond seemed to snap back into the reality.

"Wha-what?" N. blinked harshly a few times, his heart suddenly pounding frantically with panic—but nothing seemed to remain of that strangeness of before. The older him that had stirred at the nearness, now settled itself back into the depths of N.'s mind and soul. "What… just happened?" N. nearly squeaked, trying to do so in a manly way, but failing.


Dillian frowned, trying to hold his tongue between his fingers so he could see it. But even looking at it cross-eyed he couldn't see anything that would make him say something like the words that had just poured from his mouth.

Hearing the squeak, the musician glanced at his cohort in this new madness. "I dunno." Dillian was nearly poking himself in the eye with his brows, that was how confused he looked.

Swinging his eyes around the shop, which had, of course, completely ignored the Hugely Important Moment going on in the middle of the room.

"Cinnamon Dolce Latte with whipped cream!" The order rang out again, catching Dillian's full attention now.

"Oh! That's mine!" The blond raced off to grab the smoothing cup of caffeine.

Indulging himself for a moment, and trying to stop his hands from quivering, Dillian made quick work of the whipped cream before jamming a straw into the perfection of caffeine and sugar.

When he got back to the table, the boy with glasses was gone.

"It figures, he always runs off," Said the empty person that Dillian had once been.

Dillian winced and dropped heavily into the now-unused seat. Now what? He wondered, blatantly pretending the… thing that had just happened, hadn't. A glance outside assured him that there was no way he would be traveling on foot anytime soon. That meant grabbing a job and a room somewhere…

Did he really want to live here with apparent crazy people? Dillian sighed. Start with the job. That part was about to be made easier as oceanic eyes landed on a Now Hiring sign at the window of the coffee shop.


N. rushed as fast as one could rush with a backpack that weighed as much (if not more) than a cow. Possibly a pregnant cow.

It wasn't until he had thrown all the locks on the door to his dorm that he allowed himself to relax. His heart was beating strangely again, but it wasn't anything as bad as before… Just the thought of what had happened sent shudders down his spine. Surely those sorts of things didn't happen to people like him. People grounded in science and knowledge.

Raking a shaky hand through his pale hair, N. did what one usually does nowadays when one can't come up with an answer by thinking about it—he got on his laptop and plugged it into Google.

Or, rather he would have if he'd had words for what had happened. How does one Google for answers about an event that didn't even make sense when it was happening?

Scowling to himself and settling himself into the cushions of his bed, the one once called Zexion typed in "hearts" and began a routine which he always found familiar and comforting: the learning of things he previously did not know.