Yay for holidays. Not so great for my inspiration, which has so conveniently run dry AFTER MY EXAMS FINISH.
I've left this piece lying around for a month before I finally finished it and decided to put it up, in lieu of a lack of inspiration.

Oh hey, what a lousy introduction. Not even going to bother explaining who's doing what to who.

STRAIGHT TO THE ACTION.

Oh wow, ironic that I can't think up good summaries for the fics I think are good, but the ones I never publish have amazing summaries xDD


Disclaimer: Me no own Kingdom Hearts.


She slowly grabbed a handful of his coat and suddenly yanked hard, bringing him forward in his seat.
Leaning in dangerously close, she stared at him for a few moments with one of her trademark smirks as if she had something nasty planned for him.

She released him with a sigh, roughly pushing him back.
"You're no fun. There's nothing fun about you, or this.
I'm bored. Where's Axel when you need him?"

Saïx blinked, straightening up to look the Nymph in the eye with a questioning gaze.
She was being even more cryptic than ever, with her split second 'mood' changes and sudden decisions to forget the last five seconds of their conversations, going on a brand new tangent.
In many cases, it was like talking to the wall—one-sided.

"I look at you, and I see nothing, Saïx." Larxene sighed.

"I'd think those comments should be reserved for the Superior, don't you?"

"I look at you, and there's just nothing." She continued, ignoring him.
"All you ever do is work and sleep and boss everyone else around. There's just…nothing there!"

"Yes, we've established that you see nothing."

She looked visibly frustrated, and it intrigued him ever so slightly, the way she could act as if she'd never lost her heart in the first place.
Why put in so much effort into a façade? Especially since she never put that much effort into her missions or training exercises.
Was she just channelling her energy into the wrong things like an idiot? What motives drove her to be such an inefficient creature—if any?
Maybe she was just another mindless moron, despite the way she acted so above the rest of the Organization, like ranking order started from decreasing value.
"Care to explain yourself, Twelve?"
"Not that I particularly 'care'." He added casually, returning his attention to the stack of reports.

Larxene huffed, deciding to frown at his ceiling as she collapsed onto his bed.

"Believe it or not, I don't know. As surprising as it is to me, I can't explain myself."

"You almost sound human again. You make even less sense than usual.

"…so what?" she challenged quietly, suddenly dropping her voice to a low murmur.
"Problem?" the blonde asked coldly.

"A simple observation." He replied, deciding to end the conversation there and then before they wasted any more time on dilly dallying. "Nothing more, Twelve."

"You're so boring." The Nymph said suddenly, interrupting his train of thought.
"Has anyone ever told you that?" she asked.
"You don't know what's normal or strange or even good or bad. You know noth—"

"I know plenty, Larxene." Saïx cut in coldly—he was tempted to let drop that he'd been keeping tabs on her and Marluxia's behaviours for quite some time, but control brought his senses back to him before he slipped.
For a second, Larxene's face lit up at his slight show of aggression, but died down with his anger as he returned to his work. She pouted as silence became the presuming sound once more.

Not being one to easily give up, Larxene slid into his lap, almost with bated breath as she traced a finger up his neck and jaw, directing his gaze up towards her face.
She watched his eyes search her as she bent down to meet his lips, only closing her eyes after making sure he did, taking his hands and slipping them around her body.
The blonde broke away, staring expectantly at the Diviner.

He pushed her off his lap gently and returned to his reports, leaving Larxene to glare daggers at him for daring to ignore her again.
"You probably don't even know whether that was right or wrong." She muttered before turning to disappear in a whirl of shadows and disappointment.


Saïx was dead. Just plain dead.

She kissed him, and there was nothing there to suggest that it was an actual person kissing her back, instead of some animated mannequin with unusually gentle lips and a warm breath.
There was nothing that told her that he knew it was supposed to be 'naughty' or against the rules in a way, acting human again and condoning such foolish behaviour in the Organization of such an uptight, emotionless man like Xemnas.
He accepted that it just happened, and moved on.

He did not enjoy the thrills of every little rebellious act like she did. He couldn't care less whether she left him alone or bothered him daily with her little games, so long as it didn't interfere with his work too much.

And it bothered her.

Saïx did not 'care', just as he said. And something about it bothered her, just a little, like a dulled kind of pressure on her chest that she wanted to lift.
She wasn't particularly angry or upset with it—but memories of feeling frustrated, rejected and unsatisfied rushed through her after the encounter with Saïx, and it bothered her to the ends of this sunless world of eternal night.
Its nocturnal dawn brought her no comfort or promise of a new day.

And she knew the rest of her existence would be like that—boring, unsatisfying, unilluminating and filled with heartless old men who were just dead.

In a way, she wanted him to fight back, or have at least some kind of reaction to her.
She might have even celebrated it if he showed the tiniest sign that he was bothered by her the way he bothered her—even better if he took fate into his own hands and actively sought to enjoy what she offered.

A chance to break out of the monotony in the walls of this white castle, blank and cold like its master.

She wished he would just break sometimes, maybe even attempt to act irritated with her for disturbing his concentration, or slam her against the wall for her tomfoolery and daring to drag him, Mr-stiff-and-second-in-command-who-wasn't-supposed-to-indulge-in-such-maudlin-idiocy, into her storm of mischief.
At least it would show that he did 'care', in some twisted way.


I'm starting to think my writing relates to wine and cheese and all those things you have to leave for a while to 'mature' and 'ferment' before it's fit for consumption.
What am I going on about?