The boy was small and slight, with blond hair and a way of frowning around him that displayed a sort of antisocial tendency. His eyes were bright and blue, his arms usually seen crossed over his chin, said chin dipped down towards his chest in displeasure.

His name was Roxas—apparently, 'cause that's what the teacher called when she was doing the attendance, and what he raised his hand silently to, a slight grimace on his face. And, it'd be weird if he wasn't Roxas, because if he wasn't Roxas, why did he raise his hand and…

"Demyx," Zexion said, "you look like you're thinking too hard about something ridiculous again."

Ah, his Best Friend in the World didn't understand! The complexities of the school system, the sheer—

"Demyx," Zexion said again, "would you kindly cease your internal monologue and kindly try and do the work? I didn't come over just to watch you contemplate on something ridiculous."

Demyx pouted, tapped the lead of his pencil on the paper, and then sighed loudly, resting his cheek against his hand. "Oh, come on, Zex, you're supposed to ask me about what I'm thinking about! Be interested!" He made his best pouting face, looking over at the vaguely expressionless young man sitting on the other side of the table.

"Oh, I'm interested. Interested in you trying to get your math grades up so you don't fail and make me suffer through my first year of university on my own." Zexion raised his visible eyebrow at him.

Another loud sigh, delivered a bit overdramatically, before Demyx looked down glumly at the complicated formulas. "I hate math. You know, if I'm going to be a musician, I don't need math," he said. "When am I going to be singing about x's and y's and x to the powers of m's and…" He shook his head furiously, made a face, and looked over at Zexion, who was leaning over slightly, tapping a finger pointedly against the number he was supposed to be working on.

He grumbled a little, drawing little doodles of horns above the 9. "That doesn't look like math," said Zexion flatly, folding his arms over his chest. "Why did you ask me to help you, if you weren't going to be serious about it?"

"I didn't ask, you overheard me talking to Mr. Braig about it," Demyx said with a grimace, remembering that exact moment. Mr. Braig, with his black-and-white hair in a ponytail and that crazy eye patch, had been addressing him seriously about his falling grades when Zexion walked up, lightly enclosed his wrist in his grasp and said, "Don't worry, I'll assure his grades go up". "Then you invited yourself to teach me!"

"Who else was going to?" Zexion asked pointedly.

"Well, I…" Demyx paused, scrunched up his nose at him and retorted, sourly, "Your mom."

"Stop using overused phrases. Haven't I told you that 'your mom' does not constitute as a proper insult?" Zexion paused, sighed, and looked at him in a way that was almost good-humored. "Alright, I'll humor you. What were you thinking about?" Immediately, Demyx's expression brightened, and a grin spread over his face.

"Well," he began, trying to layer his tone with suspense, but gave up at Zexion's flat look, "Okay, I was thinking about that kid—Roxas. You know, that cranky looking punk one?"

"Oh, him." Zexion looked bored at the mention of the blond-haired new student. "What of him?"

"Well…" Demyx lowered his voice, leaning across the table to talk in a whisper, as if the secret he was going to divulge was classified information, "…Axel is totally enamored with him."

"Demyx!" Zexion reeled back, his visible eye wide, as if with shock. "I didn't think you knew the word enamored!"

"Hey!" Demyx made a face at him. His friend smirked, just a glimpse of it, brushed back his hanging slate-colored bang for a moment, and then leant his chin on his folded hands. His bang fell back into place neatly, and Zexion looked at him as if to say 'what, that's all?'

"You only realized this recently?" Zexion's tone was dry. "Axel's been mooning over him since he came to the school. Not to mention he's using lewd remarks and overused clichés to 'pick him up'." Demyx gasped in surprise, lifting a hand to his mouth.

"What? How did you know?" Now his tone was accusing.

Zexion sighed. "I have eyes and ears, and in case you hadn't noticed, Axel's been doing that every lunchtime, telling us he's going to the library; he just bothers him there the entire time." Demyx's face began to redden.

"I didn't notice," he peeped. Mainly because he was too busy spending lunchtimes listening to Zexion's smooth, even voice as he asked him the most random questions and waited for that reply, and staring at his face, and watching his elegant hands, or reading over his shoulder to breathe in the warm scent of his skin and clothes…

Zexion raised a brow at him questioningly, and he cleared his throat loudly, dispelling the awkward silence. "Anyway! I was thinking—we've got to do something about it!" Demyx declared decisively.


Demyx ignored the dread in the others' voice. "We've got to play matchmaker!" he said, beaming.

Zexion looked over at him, possibly about a second away from pulling that pencil out of his hand and stabbing him.

"I can't believe you've roped me into such a ridiculous, idiotic, absurd, childish, senseless, asinine, inane, harebrained…"

Demyx peered over at Zexion, who was sullenly standing just behind him. The taller male occasionally peered out around the corner of his makeshift hideout, to where Roxas was eating lunch, alone, in the library, occasionally turning the page of the book. "Are you using a thesaurus?" he asked his friend wonderingly, though in a lowered voice, so Roxas wouldn't notice his two would-be stalkers. A withering look was directed to him, but he knew Zexion wasn't that mad, otherwise he wouldn't have come. He was predictable that way. Switch on the big teary-eyed look, and he'd do pretty much anything!

Zexion sighed, a hand coming to rub at his forehead. "What are we waiting for, exactly?" he asked tiredly.

An excited hiss. "Axel's big entrance!"

"Big entrance." Flatly.

Demyx grinned, apparently proud of himself. "Uh-huh! I greased the floor under Roxas' chair, so when he stands up, it'll fly backwards and then Axel can come to the rescue," he said quietly, quite pleased with himself. Zexion looked at him disbelievingly.

"You're taking this a bit far," was the mutter.

Roxas sighed at the table, looked over at the clock, and wondered dryly why that creep with the weird hair and his short friend with the bang were watching him from behind a bookshelf.

"I can't believe Axel never showed up, and the grease didn't work," Demyx said with a despondent sigh, sitting at the lunch table the next day. Further down, Larxene and Marluxia were talking about something with wicked grins on their faces, while Luxord was trying to rope a reluctant Xaldin into a card game, grinning from ear to ear.

Zexion looked at him over the pages of his book, raising a brow. "You're really surprised it never worked?" he questioned, shaking his head lightly before turning his attentions back to the book. "It's not unusual for Axel to get detention, after all."

"Stupid Axel, lighting stuff on fire when he's supposed to be acting all gallant," mumbled Demyx.

Glancing up, Zexion's brow quirked upwards as he noticed a grumpy-looking blond walk into the cafeteria, turning his head as he scanned the tables. "Well, well," he murmured. "Look, Demyx." He waved a hand, and his taller friend looked up from his sulking position, blinking in surprise.

"It's Roxas…" Demyx said, trailing off when the boy spotted them and began to walk over. He, predictably, panicked. "Ahh! He's coming over here! What if he noticed yesterday? What do I do? Do I hide?" He looked down, obviously considering diving under the table.

"Calm down, Demyx."

A few moments later, Roxas was standing at their table, holding something in his hand and looking a bit annoyed. "Is this yours?" he asked Demyx, holding out a familiar-looking charm, and Demyx's eyes widened.

"Y-yeah!" He reached out, taking it, delicate and shaped like a little blue sitar, and gripped it close to his chest. "How…where'd you find it?" Zexion watched him keenly over the top of the book as he carefully clipped it back to his belt and tucked it into his pocket—it had been a late birthday present from the other, and he had never intended for Zexion to see him with it, keeping it so close, but…

"I found it in the library." Roxas' voice was dry, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Oh." Demyx, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed.

Roxas sighed loudly and sat down abruptly next to Demyx, leaving the other to look at him, stunned. "I'm not going to ask why you guys were following me, but…" He looked between them. "Can you not anymore? It creeps me out."

"We weren't following you around—Demyx was trying to play matchmaker," Zexion remarked without interest, looking down at his book.

Demyx blushed. "H-hey!" he cried indignantly, and thumped his fist against his chest, drawing a dry glance from Zexion. "You're on my side, my side, traitor!"

"Matchmaker?" Roxas looked at Demyx incredulously. "You're trying to set me up with someone? Who?" He furrowed his brows lightly.

The musician scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Well, um…" He lowered his voice and whispered, shamefully, "Axel." Those furrowed brows shot right up, wide blue eyes staring at him and Demyx fidgeted, hand going to his pocket to grip his charm lightly.

"Axel?" Roxas repeated. Then, he began to laugh.

Unconsciously, Demyx bristled, the red on his face deepening in his embarrassment. "Hey, it's not funny! I was working hard at it," he insisted.

Roxas shook his head, laughing. "He already asked me out, and I said yes," he said, looking at the taller. A rapid blink of blue-green eyes, a mouth falling open in shock.

"Wh-aaaat? When?" Demyx cried, and even Zexion looked up with vague surprise.

"Yesterday morning."

"So, even when I had set up everything…" Demyx began weakly.

"They were already going out," sighed Zexion. "Honestly, you really have to think out your schemes in more detail." He shook his head, turned a page in his book, and Demyx looked wistfully at his gracefully-shaped hands, fingers rubbing the corner of the page thoughtfully before it was pulled and turned. Such loving care and oh, god, was he feeling jealous of a book?

Roxas spotted him and began to grin.

"So," the blond said slowly, "you always play matchmaker when you have your own problems in love?" Zexion perked up at that, looking over at Demyx with wider eyes. He began to wriggle, uncomfortably, in his seat, wanting no more than to escape at the moment before Zexion decided to ask questions he didn't want to answer yet.

"Demyx?" Zexion asked when the tall male didn't reply.

"Gottagobye," Demyx sputtered, leapt to his feet, and hurried away.

Of course Zexion found him later, sitting out on the back steps, holding his sitar over his lap, moodily strumming it. He knelt down next to the musician, staying his attempt to flee with a firm hand. He looked over at Demyx with a sharp gaze, his lips lightly pursed. "Mind telling me what lunch was about?" he said. "I never knew you loved anyone." His eyes narrowed slightly, and he lifted his chin slightly when Demyx refused to meet his gaze.

"W-well, I don't tell you everything," Demyx mumbled.

"Yes, you do," Zexion replied. "Including that you wet the bed until you were twelve; you liked the color pink up until you were eight, you had your first crush on your teacher—what was it, Zack?—in primary school, you have a mortal fear of octopi—"

"Okay, everything," Demyx muttered. "But, the person I like, well, he…"

"Did he reject you?" The tone was dangerous, prompting a narrowing of Zexion's eyes and a furrowing of his dark eyebrows. Demyx felt flattered that his friend would get upset so easily over him. "Because, if you tell me who he is, I'll personally see to having a long talk with him." Demyx waved his hands quickly, as if to ward away the dark atmosphere surrounding Zexion.

"No, no," he exclaimed. "It's…well, I haven't told him!" Zexion frowned, lightly, at him, relaxing a little but still looking a bit bothered for reasons Demyx wasn't sure of.

"Why don't you?" the tone was infinitely patient.

"He'd think I was stupid," was the sullen reply, plucking at the strings. "I've known him since I was in primary school, so…" Zexion blinked at him, and then frowned again.

"The only person who you knew in primary school was me," he said.

"Yeah," Demyx said, embarrassed.

"Oh." Zexion blinked at him, and there was a long pause. The tips of Demyx's ears began to redden, and he moved to stand up, speaking loudly, gripping the neck of his sitar with one white-knuckled hand,

"I-I was just kidding, so, u-uuh…" Trying to mask the hurt he felt at the unconscious rejection.

"Demyx," Zexion's voice came as he stood up, taking the musician's arm in his grasp, pulling and forcing him to bend. Eyes widened as lips pressed against his for a moment, light, warm, sincere, before drawing back, and he stared into eyes much darker than his own, the slightest hint of a smile on that face.

With surprise, he stared, before breaking out into a silly grin. Zexion shook his head lightly at him, the action he immediately recognized as affectionate, slid his hand into Demyx's, and led him away.