A/N: Because you all deserve a cute little ending after all you've been through. (Don't own KH.)

Visual Boy ASL Club: A Half-Decent Love Story

The tale of Lexaeus and Zexion's meeting isn't a long one, for it was a truly brief affair. So too is the story of their relationship. It was all perfectly ordinary. And though their love wasn't one that warrants a great opera, or even an aria, a brief epilogue can be spared at its expense. For while it was not great and wonderful it makes for, at the very least, a half decent love story.


It all began in seventh-grade History, during which the two were assigned to sit next to each other. And while some stories begin by illustrating that the two main characters hit it off from the start, or were great enemies partaking in a fierce battle more bloody even than that 'tween heaven and hell in the pages of the bible, this tale can do no such thing. In all fact, the two were entirely indifferent to each other, just as any two strangers should be. Sitting beside a person does not make them your friend. No – the two coexisted in silence without acknowledging the other beyond asking for a spare pencil or to borrow an eraser.

And so life continued. Though it may be of note that Lexaeus, at that time, was even more scrawny than Zexion. Puberty had been kind to the (eventually) taller boy come High School, but until then he was the shortest in the class, teased for his ginger hair and an odd tendency to count how many cucumber slices were on his sandwiches.


It was September 14th, 1995 (a Thursday) and Zexion's Freshman year of High School, a good two weeks before Lexaeus would try out for the football team after his summer growth spurt. As it was the third day of school everyone was still settling into classes and switching schedules before the year went properly underway. Through a strange bit of luck the two were placed beside each other in Chemistry, where they proceeded to pretend to pay attention to the teacher. (Or, in Zexion's case, listen intently to every word the teacher spoke while pretending to not pay attention.)

As it was, Lexaeus had a hard time concentrating on anything. Here was this quiet, most likely smart kid sitting next to him who looked vaguely familiar. A dark figure from his past? A previous crush? No – it was that kid from middle school who didn't show up for eighth grade! Where had he been, anyway? Rumors hadn't been consistent, and had ranged from "he spent a year in Aspen" to "he jumped off a building to kill himself but went into a coma, during which the doctors surgically implanted mechanical organs in him so he'd survive, so now he's a cyborg."

Least to say, cheerleaders couldn't be trusted.

With little else to do in the middle row, Lexaeus snatched up a pencil and wrote a single line in his notebook. Glancing up at the teacher, then to Zexion, he nudged the spiral over to the shorter boy. The lone line stared up at the ceiling for a long while after this. The slate-haired boy made no indication that he had seen the notebook, let alone the words in them. The Ginger-haired boy sat there, nervous, absolutely convinced the teacher had seen him pass the note and was holding out until after class to get him – and Zexion had miraculously seen this instead of him. It was beyond nerve-wracking. Then, finally, when the teacher had faced the class and turned his back three times, the smaller teen glanced at the page.

Where were you?

His eyebrows furrowed together, and he sent a confused glance Lexaeus' way. Much to the taller boy's relief, however, he wrote back.

What do you mean?

Lexaeus' response was almost immediate.

In eighth grade. We went to middle school, remember?

I think I'd remember someone like you.

We sat next to each other every day for a year.


The ginger-haired boy tried not to smile too broad at this, suddenly afraid of scaring the other teen off. How should he reply? What if he appeared overzealous? How would he get Zexion to answer him?

Yeah. Why'd you dye your hair?

He mentally patted himself on the back. After receiving the note the Freshman reached up idly to tug at his bangs. A long, tense minute passed in which the taller boy realized that all the other teen had to do was pass the notebook back and claim they should be paying attention to end the whole thing. Then, much to his surprise, Zexion bent over the desk and gave him an honest to goodness answer. For a teenager, that is.

I felt like it.

They did not speak privately for another year.


After getting drunk together with the shorter boy, Lexaeus asked Zexion on an honest to goodness date. They went to a little sushi restaurant where the owners didn't speak English, and the menus were two-sided. One side was in Japanese; the other in fluent Typo.

After eating they made a (completely necessary) stop at Powel's, where Zexion proceeded to buy two Star Trek novelizations and Lexaeus perused the at-home workout section. (He found nothing of interest.) Eventually, the pair made their way home, where Zexion fiddled with his keys and Lexaeus stood there like an idiot, wondering what was going on until the shorter boy grabbed him forcefully by the collar and dragged him down for a kiss. Unsuccessfully, one might note. Not only did he not have the strength to drag the taller boy down, but had somehow managed to smash his head into the screen door for his trouble.

The taller boy had reached up to observe the wound at that point, and eventually drew away like a gentleman. Zexion was disappointed by this.

Their second date, which was essentially dinner at Lexaeus' place when his parents were out, dissolved into a make-out session in the first thirty minutes when it became absolutely clear that their dinner was not salvageable.


There were many things that Zexion and Lexaeus were not able to learn about each other, and a greater number of things that they did.

They learned on their third date that neither could cook, and that Lexaeus was a very picky eater, which stemmed from an unusual case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. When there were not exactly eight pickles on his sandwich he would not touch it. For this reason his mother put extra pickles in his lunch for him to use should one fall off. The pickles had to be sliced, with the little frilly edges and a distinctly dill taste. Eventually, he learned to work around a shortage of pickles. When there were less than eight he would pick them all off, eat them, and pretend they had never been there.

Something said ginger-haired boy never told his boyfriend was that he wasn't a virgin.

Something Zexion never told him was where he had been for eighth grade.

But, again, what they did know what more important.

Lexaeus picked his nose whenever people weren't looking.

Zexion sucked his thumb when he dreamed.

Lexaeus mewled like a kitten in his sleep.

Zexion liked to pretend he was a ballet dancer and would leap about the house in nothing but boxers and a T-shirt when his mother wasn't around.

Lexaeus, shockingly enough, did the same.

But, most importantly, they both knew that the other cared. They weren't soul mates – and they certainly weren't in love. But they cared enough to be there, and that was all that really mattered.


End Note: And it is complete.

Love Forever,

Besieged Infection

P.S. You know who you are. This is for you. Both of you. I hope I did your Visual Boy justice.