A/N: So... yeah. Long absence, I know. With the holidays here, I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing... not easy I'll tell ya.

Anywhos... so this story has been sitting on my computer for almost 8 months now. I started it a long time ago, and meant to dedicate it to warm summer nights as a birthday gift fic, but I couldn't find the ending I wanted.

And I still can't.

Saying as much, I've posted maybe half or three-quarters of the story... I don't know if the final part will ever be posted. I just can't figure out how to end the story the way I want to. It's frustrating as hell.

Anyways, hope you enjoy what's here. It's a Demyx/Olette, and a bit OOC.


Disclaimer: I wish.


. : - : .

She hated rock music.

She hated the way it was loud and obnoxious; the way the stupid-heavy-for-no-reason bass pounded the floor; the way the even-more-idiotic "musicians" made blasphemy on stage.

She had hated the way her little brother would nearly blow-out the speakers in his room, blasting the wretched music through the walls, and into her own room – in which she'd be up till past midnight working on one lab report or another.

Of course, he'd never seemed to get in trouble, the little brat. Mom and Dad conveniently were never home those times.

Didn't mean that she couldn't hand out punishments, though (and she made sure he suffered her wailing wrath in the mornings – it was something even her friends couldn't tolerate). This usually resulted in things smashing – mostly guitars and walls. Well, denting walls, of course. His damn guitar was made of like, freaking steel, she could have sworn.

Steel, metal, alternative, punk, grunge, heavy, gothic, classic… whatever it was, it was annoying. She could remember her first and only integration with rock – it had been at her high school's variety show, and she had been asked to organize it. Huh, honoured she had been to get a chance to boss those people around and make executive decisions (something she was keenly good at), only to find she'd be working with a bunch of nimrods who couldn't tell their guitars from their d –

Well, whatever. That was unimportant. The fact was that those imbeciles totally messed up her year, all slamming away and trying to be rock stars. And she had only one name for people like that: idiots.

God, Olette hated rock.

. : - : .

Idiots only seemed to multiply as the years wore on, contrary to what all of her high school teachers had said. Mind, they had only said that in private corridors with only select students – and Olette was quite trustworthy, thank-you-very-much.

Like the one above her head, right now, singing in her ear and thumping on the floorboards – dammit, she was paying almost a grand a month for these crap-shack ceilings?

Olette cranked up the volume on her own personal music player in an attempt to bury the noise – but unfortunately, the heavy friggin' metal was kinda like a zombie: no matter how many times you stomped on it or buried it alive, they just wouldn't stay down. A smile twitched on her lips at the thought of the analogy, and Olette momentarily forgot her irritation.

That was, of course, before the dumbass upstairs let out a ridiculously prolonged wail to accompany the infernal guitars. Scowling, Olette slammed her medical textbook closed and shot up in her chair. God, she would give anything to be able to treat the lay-about to a good long lecture, like she was able to do to her kid brother back when she was living at home. But nooo, this was a student residence and they were supposed to interact in healthy, co-operative, constructive ways… ooh, she'd show him some construction. The window pane shattering and the grass from an aerial view would be the perfect place to start.

But, alas, Superintendent Yuna might have something to say about having a murder case on her lap, so Olette would have to resort to the old-fashioned way.

Picking up the broom nearby, Olette dragged a chair so that she could hoist her little body on to it, cursing her vertical impaired-ness all the while. Lowering the broom a little, she prepared with all her might –

"I wanna close my eyes – !"


"I wanna fall asleep – "








Olette's face rubbed against the carpet floor, as her knees knocked the floor. She groaned.

Okay, all right, so she was cranky when it came to rock. (Like, come on! The girl needed to study, dammit!) Groaning, Olette sat up carefully, nursing her slightly-burned cheek. Yeesh, the guy just had to springsomething on her, like she was supposed to answer, after having been so rude, and just…


Olette froze. And nearly screamed at the loud noise that had just blasted through the wall.

The wall?

Dear God, did he just talk through the air vents?

She rubbed the sides of her temples. The whole apartment was going to hear his voice.

Well, at least everyone who shared the same air vent, anyways.

Olette, thankfully, managed to pick herself up off the floor. Irritated, she responded with a,

"I'm fine, thanks. Maybe you could please – "


She gritted her teeth. There was no way she going to respond back through the vents. How on earth his voice managed to travel through it was beyond her, but she was not returning the stupidity.

"I said I'm FINE! If you could please –"

She was unable to finish her sentence though, as she was interrupted by a huge chord after the 'rockstar-in-training' had been assured that she was okay.


With a huff, Olette threw herself down on her chair and attempted to memorize every bone in the human body while the rockstar continued to belt out tunes to MarineWelder.

Olette. Hated. Rock.

. : - : .

With three billion kilograms of textbooks clutched to her chest and as another three billion kilograms of water poured down on her, Olette raced as fast as she could into the apartment's front foyer. Brown bangs practically coated over her tightly shut eyes, Olette shook herself dry (and praying that no one was watching her), and heaved a massive sigh.

It'd been a long day. She'd attended three lectures today, of which the two she almost slept through – thanks to the riot last night. She knew he must've invited friends over; they'd been hanging out on the balcony above hers, and one had spilled his drink – and landed on the floor below.

It'd taken her an hour to clean up the sticky mess on her balcony, and damn, had she been pissed.

She really needed to have a talk with this upstairs neighbour of hers.

Olette squeezed the water out her hair, flinging the droplets from her hands, when –

"Hey! Watch where you're spray – "

But Olette had stopped paying attention. Him. That voice – she had heard it screaming out more angsty lyrics about hating your dad, earlier this afternoon, when she'd come home. And just as she grabbed the doorknob, her door shook, he bellowed, and she'd turned right around.

She'd left to go study in the park. And then it freakin' rained.

Her head shot up, determined to confront him once and for all, but all she saw was a blond, mullet-hawked head retreating away from her. Not even a face, ugh. Ignoring the nasty sticky feeling that came with rapidly warming rain on her body, Olette squish-squashed her way after him, and called, "Wait! Wait! We need to – "

But he had slipped out of sight, and Olette was left standing in the navy-carpeted and oaken-walled hallway with a few other stragglers from the storm outside. One of them was a particularly swaggering lout, and he gave her a once over and said cheekily, "Nice white t-shirt, honey. Totally ro – "

"Don't, please, just don't!"

. : - : .

She was in her pyjamas, a pair of comfy red sleeper pants, and a plain white t-shirt – a dry one, at that – jerk – and she was just brewing some hot coffee, when suddenly, her phone rang.


Probably a telemarketer. Olette decided to ignore it, and it continued to ring. And ring.

What the –

And that was when the answering machine picked up.

"Olette? Sis? Come on, pick up the phone! I know you're there! Man, are you having a bad day or something? Oly-poly, co – "

"Okay,I'm here!" she said, a little breathlessly, after having made a mad dash towards the phone. "And don't call me that! It's – "

"It got you to the phone, didn't it?" he cut in, laughing. Olette nearly fumed, but it was gone as soon as it came. Her brother's voice was warm and welcoming, after the rough day she'd just endured.

She appreciated that he called – and often, at that, too. He'd asked, nearly pleaded, that she stay in touch with after she left home for university studies. There was no doubt in her mind that he missed her; he'd trailed alongside her his whole life, after all, and looking back now, she couldn't believe that she'd ever been irritated with him (but then again, his music had accompanied him...). She'd sought comfort in his company, without even realizing it, for he always found something to smile about, whether it was a lame joke he made up, or it was just staring up at the sky, giving the shapeless clouds some meaning above them.

"Sis? You still there?" Olette blinked, shaking out her thoughts, and replied with a quiet,

"Yeah, Sora, I'm here."

"What's up then? You don't usually ignore the phone, only when you're – "

Olette sighed then, bringing the cordless with her into the kitchen. "I know." Her coffee was done, so she poured it into a mug, and added a bit of cream and sugar. "It's been quite the few weeks, that's all."

"You doing all right?"

"Yeah… exams haven't come up yet, but there's a lot of reading to do. If only I could –"


"What the – "


"We will, we will, SMASH you –"


"Olette? Olette, what's going on?" She gritted her teeth – that ass, couldn't he just –

"SHUT UP!" She lifted the nearest object, an old useless textbook, and chucked it at the ceiling.


"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, this guy'll be the death of me, I swear…" Olette seethed.

Sora's voice broke through then, and it was wrought with concern as he asked,

"Are you okay?" Olette blushed then. She nearly forgot that her kid brother was on the other line.

Dammit all.

"Sorry," she began, "It's just, there's this idiot of an ass who lives above me, and he never shuts up… goddamn rock music…"

"Heh, guess that's kinda my fault, though, eh?"

Well… Olette thought with a quirked eyebrow. "It's just a tad hard to study, y'know? I've already complained to the superintendent, but I think my complaints have gone unheard. I kinda think she's 'nonconfrontational'."

"Why don't you just go and talk to him? He probably doesn't mean to be so… well, loud, he's just having fun, right?" Olette gasped, and nearly choked,

"Whose side are you on?" Her brother instantly spluttered.

"Yours, yours!" Sora cried hastily. She knew he was holding up his hands defensively.

Olette drew in a deep breath – good God, and she thought the studying would kill her – and now she had to deal with this stupidity. Sighing warily, she breathed into the mouthpiece,

"Look, I'll talk to you tomorrow, 'kay? I'm going to go out and study somewhere else."

There was a slight pause on the other end, and her kid brother replied,

"Uh, sure. No prob." Another pause. "Um, hey, Olette, did you want me to come down, and… I dunno, help you out?"

Olette resisted a snort. Not that she didn't think he wouldn't stick up for her… honour, or whatever nonsense plowed through the media these days, but…

… the idea did still seem ridiculous. And knowing her brother, he'd probably take the idiot upstairs out for a drink in a friendly gesture, instead of just knocking on the door, and greeting him with a punch in the nose.

Yup. That was her brother all right.

Oh, and the fact that he was only, like, fifteen, might've played a factor in the decision.

"It's okay, Sora," Olette responded, "It's not like he's… harassing me or anything." Pfft. Like she couldn't handle her self.

"Oh, okay… well then, talk to you tomorrow then?" She smiled, despite the fact that she knew he couldn't see it.

"Yeah… bye Sora. Tell Mom and Dad I'll talk to them, too, 'kay?"

"Can do! Oh, and Olette?"

She paused. "Yeah?"

Sora's voice softened. "...Don't overwork yourself, 'kay sis? You're always doing that... make sure you go out and relax, too, okay?"

Olette sighed. Of course. He said this every time they talked. And she was going to deny it either; she'd always been studious and a hard worker – stress was her second best friend. Sora, in all her years, had always kept an eye on her, joking that he'd catch her when she fell if her brain should ever short-circut.


Sora finally wrapped up: "All right then – I'm gonna go play Drum Soldier." – Go figures, she thought with a roll of her eyes "Later, Oly!"

Hey! "Don't – " But then she heard a click, followed by the sound of a dial tone. She looked at the phone with a miffed glance – ugh, she would teach him the meaning of nicknames –


Her temper flared. This was the last straw, dammit.

. : - : .

Her backpack swung over one shoulder, Olette raised her fist to knock aggressively on the door of room 427. Forget the screaming conversations, the avoided encounters and the smashing of ceilings; Olette was taking care of this matter. Especially if Stupidintendent Yuna was tactfully ignoring the issue, ugh.

Lingering in front of his door, and trying to peek through the little-peeking-hole-thingy, she waited for him to answer. And waited. And waited.

This was so not helping her composure right now. She told herself she would be civil and kind and respectful, and that maybe he would listen and do the same, and she could just walk away, and back to the sanctuary of her books. Him not answering the door was tampering with her patience.

Great. She raised her fist to rap on the door again, when suddenly it swung open, revealing a pale, gangly blond standing in the entrance way, toothpaste smeared over his lips.

And he was in his boxers.

Oh dear God.

He was in nothing but his boxers!


Whipping around, Olette shaded her eyes and faced the wall. Her face was hot with embarrassment and shame – did the guy have no decency? She was not looking at him when he was dressed in – er, undressed – ah! It took all the will power in her to quieten her voice, as she muttered under her breath,

"This is not happening, this is not happening – " The blond however, couldn't hear her – maybe it was because of the blasted music that was drumming through the walls and imploding his ear canals, the idiot – and so with his toothbrush still in his mouth, he replied,

"Uh… can I he' 'ou wih suh-thin'?"

Groaning, Olette grinded over her shoulder,

"Yes, in fact you could – how about putting on some clothes?"

The blond actually considered it for a moment.

"Uh… nah." He pulled the brush out of his mouth. "Clothes make me itchy."

What was he, a freaking baboon?

"I'm not a baboon!" he wailed defensively. Olette winced, but not before a rapid blush had scorned her cheeks. Did he actually hear her say that? Aloud?

Olette reeled, as if almost offended that he dare read her thoughts. "Of course, you're a baboon! You're apartment's a mess, you're not clothed, and it seems that you're only just learning the eloquence of how to brush your teeth! And in mid-afternoon at that!"

"So? Maybe I like brushing my teeth. Helps to keep them squeaky clean. See?" And with that, the blond-guy actually took a finger and rubbed it against his toothpaste-soaked teeth. She heard a distinct squeak.


But he only laughed. His indigo eyes lit up with mirth, and he covered his mouth to keep from spitting out the excess toothpaste.

What was she doing here again?

Olette shifted her backpack, and was about to leave, when he suddenly called out,

"Hey, wait! Hang on a sec!" She really didn't want to.

In what seemed like two seconds, he was gone and back, his mouth wiped clean, and he was pulling a shirt over his head. Olette got the strict impression that he'd just spit the toothpaste into some nearby shoes, and grabbed a shirt from the coat closet.

She really needed to go. Now.

"Look," she began to say, plastering on a ridiculously sweet smile on to her face, "I realize that you're dedication to the arts is important to you, and probably even awe-inspiring" – to the tonedeaf, she added – "but I kindly request that you cease playing" – and pathetically imitating – "your music at such amplified levels of volume, and not disturb your neighbours down south, at say, one-in-the-morning. Please."

A scratch on the head, and he said, "Eh?"

I said you're stupid, stupid.


Her smile freezing in place, she quipped, "Due to the lingering notion that your brain has minimal capacity for human intellect, I've decided to terminate this mild, but oh-so-intriguing discussion of your… artistic abilities, and go home and perhaps buy some earplugs, because I doubt anything I continue to say will go through that obnoxiously thick skull of yours."


A deep sigh, before, "Don't you know anything?"

The blond actually raised a hand to his chin in mock-thought, and he said rather brightly, "Well, I know that you're kinda cute."

Say what?

"That wasn't what – " she spluttered, but the blond only responded with an innocent,

"You asked."


With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she loudly muttered, "Forget it! This is so stupid, what a waste of my time…" She whipped on her heel, and began to stalk away, feeling utterly stupid for ever thinking she could get a decent discussion out of a rockstar-wanna-be. His head was anywhere but here.

She was at the elevator doors when she heard his voice again,

"Hey! Wait! You didn't tell me your name!"A pause. "HEY! I didn't get to tell you my name! It's –"

Whatever. With a loud ping, the elevator doors slid shut.

And like she would ever tell him her name.

On second thought, maybe she should've told him it was Rockstar-Dreams-Crusher, checking in with reality.

. : - : .

The starry sky was perfect. The calm curtain of night had closed in around the balcony, and Olette sighed. Aside from the dull thumping from the damn room upstairs (which she had gotten used to, as it had been a fortnight since her little confrontation – which had definitely been weird), the world was at peace. Olette was sprawled out on a lawn chair, a book in hand. Granted, it was getting a little dark to read, so Olette put the book down. Getting up to stretch her legs, Olette leaned on the balcony railing.

Deep breath.

Thank God. Mid terms were over, and Olette was fairly certain she'd passed. She was moving through med-school, on her way to specializing … her mom had called yesterday, asking about her plans … and then she and Sora had talked again – which was so nice, after what had hap –


"Ew!" Olette shrieked, leaping from the balcony. "Ew! You – you – " But Olette was spluttering too much. That stupid, insolent, incompetent, uncivilised … that rockstar must have been standing on the balcony with a drink, because whatever had been in his glass had sloshed down, and dripped onto her!

What the hell!

And no freaking apology, or anything! Not even a blustering: "Yo, sorry, dude!" What – the – bloody – freaking – hell!

And holy crap this was a NEW shirt!

A sudden calm swept over Olette. Her eyes steeled, and she looked menacingly upwards.

Game over, Rock Hero.

Wiping off her face, Olette stormed out her apartment door and made her way to the elevator. Her beige tank and brand-freaking-new white sweater were ruined; her chocolate-brown hair was sticky; her skin was smelly; all with a pungent amber liquid that made Olette want to gag. Oh hell, was he gonna pay for this.

Slamming her fist on 427's door, she got no response. She seethed, the storm gathering around her. She tried again. Still no response.


And the lightning cracked.

"ARGH OPEN UP!" Olette shrieked, not caring about the hell she may have been raising. "You open this door right now, you totally insensitive creep – and I – I'll teach you to spill your drink on me!" No response. Nothing! Olette began pacing in front of the door, a full blown storm – no hurricane! – raging through her, sweeping her up in blind rage and adrenaline pumping through her like –

Olette stopped maddeningly in front of the door, preparing to kick it (she was not going back to her room this time without a proper response), when –

"Oof!" Olette fell through the open door, tumbling onto the apartment floor.


Glancing up, Olette saw a blazing-redhead leering down at her. And holy crap, was his hair red. She may have been as angry as a lion, but this guy had the mane of one – with a set of piercing green eyes and a towering height to match. And long limbs, and flat abs … Olette flushed deeply, realizing –

"Why don't boys wear clothes?" Olette moaned, burying her face in her hands as she squatted down. The man let out a bark of laughter, and she cringed.

"I'm wearing boxers, lady, what more do you want?" he snickered. "Yo, Dem! I told you it would work!"

Olette's attention was immediately on the redhead again (then she was reminded he was practically naked, so she averted her gaze), and she spat, "What? Annoying the crap out of me? Making me want to kill your precious Dem? Spilling your fu – "

"Yo, yo – that kinda language doesn't suit you."

"Who do you think you are?!" Olette's head shot up (at this angle, him being almost-naked was even more scarring – but alas! She would stand her ground!).

"Axel's the name," the redhead smirked, and the circuitry in his electric green eyes must have exploded, because there were sparks dancing.

Olette rolled away, and staggered up. Fine! She'd take him on, in all his naked-ness or not! "Excuse ME?!" she exclaimed, poking him hard in the (bare) chest. "Look, AXEL! You have no place to tell me – you – you insufferable jerk!" She knew her face was blotchy with red – it was always like that when she was mad, Sora told her – but she hardly cared.

The redhead, however, gave her a smug once over. "You have no idea how hot this is. Random cute brunette stumbles into room, starts screaming my name and grasping at me, soaked in booze – "

"You pig! That you and your idiot friend spilled – "

"It was no spill, honey."

Olette was too freaking pissed off to catch the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "Whaddya mean it wasn't a spill!" At that moment, a meek squeak (probably a 'hello' that died in his throat) announced the other idiot's arrival into the sitting room area. Olette whirled on the blond: "Ohmigod! What is wrong with you! First it's the God-awful rock, then the never-ending guitar solos, and then the partying, and now this?!" Olette grabbed her sweater and pinched it away from her chest.

"Babe, feel free to take it off, if it's getting a little … sticky!" Axel cat-called as he flopped onto the beaten up couch. Olette pointedly ignored him, hence also missing Axel licking his lips with a flirty wink. The guitar-slamming blond, however, – whose name she still had yet to learn – went red, and muttered something about Axel 'being totally high'.

"HUH?" Olette exclaimed, exasperation hitting new peaks. "What the helldo you have to say for yourself?! You – "


"What?" Olette snapped, annoyed at the mumbling, rapid gibberish stew spilling out of the blond. This idiot wanted to be a rock star, ha! Couldn't even string together a single line of lyrics, probably!

"I said," Demyx dug his toe into the carpet, eyes to the floor. "Axel said it was the only way you'd talk to me."

Stunned silence.

Some more.

"A-wha …?" Olette felt her cheeks getting warm. He did not say what she thought he said, didn't mean it like …

"It was Axel's idea!" Demyx said desperately, glaring at his spaced-out friend. "You kept yelling at me and I thought you were pretty cool and then we met and you were all pretty and nice and I acted like a dick and I felt stupid and I told Axel and he was all, 'Just like talk to her' but you stopped yelling and I didn't wanna yell and you always seem kinda busy and so I told Axel and he was all, 'Dude I got a plan' and Axel brought drinks and and and … and you … got that on your shirt." His face was very, very pink after his babble-fest, and Olette was sure she only mirrored him. Ohmigod, awkward, awkward, awkward …

"So …" Olette began, breathing in deeply. Deep breath. "Uh … "

Olette didn't know what to say. This rocker? He … he actually thought … well, he was kinda cute, now that she thought about it … but … he …

She was floored, to say the least.

Speechless, Olette whipped around and fled from the room, ignoring the "Hey wait!" trailing after her, along with the sounds of Axel cackling drunkenly as she left.

It was after she slammed herself into the elevator when she noticed that, for the first time, no rock music had been playing. None at all. She had heard that Dem-kid clear as a bell, and she wondered – with what was left of her numb mind – if the absence of rock music had been a good thing or not.

A/N: Yeeeaaaahh. Not the best comeback, eh? –sighs– Sorry guys. It's all I got right now.