KH - Return :: Rewrite: Chapter One, "Freaks"
Return :: Rewrite
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Demyx
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 1/7
Beta: Zenelly
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this.
All was quiet, clean, and orderly in the small locker room. Not-quite-neon-blue tiles lined the walls and floors were polished to perfection; red lockers were neatly arranged in rows one atop the other into orderly aisles, and a communal shower of the same not-quite-neon-blue tiles was mold free- the entirety of which were untouched by graffiti and vandalism, sans a small series of scratches on one particular locker proclaiming that at one point someone had considered themselves important enough to proclaim that they had been there, though the name had faded with age. Nearly every inch of the area looked new, and only the light cracks in the paint upon the lockers gave any implication that the area hadn't been updated in years. Off to the side, towels were neatly stacked in open cubbies, clean and without any trace of grime. Clearly, whoever used the room took great care. The air held a tinge of an unpleasant odor, proving that the space was in use, though by whom was still up for discussion.
Without warning, the space seemed to burst with nearly two dozen teenagers, presumably students considering they all wore the same uniform black shorts and gray shirt ensemble. They chatted amicably with each other as they stripped down before their peers without shame, tossing their uniforms to the floor before their lockers and filing into the showers to wash away the sweat dotting their bodies. Despite their copious numbers, the room was nearly as silent as it had been before their arrival; even their steps were nearly soundless as the entire group expressed a grace not usually present in teens. The only true source of sound came from the showers, which spray a fine mist over the teen's bodies. Both males and females stood under the spray, whispering about that day's physical education class without bothering to glance at each others' nude figures. There was no sexual tension; merely an unspoken undercurrent of respect evident to all who looked closely upon the spectacle.
And it truly was a spectacle.
Some washed long, canine tails with care, taking precautions so they didn't push the fur the wrong way, and others took files to talons that adorned their hands in sets of threes or fours instead of finger nails. Others offered friends special brushes to wash the scales on their backs. Some of them shared colorization or characteristics, green scales or fleshy pointed ears, though some were one of a kind among the group. However, they all had a few things in common. For one, not a single one was over five feet tall; for another, they all had relatively the same build- all bones and lithe muscle that wouldn't count for much.
One particular boy, around the age of fifteen, carefully worked shampoo around pointed lavender ears, not unlike those of a cat. A matching lavender tail sprouted delicately from just below the dip of his back, and soap suds did not slide across his body as it usually would for others. Instead, it chose to catch on a fine sheen of gray fur dusting the entirety of his body. Like the others, he was all lean muscle, thin as could be.
Washing the remaining suds from his fur, he turned to a small raven-haired girl who appeared to be nearly a year older than him, and she had no special characteristics visible other than her body appearing malnourished with her ribs standing in clear relief from the rest of her body, her hip jutting out from beneath the skin. There were no claws, scales, or extra appendages anywhere on her body. She simply sat on the tiles beside him, face void of any expression, almost literally skin and bones, allowing the water to soak her form. Her arms were limp at her sides, and her skin was nearly translucent, betraying light blue veins just below the surface. Hands and feet appearing too large for her body rest upon the tiles, almost as if they belonged to someone else.
"Xion," he observed quietly, "you should go get dressed before you collapse again." The girl looked up to him then, and nodded.
"Help," she whimpered, raising one arm as if it was all she could manage. Complying, the boy bent to collect the girl from the tiles, tugging her bridal-style into his arms, knowing he wouldn't have managed the feat were she anyone else. Light as a feather, she very nearly floated in his arms as he brought her to a locker to one side of the room. There, he carefully set her against it, unlatching the metal door before drying her off with a towel taken from the nearby cubbies. He pressed the cotton delicately to her flesh, almost as if he feared breaking her.
"You're cold," he noted, moving from her arms to her torso. His hands did not linger along her breasts or sides; simply moved along them as if they were nothing. "Colder than usual, I mean," he clarified upon receiving an odd look from the girl.
"I get my transfusion this afternoon," she announced quietly, earning a miniscule grin from the boy above her.
Moving onto her legs, the boy gently turned the girl to get a better angle to dry her backside, as well. "That's good," he mused. "Can you stand?" The girl nodded, allowing the boy to help her to her feet. Rubbing the rest of her dry, he placed it across the girl's hair before retrieving his own towel. Moving to another locker, he quickly ran the material along his body as the other teens filed from the showers, filling the room with quiet conversations and the like. Finishing his legs, he massaged his hair dry before unlatching the lock upon the metal door, tugging his clothes from within and placing his P.E. clothes draped upon the floor carefully within the locker.
A black tee slid to snugly fit his torso as he pulled it over his hair and down his body before he slipped a pair of boxers on, closely followed by a pair of jeans, high enough to cover what mattered by low enough to allow his tail free-reign over the space behind him. There it curled and uncurled at random increments despite his insistence for it to remain still. He glanced over to Xion, who was now being doted upon by a girl who was obviously related to her. Their faces were identical, though this new girl's hair was a subdued mane of red feathers, and in place of hands she had a set of talons. Looking around the locker room, the boy observed the other trait that was present in every person there.
Many of them shared the exact shade of not-quite-neon-blue eyes, and those who did not wore piercings on some parts of their bodies. Reaching one hand up, the boy with ears much like a cat felt at the furred appendage for the familiar feel of steel. There it was; that comforting loop.
Socks came on, then shoes, and his gym shoes were stored into the locker beside the tee and shorts as he slipped a messenger bag around his shoulders. A bell rang, prompting a crowd by the door that had been steadily growing to file out of the room, the boy among them, and into the mess that was a high school hallway.
"Freaks," a voice rang out among the crowd of humans spilling from their own locker. It was the first rock of the day, that word. Other voices soon joined theirs, shouting for the group to go home and kill themselves. Humans jeered at them from all angles as they dispersed through the hallways. Yet, the boy with the cat-like ears stayed in place beside the door, waiting.
"Filthy animals!"
"Go home!"
"Stupid Hybrids." Yes- Hybrids; that's what they, the humans, called them.
"Good morning, Zexion," a blond boy announced, stepping up beside the teen with cat-like ears. The human towered over him by a shocking eight inches, but he wasn't intimidating at all with his flat expression and all-angle physique. Sharp elbows stuck out from a band tee, too-thin legs left skinny-jeans baggy, and pointed facial features didn't seem to fit with the boy, yet it worked in some odd way. He also seemed older by at least a year, maybe two, and carried himself with a calm sense of self-assurance. Among all the angles and corners of the boy's body, eyes of the softest, deepest blue imaginable stared out at the world, half-hooded in fatigue. He yawned.
"Good morning, Demyx," the smaller boy replied, brushing the sheet of bangs from his right eye to get a good look at his friend. Almost as if out of nowhere, the blond brought a camera up and snapped a picture of Zexion.
"December thirteenth," he narrated quietly as he saved the picture. "Part one." He grinned big, then; it was a smile the smaller boy usually saw when they were in company that nearly split Demyx's face in two. Running a hand through his hair, a shaggy array of blond spiked up only at the very top and allowed to hang down lazily everywhere else, he heaved a heavy sigh. "Let's get to class, shall we?" Zexion nodded, following behind the taller teen with practiced ease as they made their way through the crowd of students.
Many wondered how they were friends, one being a Hybrid and the other a human, but it was really quite simple. To the blond, Zexion wasn't just some "Hybrid." No- he was just Zexion. Not "freak," not "animal," and definitely not "Hybrid." Zexion was Zexion, just as Demyx was Demyx. That's all there was to it. There wasn't some higher level of understanding or picturesque childhood promise to remain friends throughout their entire lives. In fact, they had only met a few months before.
Something just worked with them.
...
Lunch was a quiet affair. All the Hybrids, and a select few humans, sat around a tree in the school's courtyard to eat. No one talked, and the only true activity was that of Demyx taking pictures at random of people, flowers, and clouds.
Zexion lay down in the grass, staring up at the sky, the remains of his lunch tossed in a nearby trash bin. His coat bunched around his arms, revealing his wrists to the cold December air before he tugged it into place. Collapsing back into his previous spot, he stared into the gray sky. It would snow, soon. That was for sure. A light flashed, followed by the click and whir of an old, beaten up digital camera. Soon after that, Demyx plopped himself beside the smaller boy, looking into the preview box on the device. He wore no coat, and his jeans weren't good for cold weather, but he radiated heat in almost uncomfortable amounts. Beneath him, the ice clinging to the lawn began to thaw.
"What do you think?" he inquired, angling the camera so Zexion could see the picture. The first thing the smaller teen noted was that there was no color in the photo, and the grass seemed a little fuzzy.
After a minute, he replied, "If you really want to know, I think the positioning is poor."
The blond blinked at this, eyes flicking to the image to study it before grunting an affirmative. "You're right," he mused, bringing it closer to his face. "I shouldn't have gone for such a steep angle…" He went silent after this exchange, fiddling with his camera. "Hey, Zexion," he began, voice cracking ever so slightly, "do you want to come over after school?" Demyx bit his lip upon saying this, not daring to look at his friend.
"I can't," the boy replied without hesitation. "I have to run some errands for Dad, later."
"Oh…" he sighed, turning his eyes to the grass at his feet. Leaping up, he made his way to the rest of the group, taking pictures of some of the others. The cat-eared Hybrid noted how the others of his kind shied away from the human, grimacing when he asked for a smile, turning their backs to the camera at the last minute.
"Not many humans would risk it," Xion mused, carefully lowering herself to the ground beside Zexion, "social exile."
He turned to her with a look of question. "What brought this on?"
"You don't know much about him," she began, ignoring his inquiry. "Do you know why we don't trust him?"
Zexion rolled his eyes. "He's human, Xion. It's natural," he drawled, heaving a sigh.
"If it were natural then you wouldn't trust him, either," she noted, looking off into the distance. Her fingers inched down to the hem of her dress, tugging idly at the blue fabric. The piece barely came down to her knees, and from there stockings continued on to cover the rest of her legs. A heavy black winter coat with faux fur lining engulfed her upper body, making her thinness almost indiscernible. If it weren't from the way her boots were too large for her ankles one would think her a human.
But she wasn't.
"What are you getting at?" he growled, taking the girl by surprise.
"You didn't know him last year like we did."
"Is that why I can't be his friend?" he snipped.
"He's not the type to risk exile over someone who's just a friend, Zexion- I don't think camaraderie is all he's after." Silence followed this statement. "Zexion, I think-"
"You've thought enough." Jumping to his feet, the Hybrid began to make his was across the school lawn, ice crunching beneath his boots.
To Zexion it didn't matter if he hadn't known Demyx the year before- he still knew the boy better than the others.
…
A bitter, frigid breeze greeted Demyx as he stepped out into the afternoon air, making his way over to his car; a blue truck that had a number of words written into the side with permanent markers. Some were large, some a bold red, declaring someone had been there. Some were in the blond's own untidy scrawl. A few were faded, and only a handful looked somewhat new, and nearly half were crossed out. Several were only partially blocked out, and a number of them were completely blotted out. But mostly, it was the faded ones that had been marked out of existence- the older ones.
The truck's frame was beaten, the paint was peeling, and it was impossible to tell what kind of model it was, but upon Demyx opening the door and sliding in it was revealed that the interior was well taken care of. Leather seats were hole-free and clean of stains, bread crumbs, and marker, as were the floors. Sunglasses sat above the driver's seat, a map of "Radiant Garden County" in the side compartment, and a well-kept tape player in the dashboard. Placing his key in the ignition, the blond started up the car, pressing "play" on the tape player. Static filled the space before the gentle voice of a nameless Indie band's lead singer floated through the speakers, closely followed by light piano trills and rhythmic guitar. Reaching forward, he turned the knob until the music was just barely in the background.
Maneuvering from his parking spot, Demyx carefully directed the car towards the school's front door just in time to catch Zexion stepping from the entrance. Breaking into a smile, he waved to the boy when his eyes lighted upon the dilapidated truck. Clutching his messenger bag to his front, the Hybrid weaved through the students waiting for their rides, dodging around others walking briskly up the hill towards the buses. With a practiced flip of his arm, his bag fell into the truck-bed with a dull thump just before he slowly entered the car.
There was a flash. "Rough day, huh?" the blond asked, saving the picture. "December thirteenth, part two," he whispered.
"Just go," the Hybrid all but hissed. Not needing to be told twice, Demyx pocketed the camera and drove off. A few minutes later, Zexion sighed. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize," the taller boy replied. "Does this have to do with what Xion said to you at lunch?" he asked, glancing over just in time to witness Zexion flinch. "What'd he say?"
"She said a lot of things."
"You're avoiding the question."
"No, I'm not."
"What did she say?" the blond shouted. "It was about me, wasn't it? Tell me!"
Zexion looked to Demyx in shock, took in how his jaw was clenched, how his hands turned white on the steering wheel. Despite the obvious signs of anger his eyes were completely void of emotion, though they held a hint of what seemed to be guilt. A few minutes passed, and before either of them could speak they had pulled up to the Hybrid's house- a two-story green house with an unkempt yard and a tire-swing hanging from a large oak tree. Stepping from the car, the Zexion slammed the door, snatching his bag up from the truck-bed and making his way towards the house.
Demyx rolled the window down, then, calling out to him. "I'm sorry!" Zexion turned, facing the blond with an incredulous look. "It's your business, not mine." He paused for a second. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Maybe," was all he got before the other retreated inside, slamming the house's door with grim finality.
It was better than nothing, at least.
With a sigh, Demyx steered his truck in the direction of home, and after a few minutes of driving he arrived before a place where the word 'house' did not apply. Calling to the gate guard, the blond steered through the wrought-iron bars and began up the hill towards the sprawling mansion. The truck, dilapidated as it was, looked as out of place before the manor as it possibly could, but Demyx didn't care. Stuffing his keys in his pocket the blond jogged to the double doors of the mansion, pushing one open, he shouted his arrival into the echoing foyer.
"Welcome back, Demyx," a voice said from behind him. He jumped, turning to face a woman around the age of twenty sitting beside the door, lazily twirling a set of keys about her fingers before pocketing them. "What? No hello?"
"You startled me," he reasoned, sparing his sister a smile. "Welcome home, sis."
She laughed, a cruel sound, tossing her head of platinum-blonde hair back as she let loose the screech-like noise. In this movement she bared a set of fangs, sharp and deadly, from behind her lips. "'Sis?' You're still unusually sentimental- we're not even related," she scoffed, moving forward to poke his chest. "You've gotten taller," she noted, looking him up and down.
"Are you sure you just haven't gotten shorter?" he joked.
"Yes- all that human oppression can get heavy after a bit."
Demyx's expression turned dark. "That's not funny."
"What? You still trying to stop it?" she hissed, fixing the taller boy with a look to melt glass.
Walking past her, the younger sibling made his way to the stairs. "And what if I am?"
"It's you against the world, Demyx," she laughed, malice lacing her words. Looking him up and down again, she sniffed, "and like it or not you used to be part of that world." Racing up the stairs, Demyx plugged his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of his sister's high-pitched laughter. "You can't run from it forever!" she shouted after him. Once the boy was upstairs, the woman turned on her heel to face a man with skin fragments spiking out from his head in place of hair stepping through the door. He was obviously a Hybrid, but his height- nearly six feet- begged to differ. The woman grinned, stroking up his chest with one lazy finger. "Good thing he's on our side, right Marluxia?"
"It would be best if you did not antagonize him, Larxene," the man reprimanded. "Keep this up and, when the time comes, he won't be on our side."
"I know," the woman replied with a scowl, eyes trained on the floor.
He reached down, then, clutching the woman's chin in a vice-grip in one hand, forcing her to look at him. "Do you?" he inquired, ignoring her gasps of pain as he began to lift her from the ground. "You better, or we're all dead." Then, on that note, he dropped her.
…
Rushing into his bedroom, Demyx clutched his head in fury. Inside, the walls were covered in thick, black curtains that choked the light from the room; the carpet was a deep blue, plushy fabric, and a high-quality desk. He slammed the door before locking it in haste. In a smooth, no doubt practiced move, the boy grabbed at the first set of curtains, yanking it aside, soon to be followed by the rest of them. Kicking his bed in irritation, the blond collapsed into a chair that sat before a desk where a rather impressive computer sat. There, he proceeded to gaze about the walls, each coated in pictures from what appeared to be different stages of his life. The first wall held pictures of Larxene from the ages five to about eight, and little else. Occasionally there would be a dark-haired woman with a slightly rounded face and a blond-haired man with a goatee, but those were few and far between. The second wall held pictures of landscapes, and rarely would there ever be a person in the photos.
Next there came a wall filled with many photos that had been crossed out with marker. There were lots of faces in these pictures, but nearly every one was blacked out. Some pictures were entirely colored in, a few had been torn, and in place of others there were scorch marks on the wall. Just barely, one could make out smiles and hugs behind the marker. People were happy, they got along, and a few of these pictures even involved Demyx himself. There was no Larxene, no landscapes, and no family members. Just Demyx and his friends, all crossed out and ripped. In a way, the wall was just like his car. And then there was the fourth wall.
Only partially filled, the fourth wall consisted of no cross outs, no family, and no Demyx. It consisted of only other people- Hybrids. However, the boy's eyes laid upon it the longest, tracing the figures of the smaller beings. His gazed upon their feathers, scales, ears, and tails with a blank expression. He traced them backwards along the wall until his eyes rest upon the third.
Standing abruptly, the teen reached for the curtains, drawing them over the photographs once more until the room was once again starved of light. With a sigh, Demyx stepped towards his computer, collapsing into the chair. The screen flicked on, prompting for voice recognition. "Arpeggio," he whispered into a mic set into the speakers.
"Harmonious welcomes, Demyx," the computer soothed, accented voice clicking from the speakers. "Would it be music or photography today?"
"Both, please," the boy groaned, reaching for the mouse. "Classical era and upload; connecting device now." Reaching into his pocket, the blond pulled out the camera before attaching it to a cord protruding from the computer.
"Retrieving data, playing Vincent O'Donohue," the computer intoned. Tender, slow music began to flow from the speakers, low enough so he could hear the computer's voice. "How was your day, Demyx?"
"Okay, I guess," Demyx sighed, reaching up with one hand to massage his forehead. "Zexion and I almost had a fight. I yelled at him."
"That is not wise," it said, feminine intonations tripping over the pronunciation. "He is special, is he not?"
Demyx smiled. "You remembered."
"My memory banks are in perfect condition. You are responsible for this."
"Thanks anyway, Peggy."
"It is my duty."
The blond laughed. "When I say 'thank you' you're supposed to say 'you're welcome.'"
"Yes, Demyx," the computer toned. A few seconds later, Arpeggio spoke again. "When will I be able to meet Zexion?"
"Soon, I hope," the blond chuckled. "When he doesn't have stuff to do after school for his dad he'll probably come."
A few seconds later, Arpeggio announced, "Upload is complete, and there are upgrades available."
"Hmm…" he mused, turning to the computer in surprise. "What sort of upgrades?"
"Sound processing and A.I. comprehension," the choppy female voice announced.
Demyx smiled. "Get them." A few seconds later, Arpeggio announced the downloads to be complete, voice free of clicks and breaks for vowel selection. "You sound great, Peggy," the blond announced, grinning lightly.
"Thank you, Demyx," it replied.
"Hey, Peggy- you think I should do that, tomorrow?"
…
Adjusting his messenger bag's strap resting on his shoulder, Zexion trudged through the fresh layer of snow that had begun to pile upon the ground on his walk. His breath left wisps of vapor in a trail behind him as he shoved his hands deep within his pockets, staring straight at the ground as the tell tale crunch beneath his boots betrayed that he was, indeed, still moving. Legs chilled, he could no longer feel his thighs or calves, relying on the steady pattern of footsteps to betray the fact that he wasn't frozen to the pavement. No one else was on the street as the powder fell quietly among the lanes. There wasn't enough snow to do anything with, and it was too cold to take a walk. Looking to his bag, Zexion accused it with his eyes. The muted clink of wrapped glass could be heard from within, almost as if it were mocking him. I cannot feel cold, it said in its own form of Morse code. You are freezing your butt off and I laugh at you!
Heaving a sigh, Zexion kicked the snow. Much to his delight, it then flew across the pavement and into a mail box before sinking to the ground it a pile of white mush. Then, stretching his neck until he could see the sky, Zexion made believe he was a smoke-stack, breathing out at a constant rate as he watched the mist fall about his face. He faced forward, then, bringing one hand out of his pocket with a small device. Zexion flicked it open with one partially numb finger before staring at the blank screen.
"Power on," he whispered.
The display burst to life as a computerized voice stated, "State your destination."
Zexion paused and looked up before stating, "1342 Cloudborn Street."
"Turn left," the machine's monotonous voice box announced.
"I need to get you an upgrade," Zexion sighed.
Ten minutes later found the Hybrid standing before a modest brown house with blue shutters and an old-fashioned rock-wall between it and the world. The boy took a minute to admire the wall before stepping towards a stone path that led to the front door, rapping lightly upon the wood with numbed knuckles. A minute later, the door opened to reveal a human, blond with blue eyes and soft features.
"Can I help you?" the blond inquired, a puzzled expression taking place over his features.
"I'm here to see Dr. Crescent," Zexion calmly announced.
"Okay," the boy quietly uttered. Then, turning into the house, he bellowed, "Mom- someone's here for you!" before motioning for Zexion to come inside. Glad to be out of the cold, the Hybrid stepped in thankfully, and taking a seat next when he was offered one. The blond left, then, when a woman joined them. She was tall with long, brown hair and was easily the most beautiful woman Zexion had ever met.
"You must be Zexion!" she exclaimed joyously, clasping her hands behind her back. "Was your walk tolerable?"
"I have the shipment."
The brunette laughed, smiling in a way that nearly warmed the Hybrid's toes. "Mr. Kisaragi warned me about you- all business, no play." She sighed. "Come this way." She motioned for him to follow, leading him through the house, then down a staircase, and into a white room with surgical instruments and a table where Xion lay. "You have great timing- I was just about to begin the infusion and she could use some fresh Mako."
"Hi, Zexion," the girl gasped from the table, voice raw and broken.
"We're pushing it on the time. If the patrols hadn't increased when they did, we would have done the operation weeks ago," Dr. Crescent explained upon the boy's sharp glare. "She's in bad shape. P.E. was a bad idea."
"Where do I put these?" Zexion asked, opening his bag to reveal a faint blue glow.
Looking about the room, the woman's eyes landed on a table on the far side of the chamber. "Place them there- and be careful," she directed, pointing to the table. "You'll find an envelope there, too. It has the payment within, as promised. Hide it in the bottom of your bag and give it to your father."
Nodding, the Hybrid reached into his bag, placing glass containers of a glowing blue liquid on the table, careful as could be. He then snatched the envelope and slid it into a secret compartment in his bag inside the space-splitter, but not before checking the amount inside.
"20,000 Munny," he whispered to himself. "Good." He left, then, just as Dr. Crescent drew some of the Mako from one of the containers into a syringe and inserted it into Xion's arm.
…
"-so he's freaking out, the poor guy, until I placed a hand on his shoulder and said, 'This is the secret section- not the democratic party,'" a man joked, leaning expectantly over the table for laughter, only to be disappointed. The clock down the hall chimed five O'clock, the sound echoing along the length of the large room. The man, blond hair short and orderly with a neatly trimmed beard, leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
"We're not politicians, Luxord," Naminé deadpanned from beside him. "We don't understand these sort of jokes like your co-workers do."
"I know, honey," the blond man replied, voice even and deep. "So, who's enjoying the salad?" he asked, eying the other three at the table.
"It's good," Demyx mused, pushing the leaves around his plate. Larxene nodded her approval, though it was stiff and unwillingly done so.
"I concur," Marluxia announced from beside him, raising his glass to Naminé. "The figs make a good contrast with the Iceberg lettuce. Do you know who wrote the code?"
"Larxene wrote it, actually," Naminé giggled, looking to her daughter with pride. "I'm surprised you didn't know how talented she is with data. She's also unusually adept with Electronics!"
The man looked to Larxene with a twinkle in his eye, then, almost appraising. "Really?"
Things couldn't have been more awkward for Demyx. With every sugary-sweet line that sprouted from Marluxia's lips came some cold chill that curled around the blond's spine as if it were a rose-vine; a frozen rose vine. Something in the back of his head kept telling him that something was fake about the way Marluxia was acting. Whenever Larxene said something about him she'd wince, and she wouldn't look at him straight. Then there was the forming bruise on her jaw- it hadn't been there when he'd seen her in the foyer.
Demyx glued his eyes to the table, then. The plates were clear crystal with dim lights set beneath each setting, illuminating their salads with a different color for each to tell the places apart. Demyx's light was blue, turning the Swiss atop his salad a not-quite-neon-blue that very much resembled the tiles in the Hybrid's locker room, though it wasn't blue enough. He pushed the noodle-like strip of cheese across his plate, soaking in the silence that had dominated the house the moment Larxene had gotten there.
"So how's school, Demyx?" Larxene inquired, superior grin firmly in place for the first time in what seemed to be hours. "Have you made any new friends?"
The comment sounded harmless, but there was something beneath the words that frightened Demyx. "Not really," he announced, "although I don't really hang out much with Hayner and them. We drifted apart."
"Is that so?" the woman gasped. "That's got to be hard on you- they've been your friends since elementary school, am I right?"
"They don't really like the idea of Hybrid equality," the boy snipped, getting the attention of everyone there. "You know this- why do you leave me alone about it?"
"Are you angry at me for knowing something about you or angry at yourself that you chose something unattainable?"
Marluxia stood up.
"I have something to announce," the man exclaimed, grinning big. It didn't escape Demyx's notice that Larxene seemed to cower before the man, almost as if she were afraid of what he was going to say, and how her usual grin was gone once more. Looking about the table, he seemed to search the eyes of their parents, almost as if daring them to fight what he was about to say. "Larxene and I are engaged." Silence ensued.
After a strained period of nothing, Naminé stood up, embracing the man. "That's wonderful news," she managed, unable to keep the distrust from her voice. Luxord stood, then, reaching forward to grasp hands with the other man.
"Take good care of my daughter," he warned.
They began to speak about dates, invitations, possible locations and other wedding things, then. Sitting through it, Demyx finished his food before excusing himself to his room.
...
Pulling up before Zexion's house, Demyx braced himself for the worst. Parking, he nearly leaped from his car before racing up the steps to the boy's front door. Half-way up the step, he stopped.
Unattainable…
Larxene's words from the night before still stung. Shaking his head clear, he continued on. He stalled a bit once he reached the door, clenching his eyes shut in his dread as to what Zexion might say. After all, Demyx had yelled at him…
With a lot of courage Demyx didn't know he had, he reached up and knocked. Half-way through his second knock the door opened and the blond came face-to-face with a disgruntled Zexion. "You came," the Hybrid breathed. "I thought you were mad at me."
"Likewise," Demyx chuckled, reaching out to lightly grasp the boy's arm. "Now let's go- we don't want to be late!" Before long they were in the car, and Demyx had reached into his pocket and snapped a picture of the Hybrid before the other could even wipe the smile off his face. "December fourteenth, part one," he narrated, saving the picture before stowing the camera back in his pocket and turning to face the road.
"Why do you do that?" Zexion asked, looking to the blond in question as the older boy started the car and steered them down the street.
"So I can remember," the blond replied, looking quickly over to the Hybrid, then back to the road.
Zexion looked from the road, then to Demyx, blinking. "Remember what?"
"Mistakes, promises, broken hearts- everything," he quietly listed. He flicked on the tape player, then, and the gentle sound of Vincent O'Donohue flowed from the speakers. "I need to remember everything."
"Why?" the Hybrid asked, looking up to the boy in something akin to curiosity.
He looked again at the smaller boy, almost as if he were contemplating what he was about to say. "So I… don't accidentally make them again," he stated. "You can't erase what's already happened." These words made Zexion think back to what Xion had said the day before- about him not knowing Demyx before that year.
What had Demyx done?
…
The day had flown by fast, and Demyx found himself almost shaking as he picked Zexion up from the school and drove the boy home. Although the atmosphere should have been relaxed- they'd just made up and there was really nothing to argue about- he couldn't help but tense at everything the Hybrid said. All his brain would function on were the words Arpeggio had said to him the day before.
Do what you think you should.
All too soon, he had pulled up to Zexion's house and the boy was reaching for the handle. Almost in a panic, Demyx gasped, "Wait," drawing the Hybrid's attention to himself. A million thoughts ran through his head in that moment: he shouldn't be doing this, there will be repercussions, Zexion won't look at him the same ever again, and he was ruining something that wasn't worth losing. However, he pressed all these thoughts aside in order to lightly cup Zexion's face with one hand, leaning forward to lightly smooth his lips against the smaller boy's. With the other hand he brought his camera up, snapping a photo before pulling away.
"December fourteenth, part two," he choked, face as red as could be.
An angry slap echoed through the car, shortly followed by a slamming door and an overbearing sense of anguish.
Quick Quiz: What is the origin of "Cloudborn?"
Chapter 2
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Demyx
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 1/7
Beta: Zenelly
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this.
All was quiet, clean, and orderly in the small locker room. Not-quite-neon-blue tiles lined the walls and floors were polished to perfection; red lockers were neatly arranged in rows one atop the other into orderly aisles, and a communal shower of the same not-quite-neon-blue tiles was mold free- the entirety of which were untouched by graffiti and vandalism, sans a small series of scratches on one particular locker proclaiming that at one point someone had considered themselves important enough to proclaim that they had been there, though the name had faded with age. Nearly every inch of the area looked new, and only the light cracks in the paint upon the lockers gave any implication that the area hadn't been updated in years. Off to the side, towels were neatly stacked in open cubbies, clean and without any trace of grime. Clearly, whoever used the room took great care. The air held a tinge of an unpleasant odor, proving that the space was in use, though by whom was still up for discussion.
Without warning, the space seemed to burst with nearly two dozen teenagers, presumably students considering they all wore the same uniform black shorts and gray shirt ensemble. They chatted amicably with each other as they stripped down before their peers without shame, tossing their uniforms to the floor before their lockers and filing into the showers to wash away the sweat dotting their bodies. Despite their copious numbers, the room was nearly as silent as it had been before their arrival; even their steps were nearly soundless as the entire group expressed a grace not usually present in teens. The only true source of sound came from the showers, which spray a fine mist over the teen's bodies. Both males and females stood under the spray, whispering about that day's physical education class without bothering to glance at each others' nude figures. There was no sexual tension; merely an unspoken undercurrent of respect evident to all who looked closely upon the spectacle.
And it truly was a spectacle.
Some washed long, canine tails with care, taking precautions so they didn't push the fur the wrong way, and others took files to talons that adorned their hands in sets of threes or fours instead of finger nails. Others offered friends special brushes to wash the scales on their backs. Some of them shared colorization or characteristics, green scales or fleshy pointed ears, though some were one of a kind among the group. However, they all had a few things in common. For one, not a single one was over five feet tall; for another, they all had relatively the same build- all bones and lithe muscle that wouldn't count for much.
One particular boy, around the age of fifteen, carefully worked shampoo around pointed lavender ears, not unlike those of a cat. A matching lavender tail sprouted delicately from just below the dip of his back, and soap suds did not slide across his body as it usually would for others. Instead, it chose to catch on a fine sheen of gray fur dusting the entirety of his body. Like the others, he was all lean muscle, thin as could be.
Washing the remaining suds from his fur, he turned to a small raven-haired girl who appeared to be nearly a year older than him, and she had no special characteristics visible other than her body appearing malnourished with her ribs standing in clear relief from the rest of her body, her hip jutting out from beneath the skin. There were no claws, scales, or extra appendages anywhere on her body. She simply sat on the tiles beside him, face void of any expression, almost literally skin and bones, allowing the water to soak her form. Her arms were limp at her sides, and her skin was nearly translucent, betraying light blue veins just below the surface. Hands and feet appearing too large for her body rest upon the tiles, almost as if they belonged to someone else.
"Xion," he observed quietly, "you should go get dressed before you collapse again." The girl looked up to him then, and nodded.
"Help," she whimpered, raising one arm as if it was all she could manage. Complying, the boy bent to collect the girl from the tiles, tugging her bridal-style into his arms, knowing he wouldn't have managed the feat were she anyone else. Light as a feather, she very nearly floated in his arms as he brought her to a locker to one side of the room. There, he carefully set her against it, unlatching the metal door before drying her off with a towel taken from the nearby cubbies. He pressed the cotton delicately to her flesh, almost as if he feared breaking her.
"You're cold," he noted, moving from her arms to her torso. His hands did not linger along her breasts or sides; simply moved along them as if they were nothing. "Colder than usual, I mean," he clarified upon receiving an odd look from the girl.
"I get my transfusion this afternoon," she announced quietly, earning a miniscule grin from the boy above her.
Moving onto her legs, the boy gently turned the girl to get a better angle to dry her backside, as well. "That's good," he mused. "Can you stand?" The girl nodded, allowing the boy to help her to her feet. Rubbing the rest of her dry, he placed it across the girl's hair before retrieving his own towel. Moving to another locker, he quickly ran the material along his body as the other teens filed from the showers, filling the room with quiet conversations and the like. Finishing his legs, he massaged his hair dry before unlatching the lock upon the metal door, tugging his clothes from within and placing his P.E. clothes draped upon the floor carefully within the locker.
A black tee slid to snugly fit his torso as he pulled it over his hair and down his body before he slipped a pair of boxers on, closely followed by a pair of jeans, high enough to cover what mattered by low enough to allow his tail free-reign over the space behind him. There it curled and uncurled at random increments despite his insistence for it to remain still. He glanced over to Xion, who was now being doted upon by a girl who was obviously related to her. Their faces were identical, though this new girl's hair was a subdued mane of red feathers, and in place of hands she had a set of talons. Looking around the locker room, the boy observed the other trait that was present in every person there.
Many of them shared the exact shade of not-quite-neon-blue eyes, and those who did not wore piercings on some parts of their bodies. Reaching one hand up, the boy with ears much like a cat felt at the furred appendage for the familiar feel of steel. There it was; that comforting loop.
Socks came on, then shoes, and his gym shoes were stored into the locker beside the tee and shorts as he slipped a messenger bag around his shoulders. A bell rang, prompting a crowd by the door that had been steadily growing to file out of the room, the boy among them, and into the mess that was a high school hallway.
"Freaks," a voice rang out among the crowd of humans spilling from their own locker. It was the first rock of the day, that word. Other voices soon joined theirs, shouting for the group to go home and kill themselves. Humans jeered at them from all angles as they dispersed through the hallways. Yet, the boy with the cat-like ears stayed in place beside the door, waiting.
"Filthy animals!"
"Go home!"
"Stupid Hybrids." Yes- Hybrids; that's what they, the humans, called them.
"Good morning, Zexion," a blond boy announced, stepping up beside the teen with cat-like ears. The human towered over him by a shocking eight inches, but he wasn't intimidating at all with his flat expression and all-angle physique. Sharp elbows stuck out from a band tee, too-thin legs left skinny-jeans baggy, and pointed facial features didn't seem to fit with the boy, yet it worked in some odd way. He also seemed older by at least a year, maybe two, and carried himself with a calm sense of self-assurance. Among all the angles and corners of the boy's body, eyes of the softest, deepest blue imaginable stared out at the world, half-hooded in fatigue. He yawned.
"Good morning, Demyx," the smaller boy replied, brushing the sheet of bangs from his right eye to get a good look at his friend. Almost as if out of nowhere, the blond brought a camera up and snapped a picture of Zexion.
"December thirteenth," he narrated quietly as he saved the picture. "Part one." He grinned big, then; it was a smile the smaller boy usually saw when they were in company that nearly split Demyx's face in two. Running a hand through his hair, a shaggy array of blond spiked up only at the very top and allowed to hang down lazily everywhere else, he heaved a heavy sigh. "Let's get to class, shall we?" Zexion nodded, following behind the taller teen with practiced ease as they made their way through the crowd of students.
Many wondered how they were friends, one being a Hybrid and the other a human, but it was really quite simple. To the blond, Zexion wasn't just some "Hybrid." No- he was just Zexion. Not "freak," not "animal," and definitely not "Hybrid." Zexion was Zexion, just as Demyx was Demyx. That's all there was to it. There wasn't some higher level of understanding or picturesque childhood promise to remain friends throughout their entire lives. In fact, they had only met a few months before.
Something just worked with them.
...
Lunch was a quiet affair. All the Hybrids, and a select few humans, sat around a tree in the school's courtyard to eat. No one talked, and the only true activity was that of Demyx taking pictures at random of people, flowers, and clouds.
Zexion lay down in the grass, staring up at the sky, the remains of his lunch tossed in a nearby trash bin. His coat bunched around his arms, revealing his wrists to the cold December air before he tugged it into place. Collapsing back into his previous spot, he stared into the gray sky. It would snow, soon. That was for sure. A light flashed, followed by the click and whir of an old, beaten up digital camera. Soon after that, Demyx plopped himself beside the smaller boy, looking into the preview box on the device. He wore no coat, and his jeans weren't good for cold weather, but he radiated heat in almost uncomfortable amounts. Beneath him, the ice clinging to the lawn began to thaw.
"What do you think?" he inquired, angling the camera so Zexion could see the picture. The first thing the smaller teen noted was that there was no color in the photo, and the grass seemed a little fuzzy.
After a minute, he replied, "If you really want to know, I think the positioning is poor."
The blond blinked at this, eyes flicking to the image to study it before grunting an affirmative. "You're right," he mused, bringing it closer to his face. "I shouldn't have gone for such a steep angle…" He went silent after this exchange, fiddling with his camera. "Hey, Zexion," he began, voice cracking ever so slightly, "do you want to come over after school?" Demyx bit his lip upon saying this, not daring to look at his friend.
"I can't," the boy replied without hesitation. "I have to run some errands for Dad, later."
"Oh…" he sighed, turning his eyes to the grass at his feet. Leaping up, he made his way to the rest of the group, taking pictures of some of the others. The cat-eared Hybrid noted how the others of his kind shied away from the human, grimacing when he asked for a smile, turning their backs to the camera at the last minute.
"Not many humans would risk it," Xion mused, carefully lowering herself to the ground beside Zexion, "social exile."
He turned to her with a look of question. "What brought this on?"
"You don't know much about him," she began, ignoring his inquiry. "Do you know why we don't trust him?"
Zexion rolled his eyes. "He's human, Xion. It's natural," he drawled, heaving a sigh.
"If it were natural then you wouldn't trust him, either," she noted, looking off into the distance. Her fingers inched down to the hem of her dress, tugging idly at the blue fabric. The piece barely came down to her knees, and from there stockings continued on to cover the rest of her legs. A heavy black winter coat with faux fur lining engulfed her upper body, making her thinness almost indiscernible. If it weren't from the way her boots were too large for her ankles one would think her a human.
But she wasn't.
"What are you getting at?" he growled, taking the girl by surprise.
"You didn't know him last year like we did."
"Is that why I can't be his friend?" he snipped.
"He's not the type to risk exile over someone who's just a friend, Zexion- I don't think camaraderie is all he's after." Silence followed this statement. "Zexion, I think-"
"You've thought enough." Jumping to his feet, the Hybrid began to make his was across the school lawn, ice crunching beneath his boots.
To Zexion it didn't matter if he hadn't known Demyx the year before- he still knew the boy better than the others.
…
A bitter, frigid breeze greeted Demyx as he stepped out into the afternoon air, making his way over to his car; a blue truck that had a number of words written into the side with permanent markers. Some were large, some a bold red, declaring someone had been there. Some were in the blond's own untidy scrawl. A few were faded, and only a handful looked somewhat new, and nearly half were crossed out. Several were only partially blocked out, and a number of them were completely blotted out. But mostly, it was the faded ones that had been marked out of existence- the older ones.
The truck's frame was beaten, the paint was peeling, and it was impossible to tell what kind of model it was, but upon Demyx opening the door and sliding in it was revealed that the interior was well taken care of. Leather seats were hole-free and clean of stains, bread crumbs, and marker, as were the floors. Sunglasses sat above the driver's seat, a map of "Radiant Garden County" in the side compartment, and a well-kept tape player in the dashboard. Placing his key in the ignition, the blond started up the car, pressing "play" on the tape player. Static filled the space before the gentle voice of a nameless Indie band's lead singer floated through the speakers, closely followed by light piano trills and rhythmic guitar. Reaching forward, he turned the knob until the music was just barely in the background.
Maneuvering from his parking spot, Demyx carefully directed the car towards the school's front door just in time to catch Zexion stepping from the entrance. Breaking into a smile, he waved to the boy when his eyes lighted upon the dilapidated truck. Clutching his messenger bag to his front, the Hybrid weaved through the students waiting for their rides, dodging around others walking briskly up the hill towards the buses. With a practiced flip of his arm, his bag fell into the truck-bed with a dull thump just before he slowly entered the car.
There was a flash. "Rough day, huh?" the blond asked, saving the picture. "December thirteenth, part two," he whispered.
"Just go," the Hybrid all but hissed. Not needing to be told twice, Demyx pocketed the camera and drove off. A few minutes later, Zexion sighed. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize," the taller boy replied. "Does this have to do with what Xion said to you at lunch?" he asked, glancing over just in time to witness Zexion flinch. "What'd he say?"
"She said a lot of things."
"You're avoiding the question."
"No, I'm not."
"What did she say?" the blond shouted. "It was about me, wasn't it? Tell me!"
Zexion looked to Demyx in shock, took in how his jaw was clenched, how his hands turned white on the steering wheel. Despite the obvious signs of anger his eyes were completely void of emotion, though they held a hint of what seemed to be guilt. A few minutes passed, and before either of them could speak they had pulled up to the Hybrid's house- a two-story green house with an unkempt yard and a tire-swing hanging from a large oak tree. Stepping from the car, the Zexion slammed the door, snatching his bag up from the truck-bed and making his way towards the house.
Demyx rolled the window down, then, calling out to him. "I'm sorry!" Zexion turned, facing the blond with an incredulous look. "It's your business, not mine." He paused for a second. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Maybe," was all he got before the other retreated inside, slamming the house's door with grim finality.
It was better than nothing, at least.
With a sigh, Demyx steered his truck in the direction of home, and after a few minutes of driving he arrived before a place where the word 'house' did not apply. Calling to the gate guard, the blond steered through the wrought-iron bars and began up the hill towards the sprawling mansion. The truck, dilapidated as it was, looked as out of place before the manor as it possibly could, but Demyx didn't care. Stuffing his keys in his pocket the blond jogged to the double doors of the mansion, pushing one open, he shouted his arrival into the echoing foyer.
"Welcome back, Demyx," a voice said from behind him. He jumped, turning to face a woman around the age of twenty sitting beside the door, lazily twirling a set of keys about her fingers before pocketing them. "What? No hello?"
"You startled me," he reasoned, sparing his sister a smile. "Welcome home, sis."
She laughed, a cruel sound, tossing her head of platinum-blonde hair back as she let loose the screech-like noise. In this movement she bared a set of fangs, sharp and deadly, from behind her lips. "'Sis?' You're still unusually sentimental- we're not even related," she scoffed, moving forward to poke his chest. "You've gotten taller," she noted, looking him up and down.
"Are you sure you just haven't gotten shorter?" he joked.
"Yes- all that human oppression can get heavy after a bit."
Demyx's expression turned dark. "That's not funny."
"What? You still trying to stop it?" she hissed, fixing the taller boy with a look to melt glass.
Walking past her, the younger sibling made his way to the stairs. "And what if I am?"
"It's you against the world, Demyx," she laughed, malice lacing her words. Looking him up and down again, she sniffed, "and like it or not you used to be part of that world." Racing up the stairs, Demyx plugged his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of his sister's high-pitched laughter. "You can't run from it forever!" she shouted after him. Once the boy was upstairs, the woman turned on her heel to face a man with skin fragments spiking out from his head in place of hair stepping through the door. He was obviously a Hybrid, but his height- nearly six feet- begged to differ. The woman grinned, stroking up his chest with one lazy finger. "Good thing he's on our side, right Marluxia?"
"It would be best if you did not antagonize him, Larxene," the man reprimanded. "Keep this up and, when the time comes, he won't be on our side."
"I know," the woman replied with a scowl, eyes trained on the floor.
He reached down, then, clutching the woman's chin in a vice-grip in one hand, forcing her to look at him. "Do you?" he inquired, ignoring her gasps of pain as he began to lift her from the ground. "You better, or we're all dead." Then, on that note, he dropped her.
…
Rushing into his bedroom, Demyx clutched his head in fury. Inside, the walls were covered in thick, black curtains that choked the light from the room; the carpet was a deep blue, plushy fabric, and a high-quality desk. He slammed the door before locking it in haste. In a smooth, no doubt practiced move, the boy grabbed at the first set of curtains, yanking it aside, soon to be followed by the rest of them. Kicking his bed in irritation, the blond collapsed into a chair that sat before a desk where a rather impressive computer sat. There, he proceeded to gaze about the walls, each coated in pictures from what appeared to be different stages of his life. The first wall held pictures of Larxene from the ages five to about eight, and little else. Occasionally there would be a dark-haired woman with a slightly rounded face and a blond-haired man with a goatee, but those were few and far between. The second wall held pictures of landscapes, and rarely would there ever be a person in the photos.
Next there came a wall filled with many photos that had been crossed out with marker. There were lots of faces in these pictures, but nearly every one was blacked out. Some pictures were entirely colored in, a few had been torn, and in place of others there were scorch marks on the wall. Just barely, one could make out smiles and hugs behind the marker. People were happy, they got along, and a few of these pictures even involved Demyx himself. There was no Larxene, no landscapes, and no family members. Just Demyx and his friends, all crossed out and ripped. In a way, the wall was just like his car. And then there was the fourth wall.
Only partially filled, the fourth wall consisted of no cross outs, no family, and no Demyx. It consisted of only other people- Hybrids. However, the boy's eyes laid upon it the longest, tracing the figures of the smaller beings. His gazed upon their feathers, scales, ears, and tails with a blank expression. He traced them backwards along the wall until his eyes rest upon the third.
Standing abruptly, the teen reached for the curtains, drawing them over the photographs once more until the room was once again starved of light. With a sigh, Demyx stepped towards his computer, collapsing into the chair. The screen flicked on, prompting for voice recognition. "Arpeggio," he whispered into a mic set into the speakers.
"Harmonious welcomes, Demyx," the computer soothed, accented voice clicking from the speakers. "Would it be music or photography today?"
"Both, please," the boy groaned, reaching for the mouse. "Classical era and upload; connecting device now." Reaching into his pocket, the blond pulled out the camera before attaching it to a cord protruding from the computer.
"Retrieving data, playing Vincent O'Donohue," the computer intoned. Tender, slow music began to flow from the speakers, low enough so he could hear the computer's voice. "How was your day, Demyx?"
"Okay, I guess," Demyx sighed, reaching up with one hand to massage his forehead. "Zexion and I almost had a fight. I yelled at him."
"That is not wise," it said, feminine intonations tripping over the pronunciation. "He is special, is he not?"
Demyx smiled. "You remembered."
"My memory banks are in perfect condition. You are responsible for this."
"Thanks anyway, Peggy."
"It is my duty."
The blond laughed. "When I say 'thank you' you're supposed to say 'you're welcome.'"
"Yes, Demyx," the computer toned. A few seconds later, Arpeggio spoke again. "When will I be able to meet Zexion?"
"Soon, I hope," the blond chuckled. "When he doesn't have stuff to do after school for his dad he'll probably come."
A few seconds later, Arpeggio announced, "Upload is complete, and there are upgrades available."
"Hmm…" he mused, turning to the computer in surprise. "What sort of upgrades?"
"Sound processing and A.I. comprehension," the choppy female voice announced.
Demyx smiled. "Get them." A few seconds later, Arpeggio announced the downloads to be complete, voice free of clicks and breaks for vowel selection. "You sound great, Peggy," the blond announced, grinning lightly.
"Thank you, Demyx," it replied.
"Hey, Peggy- you think I should do that, tomorrow?"
…
Adjusting his messenger bag's strap resting on his shoulder, Zexion trudged through the fresh layer of snow that had begun to pile upon the ground on his walk. His breath left wisps of vapor in a trail behind him as he shoved his hands deep within his pockets, staring straight at the ground as the tell tale crunch beneath his boots betrayed that he was, indeed, still moving. Legs chilled, he could no longer feel his thighs or calves, relying on the steady pattern of footsteps to betray the fact that he wasn't frozen to the pavement. No one else was on the street as the powder fell quietly among the lanes. There wasn't enough snow to do anything with, and it was too cold to take a walk. Looking to his bag, Zexion accused it with his eyes. The muted clink of wrapped glass could be heard from within, almost as if it were mocking him. I cannot feel cold, it said in its own form of Morse code. You are freezing your butt off and I laugh at you!
Heaving a sigh, Zexion kicked the snow. Much to his delight, it then flew across the pavement and into a mail box before sinking to the ground it a pile of white mush. Then, stretching his neck until he could see the sky, Zexion made believe he was a smoke-stack, breathing out at a constant rate as he watched the mist fall about his face. He faced forward, then, bringing one hand out of his pocket with a small device. Zexion flicked it open with one partially numb finger before staring at the blank screen.
"Power on," he whispered.
The display burst to life as a computerized voice stated, "State your destination."
Zexion paused and looked up before stating, "1342 Cloudborn Street."
"Turn left," the machine's monotonous voice box announced.
"I need to get you an upgrade," Zexion sighed.
Ten minutes later found the Hybrid standing before a modest brown house with blue shutters and an old-fashioned rock-wall between it and the world. The boy took a minute to admire the wall before stepping towards a stone path that led to the front door, rapping lightly upon the wood with numbed knuckles. A minute later, the door opened to reveal a human, blond with blue eyes and soft features.
"Can I help you?" the blond inquired, a puzzled expression taking place over his features.
"I'm here to see Dr. Crescent," Zexion calmly announced.
"Okay," the boy quietly uttered. Then, turning into the house, he bellowed, "Mom- someone's here for you!" before motioning for Zexion to come inside. Glad to be out of the cold, the Hybrid stepped in thankfully, and taking a seat next when he was offered one. The blond left, then, when a woman joined them. She was tall with long, brown hair and was easily the most beautiful woman Zexion had ever met.
"You must be Zexion!" she exclaimed joyously, clasping her hands behind her back. "Was your walk tolerable?"
"I have the shipment."
The brunette laughed, smiling in a way that nearly warmed the Hybrid's toes. "Mr. Kisaragi warned me about you- all business, no play." She sighed. "Come this way." She motioned for him to follow, leading him through the house, then down a staircase, and into a white room with surgical instruments and a table where Xion lay. "You have great timing- I was just about to begin the infusion and she could use some fresh Mako."
"Hi, Zexion," the girl gasped from the table, voice raw and broken.
"We're pushing it on the time. If the patrols hadn't increased when they did, we would have done the operation weeks ago," Dr. Crescent explained upon the boy's sharp glare. "She's in bad shape. P.E. was a bad idea."
"Where do I put these?" Zexion asked, opening his bag to reveal a faint blue glow.
Looking about the room, the woman's eyes landed on a table on the far side of the chamber. "Place them there- and be careful," she directed, pointing to the table. "You'll find an envelope there, too. It has the payment within, as promised. Hide it in the bottom of your bag and give it to your father."
Nodding, the Hybrid reached into his bag, placing glass containers of a glowing blue liquid on the table, careful as could be. He then snatched the envelope and slid it into a secret compartment in his bag inside the space-splitter, but not before checking the amount inside.
"20,000 Munny," he whispered to himself. "Good." He left, then, just as Dr. Crescent drew some of the Mako from one of the containers into a syringe and inserted it into Xion's arm.
…
"-so he's freaking out, the poor guy, until I placed a hand on his shoulder and said, 'This is the secret section- not the democratic party,'" a man joked, leaning expectantly over the table for laughter, only to be disappointed. The clock down the hall chimed five O'clock, the sound echoing along the length of the large room. The man, blond hair short and orderly with a neatly trimmed beard, leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
"We're not politicians, Luxord," Naminé deadpanned from beside him. "We don't understand these sort of jokes like your co-workers do."
"I know, honey," the blond man replied, voice even and deep. "So, who's enjoying the salad?" he asked, eying the other three at the table.
"It's good," Demyx mused, pushing the leaves around his plate. Larxene nodded her approval, though it was stiff and unwillingly done so.
"I concur," Marluxia announced from beside him, raising his glass to Naminé. "The figs make a good contrast with the Iceberg lettuce. Do you know who wrote the code?"
"Larxene wrote it, actually," Naminé giggled, looking to her daughter with pride. "I'm surprised you didn't know how talented she is with data. She's also unusually adept with Electronics!"
The man looked to Larxene with a twinkle in his eye, then, almost appraising. "Really?"
Things couldn't have been more awkward for Demyx. With every sugary-sweet line that sprouted from Marluxia's lips came some cold chill that curled around the blond's spine as if it were a rose-vine; a frozen rose vine. Something in the back of his head kept telling him that something was fake about the way Marluxia was acting. Whenever Larxene said something about him she'd wince, and she wouldn't look at him straight. Then there was the forming bruise on her jaw- it hadn't been there when he'd seen her in the foyer.
Demyx glued his eyes to the table, then. The plates were clear crystal with dim lights set beneath each setting, illuminating their salads with a different color for each to tell the places apart. Demyx's light was blue, turning the Swiss atop his salad a not-quite-neon-blue that very much resembled the tiles in the Hybrid's locker room, though it wasn't blue enough. He pushed the noodle-like strip of cheese across his plate, soaking in the silence that had dominated the house the moment Larxene had gotten there.
"So how's school, Demyx?" Larxene inquired, superior grin firmly in place for the first time in what seemed to be hours. "Have you made any new friends?"
The comment sounded harmless, but there was something beneath the words that frightened Demyx. "Not really," he announced, "although I don't really hang out much with Hayner and them. We drifted apart."
"Is that so?" the woman gasped. "That's got to be hard on you- they've been your friends since elementary school, am I right?"
"They don't really like the idea of Hybrid equality," the boy snipped, getting the attention of everyone there. "You know this- why do you leave me alone about it?"
"Are you angry at me for knowing something about you or angry at yourself that you chose something unattainable?"
Marluxia stood up.
"I have something to announce," the man exclaimed, grinning big. It didn't escape Demyx's notice that Larxene seemed to cower before the man, almost as if she were afraid of what he was going to say, and how her usual grin was gone once more. Looking about the table, he seemed to search the eyes of their parents, almost as if daring them to fight what he was about to say. "Larxene and I are engaged." Silence ensued.
After a strained period of nothing, Naminé stood up, embracing the man. "That's wonderful news," she managed, unable to keep the distrust from her voice. Luxord stood, then, reaching forward to grasp hands with the other man.
"Take good care of my daughter," he warned.
They began to speak about dates, invitations, possible locations and other wedding things, then. Sitting through it, Demyx finished his food before excusing himself to his room.
...
Pulling up before Zexion's house, Demyx braced himself for the worst. Parking, he nearly leaped from his car before racing up the steps to the boy's front door. Half-way up the step, he stopped.
Unattainable…
Larxene's words from the night before still stung. Shaking his head clear, he continued on. He stalled a bit once he reached the door, clenching his eyes shut in his dread as to what Zexion might say. After all, Demyx had yelled at him…
With a lot of courage Demyx didn't know he had, he reached up and knocked. Half-way through his second knock the door opened and the blond came face-to-face with a disgruntled Zexion. "You came," the Hybrid breathed. "I thought you were mad at me."
"Likewise," Demyx chuckled, reaching out to lightly grasp the boy's arm. "Now let's go- we don't want to be late!" Before long they were in the car, and Demyx had reached into his pocket and snapped a picture of the Hybrid before the other could even wipe the smile off his face. "December fourteenth, part one," he narrated, saving the picture before stowing the camera back in his pocket and turning to face the road.
"Why do you do that?" Zexion asked, looking to the blond in question as the older boy started the car and steered them down the street.
"So I can remember," the blond replied, looking quickly over to the Hybrid, then back to the road.
Zexion looked from the road, then to Demyx, blinking. "Remember what?"
"Mistakes, promises, broken hearts- everything," he quietly listed. He flicked on the tape player, then, and the gentle sound of Vincent O'Donohue flowed from the speakers. "I need to remember everything."
"Why?" the Hybrid asked, looking up to the boy in something akin to curiosity.
He looked again at the smaller boy, almost as if he were contemplating what he was about to say. "So I… don't accidentally make them again," he stated. "You can't erase what's already happened." These words made Zexion think back to what Xion had said the day before- about him not knowing Demyx before that year.
What had Demyx done?
…
The day had flown by fast, and Demyx found himself almost shaking as he picked Zexion up from the school and drove the boy home. Although the atmosphere should have been relaxed- they'd just made up and there was really nothing to argue about- he couldn't help but tense at everything the Hybrid said. All his brain would function on were the words Arpeggio had said to him the day before.
Do what you think you should.
All too soon, he had pulled up to Zexion's house and the boy was reaching for the handle. Almost in a panic, Demyx gasped, "Wait," drawing the Hybrid's attention to himself. A million thoughts ran through his head in that moment: he shouldn't be doing this, there will be repercussions, Zexion won't look at him the same ever again, and he was ruining something that wasn't worth losing. However, he pressed all these thoughts aside in order to lightly cup Zexion's face with one hand, leaning forward to lightly smooth his lips against the smaller boy's. With the other hand he brought his camera up, snapping a photo before pulling away.
"December fourteenth, part two," he choked, face as red as could be.
An angry slap echoed through the car, shortly followed by a slamming door and an overbearing sense of anguish.
Quick Quiz: What is the origin of "Cloudborn?"
Chapter 2