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Entry tags:
Fic: Mnemonic (2/3)
Title: Mnemonic
Pairing: Zemyx
Disclaimer: KH = NOT MINE.
Dedications: to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prettypixiechan . Because she is my lovely beta. All other mistakes are my own.
Summary: He pretends to be brainless and insipid, but he has these startling moments of insight. He laughs too easily, the gesture practiced, not natural. He watches, sees things, but I don't know what he sees, or why he's looking to begin with.
SPOILERS FOR ALL OF THE GAMES!!!
I do realize that I said 'tomorrow' in my last entry, but unfortunately, work and graduate school made that impossible. It has been around three weeks. We shall just begin immediately with my observations to make up for the lost time.
He comes over here frequently, at least three or four times a week, though never in any discernible pattern. They are laughter-filled times, as he is quite gregarious and enjoys telling stories about the people he's met and places he has been. Apparently, Axel and his new friend get along quite well, despite their differing views on life. Even Roxas has been charmed by his easy-going ways. I do not understand why they have accepted him so quickly, since they are both creatures of habit, and he doesn't seem like the sort of person they typically like. He's too erratic, too much of an ambiguity, and certainly one of the strangest people I have ever met.
Roxas does seem a little upset that I have adopted this stranger as my new project. Apparently, he doesn't approve of my 'compartmentalization' of people. I don't really consider it such, however. After all, I am constantly reevaluating people, so I'm not just putting them in a box to never reconsider.
But then again, Roxas is a little touchy about people who think they understand everything.
Sometimes, I really wonder what Axel did to get Roxas to fall in love with him. It seems like quite a Herculean task for someone as cocksure as Axel.
Back to Axel's new friend. He is nothing like anyone I've seen. He's…very varied. Like a mishmash of parts of the people I know, but nothing of the things that ties everyone else together. I'm not seeing what lies beneath him yet. Only what's reflected on the surface, as though he were some kind of … social chameleon, if you please, changing how he acts according to who he's around.
Though he is, in some respects, most similar to Sora. But so very different. Sora is more purely happy. The little brunette looks at the sky and smiles as if the fact that the sun is shining is enough reason to be in a good mood. Axel's friend just looks up and smiles. And it seems forced; like he's smiling because it is expected of him. Because he knows nothing else. No other way to act.
I wonder why that bothers me as much as it does.
Perhaps I have been spending too much time with Sora. That boy is a deceptively innocent tank of optimism that will slowly take over your own view on life until you find yourself smiling at small children and animals just like him.
After all, that's what happened to Riku.
It is getting quite late. Perhaps I will bring this journal to work in order to find some time to write in it, as it appears that I am usually too tired to continue writing in it at night. Yen Sid, the man who manages the library, shouldn't mind too much. I am his best worker, after all.
For now, good night.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Sighing into the golden, lamp-lit room, the man stretches ink-stained hands towards the ceiling with a low groan. His eyes are closed, the lines around them tight and weary. As he stands up, he idly closes the book he had been writing in, and turns off the lamp. For a moment, he simply stands there, almost feeling the darkness press against his skin like a living creature.
Then, he grabs his neatly folded bedclothes from his dresser, changes into them, wanders around the apartment before slipping between cool, slick sheets. He falls asleep with his hands curled close to his face, fingers half-closed around a blue wristband that smells of salt and sunlight.
He never remembers having picked it up to begin with.
~*~
Never before have I understood the urge to never go back to school. I understand it now.
So much busywork and not enough time to do it all.
I am currently in the library, having finished with the typical sorting and shelving I am expected to do for my job. It is a rare moment of relaxation for me, as I am usually working until my shift ends. I believe I have mentioned previously how much I enjoy being around books, so working here isn't a chore for me. Even so, a chance to sit down and just breathe it all in is most welcome.
But waxing poetic over books is not the purpose of this journal.
Continuing on, then.
He ('he' being Axel's friend, that is) is a singularly intriguing person. He doesn't seem to have any sort of method to his madness, nor does he react to any situation like a normal person. I have almost never seen him without some sort of smile on his face. Despite this, I am sure he is not constantly happy. Some of his expressions seem quite…bitter at times. Self-mocking, if you will. For such an apparently cheerful character, he seems to have a problem with himself being happy.
As though…he does not quite deserve it.
Strange. Excuse me; I shall have to continue this at home. My shift is over, and I must leave now if I ever want to get back in time for dinner. Tonight is Roxas's turn at cooking, and he always makes delicious food.
Forgive me for the small break. On the drive back to my apartment, I remembered another detail about this new vagrant Axel has picked up.
He carries a bag around everywhere.
I do not know why this is important but I haven't seen him without it yet, and he guards it almost fiercely.
It is a ratty, almost-falling-apart blue and black backpack, where half of the zippers don't work anymore and the flaps are held closed by paperclips and safety pins. Stuff – and I do mean stuff, since there doesn't seem to be another way to categorize it – strains at every gap. I have seen a deck of playing cards, what appears to be a Erlenmeyer flask, some old photographs, a couple of books, a match case, countless pieces of papers all falling out of assorted folders, and old cans of soda in foreign languages in those gaps. The backpack itself has been drawn on with markers and has mud stains, food stains, grease stains, so many stains that I can't even name.
And yet he treasures it, goes nowhere without it. He could easily get a larger backpack, or at least a newer one, but it's obvious that he won't.
Yet another quirk in his personality.
Axel just thinks it's funny.
Speaking of Axel, actually, the biggest item I have to discuss today is about him. He's planning something, I know it. He always has a smug little grin hanging around the corners of his mouth whenever he's plotting, and, after knowing him for seven years, it's easy to spot.
Roxas probably knows that something is up as well. The last time this smirk appeared, the entire flat was nearly burned down.
Actually, that explains why I saw him moving all the breakable heirlooms to the higher shelves where there is less chance of them being hurt.
… I think I shall follow his example, excuse me.
Axel hides things as easily as he breathes, and it's hard to understand that he means no harm by it. This isn't to say that no harm ever comes of his secrets, since –more often than not- his schemes backfire in explosions that could put the military to shame.
I only wish the explosions were just metaphorical. Too often are they real.
I have just come back from getting hot water for my tea. Their blonde friend is over again. It was earlier today when I remembered that he had left his wristband over here a month ago. I just tried to give it back to him, and he took it with a laugh, exclaiming that he had wondered where it had gone. At that, I informed him sternly that he needed to keep better track of his possessions. He simply nodded, blue-green gaze uncertainly watching me.
But that bizarre melancholy bubbled to the surface of his eyes. It seems a strange thing to become maudlin over –me giving him back his wristband-, but everything about this newcomer seems strange. The feeling he gives me is like nothing I've known, and I can't help but want to pry him apart to see how he works. The blonde seems so very at ease with everything when I don't manage to get under his skin with a single acerbic comment that I almost…
…How strange.
I almost feel guilty for it.
That is not a feeling with which I am accustomed. There seems to be more to him than I have previously suspected, if he is able to engender such a response in the short amount of time I have been observing him.
…He is a most bizarre person….
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man slowly shuts his book, tilting his head towards the sounds of laughter coming from the living room. He hears the low purring sound of his redheaded roommate, covered by the crystalline laugh of the small blonde.
Over both of these familiar sounds however, is the bright, waterfall laugh of a stranger that resonates in foreign places within the listening librarian. Shaking his head slowly, the lilac-haired man stands, moves closer to the door, bringing his warm cup of tea to his lips. He stands there for many minutes, listening to the joviality that he cannot join in on for fear of ruining it.
~*~
Today is a strange day.
First, Axel has not been home all day. This in itself is not as strange as I have made it out to be, but it is certainly unusual. When he has nothing else to do, Axel is more prone to lazing around the house, napping like a cat in a sunbeam than gallivanting off to who-knows-where.
Second, Roxas is not here either.
He might still be at work, but I doubt it somehow. Nor do I think that the two are together. It seems that they are plotting something separately, but I have not a clue as to what it might be.
The fact that they have left me here by myself is strange enough. They usually delight in dragging me on their hare-brained adventures.
But third, this must be the first time I have been alone with their musician friend.
Yes, the blonde is currently sitting in my room as I am writing this. He came over in hopes of speaking with Axel, but upon learning that the redhead was not home, he asked if he could come in anyway. Apparently, he is supposed to wait around if neither Roxas nor Axel is here. So he asked if he could simply wait in my room with me, as "the rest of the apartment is just…too lonely" as he put it. I acquiesced, if only to study him more.
Honestly, I expected him to be a bother, constantly talking, laughing, moving, something, but….
But….
He is…less of an obtrusion than I thought he would be. He is almost silent, quite unlike the chatterbox I have become used to seeing sitting on the couch with Axel and Roxas. All he has done is look through my bookshelf, and even that was done with minimal talking, and he never touched a single spine.
The change in his behavior is peculiar.
He's not talking, not doing anything, really. Normally, he is constantly in motion, never quite content to stay still for too long, but now he is simply sitting on my floor.
Just now, I looked over at him to find him staring at me. Peculiar. He is watching me, just as I am watching him. It is almost as though I am being studied as well.
And I wonder… what is he thinking? What is he looking for?
Those eyes of his are too melancholy by far. Why does it seem to always be my fault these days? I am the only one who can drag that expression to the surface, and I don't like that, I find. Contrary to Axel's opinion, I do not delight in causing people pain. It is sometimes a by-product of my prying, yes, but everything I do around the blonde seems to make his smiles falter slightly. Crack, if you will.
The front door has just opened. It seems that Roxas and Axel are back.
And the blonde left my room, smile sliding onto his face like quicksilver, bright and shining.
I hate it.
I hate that smile. The one that speaks of nothing deep, only the fleeting surface of lies and masks. Too often have I seen it, and never have I liked it.
…wait….
What am I talking about? I've only known Demyx for a few weeks. I haven't seen him smile any other way than what he just did, so how would I even know anything different?
Maybe it just reminds me of someone I know.
But I don't remember anyone else smiling like that.
I am going to retire early tonight. My mind is muddled and I believe that I need more sleep in order to restore my typical cognitive abilities.
Good night.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, the pale man lets out a ragged sigh, mouth twisted in a frown. He shuts the journal almost roughly, setting his pen to the side with a clack. For a moment, he stares intently at the wall over his desk as though reconsidering his actions, but only stands and changes into his sleeping clothes.
He makes his usual circuit around the apartment, ignoring the questions about his well-being from his roommates. Stopping briefly at the window in the living room, the librarian looks over his city with all its shining lights. He glances over to the friendly, still-strange blonde. Their eyes meet, and the pale man feels something twist within him.
Quickly, he turns and hurries back to his room, turning out the lights and curling underneath cold blankets.
Even as he sleeps, he can still feel the weight of sad, sad, too-knowing eyes on him.
~*~
I apologize for my abruptness in my last entry. It was not good form for me to become so easily perturbed. In the future, I shall endeavor to curb my reactions. For some reason, my subject was able to get under my skin too easily and it unsettled me.
There is just something about him, at times.
As it is, I have had to put this down yet again due to classes and work. Teachers seem to delight in assigning projects and tests that overlap with every other class that one is taking, so I always seem to end up with two weeks of absolute hell, in terms of work I still have to do. A few more weeks have passed, and I have not been alone with the blonde since last you heard from me. Thank the heavens for that, as I am unsure of my possible reactions to him now.
But a new facet of his personality has come to light.
I don't know exactly when it was that Axel's blond friend started really leaving things. Every week, Demyx comes over, claiming he is there to pick up something –his jacket, a book, music, a pair of shoes- that he had left behind. And every time, he will leave another item without picking up the old one. I have found that wristband of his at least three more times, and I have since given up on trying to give it back to him.
It is a curious habit of his. I wonder why he does it.
A thought just occurred to me though.
Perhaps he just does it to piss off Axel.
If so, it seems to be working. My flat-mate is strangely obsessive about where the clutter is in his areas, and it almost seems sometimes as if he has a system in place that Demyx is carefully destroying. I wish him all the luck in the world, in that case. Axel needs reminding that he's not the best thing to happen to this poor planet, and it's interesting to see the things that can bring him down to a more normal level.
Roxas is first and foremost among those.
I still have no idea as to what the two of them are planning. It is coming up on their three-year anniversary in a couple of months, so perhaps they are scheming because of that? No matter what it is, it's making me nervous. Normally I would have been pulled in to review one or both of their plans by now, so I would at least have some idea as to what to expect.
They are both infuriating people who should know better than to keep secrets from me.
Until later. I have no projects to do anymore, and sleep I need to catch up on.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The door opens, and a blonde man looks inside to see the lilac-haired librarian asleep at his desk. A book is open in front of him, and it is covered in neat writing. With a sigh, the blonde just shakes his head, calls in his redheaded lover, and –with the redhead's help- starts maneuvering the pale man towards his bed.
Watching them with curiosity and a mocking bitterness in his eyes is the musician. He stands in the doorway with the ease of long familiarity, and reaches out to trace the cover of a book on one of the numerous shelves around the room. Another of his strange smiles crosses his face, stretches his mouth in a charade of amusement. He leaves soon afterwards.
Asleep in his bed, the man dreams of white, white walls, false smiles, and a carefree voice murmuring his name.
~*~
How mortifying. It appears that last night, I fell asleep at my desk, and Axel and Roxas had to carry me to bed. They haven't had to do that in years, at least since senior year ended. I don't overwork myself as often anymore, as I have become much better at organizing my time for work. Oh, the days of frequent all-nighters…. I hope I never have to go through that again. I still owe Axel for dragging me out of my studious haze that year.
Hopefully he'll never have to do it again.
Today is a lazy day, it seems. I don't have anywhere to go for once, and I decided earlier that I would just wear my most comfortable clothes, a soft black shirt and blue flannel pants. The sky is dark and overcast, and it is thundering in this dark mixture of anticipation and rain. I am most grateful that all my work is done for now, so I can simply sit in the windowsill with a cup of hot tea and write in this book. I think that today I shall simply write for me. The weather outside makes me want to simply write what comes easiest to my mind.
It is early spring, and the green of growth is just starting to weave its way back into the world. Soon enough, the world will blossom into full summer, and the wind will have the faint tinge of dust on the end of it. But for now, it seems as though everything is content to remain soaked and awakening, turning from Winter's dead yellow and white and brown to Spring's pale, almost shy greens and blues.
The rain is falling harder now, so dense I can't see far beyond the window. The street and trees are blurs from where I am, curled into the chair nearest the window, and it's a comforting feeling of isolation.
He smells like rain. Like water, meant for growth and for sun.
Clean.
Every time I see him, he has that backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder, old and battered. His shirts are worn, and they seem to be almost a part of him, as do his faded jeans. The hems of his jeans are in tatters, indicating that he walks on the backs of them.
Not often is he still. He moves some part of his body at all times, be it fingers tapping, fingers flexing, something. It is like he is anxious.
Waiting for something, though what he is waiting for, I cannot tell.
His name is all I know of him.
Demyx.
That is all.
He is taller than me, though not so tall as Marluxia and Axel. His legs are long and muscular, and he has a habit of shifting from side to side or tapping his foot when he stands still. While walking, he conducts invisible music unconsciously, hand constantly moving in a simple beat pattern. His fingers are long and tapered, musician's hands, and they are pleasing to look at.
But other than that?
Nothing. A name, a face, a shallow, reflective personality that doesn't say who he really is.
Demyx. The one of indeterminate age and indiscriminate friendliness.
It's true that I have not known him as long as I have Axel or Roxas, but normally I am able to understand more about a person within a half year's acquaintance. For some reason, though, he defies all expectations. He pretends to be brainless and insipid, but he has these startling moments of insight. He laughs too easily, the gesture practiced, not natural. He watches, sees things, but I don't know what he sees, or why he's looking to begin with.
Something is there that he simply isn't saying.
Excuse me, someone is at the door.
I apologize. It has been several hours since that last sentence. It is now night and is nearing the time when I must go to sleep.
However, before that, I must tell you what delayed me so.
Demyx is staying the night here.
As I am writing this, he is in the shower, probably still attempting to warm up after the rain. He was caught outside for a few hours, it seems, and he made his way to this apartment. Come to think of it, he will probably have to borrow some of my clothes. Axel's are too skinny for him, and Roxas is too small for any of his clothes to fit Demyx.
One would think that he would have found shelter long before this, but Demyx was apparently too busy thinking to notice that he was getting soaked. I wish I could say that it surprises me that he's so absent-minded. However, it really doesn't… really surprise me in the slightest. He seems the sort to get lost in a train of thought.
Somehow, I get the feeling that he was perfectly aware of the weather, though. He just didn't care.
What in the world could have distracted him so much?
Another thing I should mention. It appears that Demyx regards this apartment as the only place he can go at times like this. I find myself confused by this, but perhaps there is something comforting here?
This is the relevant conversation, as I remember it.
'So, can I…stay here for the night?' Demyx smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his wet and tattered backpack hanging from the other.
I looked at the soaked blond, curious despite my better judgment. 'Don't you have anywhere else to go?'
Demyx smiled a tired, sad smile that only reached his eyes as pain and answered, '…no, not really.'
In that moment, looking at him just standing there, drenched and despondent, I resolved that Demyx would always be able to come here, to my home, and he will always be welcome here. It is …atypical of me to feel that way about anyone. Axel and Roxas were both a little startled when they came home to find Demyx on our couch.
But then, even I am surprised by the sudden determination and protectiveness I felt. It is not normal for me at all. This vagabond of Axel's has affected me more than I originally thought.
That is…not as troubling as it should be….
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man quickly falls asleep after his habitual circuit around the apartment. A few hours later, the door creaks open. His face shadowed by the faint light from the hallway, the blonde musician steps slowly, quietly into the room. He carefully sits down next to the lilac-haired man's bed, expression unreadable.
Many times, he reaches out as if to touch the sleeping man, but he always retracts his hand before he does.
An hour later, he leaves, eyes full of longing and melancholy, his pain echoed by the still-weeping night sky.
~*~
Alright, finals have come and gone, and it has been a month since Demyx first stayed the night here. I apologize for not being able to write in this more often, but there simply has not been time. There have, however, been a few new developments.
It hardly surprises me anymore to wake up in the morning and find out that Demyx has left himself at our apartment.
The first time it happened, Demyx was mortified, stammering apologies left and right. As it became more apparent that neither Axel nor I really mind, he calmed down and casually left a blanket and pillow next to the couch. It is an unspoken promise that he will be back.
Sometimes, we need that promise. He appears and disappears at will, and the only way I know how to find him is when he knocks on my door.
Axel and Roxas's constant worrying about him must be getting to me. I find myself almost… distressed by the fact that I wouldn't know if something has gone wrong.
Reviewing the situation, I realize that Demyx is sleeping more and more at our place. This bothers me less than I think it would if it were under normal circumstances; Demyx's appearance into our lives was such a gradual takeover that even I didn't notice until… just now. How can that be called normal? And again, that fact bothers me less than it should. I should be protesting at the loss of my distance, but instead….I think I need the experience. Just to understand why people do the imbecilic things they do.
No, that was not an admission of anything beyond simple scientific interest. You are reading far too much into this.
Demyx told me today –in that strange, abstracted way he has when he's thinking in colors and sounds rather than in words –that I have what he calls Dreamer Eyes.
Of course, he snapped back into the realm of language not long after, and I was able to get an explanation for that strange phrase without really having to ask for it. I shall try to transcribe his words as I remember them. If I tried to paraphrase what he said, I am afraid that I would ruin his meaning. As it is, I am still unsure of what he really meant.
That aside, here is the conversation.
'W-well, you see, it's…um…it's not really…easy to…please don't be offended, but this…' Here he sighed, not looking me in the eyes as if to save himself from some embarrassment, "Dreamer's Eyes just means that you always look like you're thinking about something else, something far away in the future, not ever here in the present. I think that people who have these eyes, like you and Roxy, intimidate people because when you start thinking, you disappear from this world, and you start thinking at the drop of a hat. It's easy for others to think you're ignoring them, or that you're lonely or sad or really angry, because when you walk, you think, and your face goes blank, except for your eyes, which are really far away, like…they're seeing everything and nothing at the same time." Another sigh, "I'm sorry, Zexy…"
And that was really it. I wasn't angry with him then, and I'm not now, though I find myself smiling in exasperation at his persistence with that blasted nickname. Demyx seems to thrive on informal relationships, and one of his ways to relax himself is to address everyone as casually as he can, which means nicknames. Though one does wonder why he keeps it up with me, when I have made it abundantly clear that I would much rather him call me by my given name.
Demyx is strange sometimes. But then again, he wouldn't be Demyx if he wasn't.
As Axel says, "I don't worry about weird people. It's the normal ones I scared of."
That might explain Axel's eclectic collection of people, now that I think of it. He certainly is in no way normal, and neither is Roxas. Sora's abnormality is his overwhelming belief that everything will work out perfectly; Riku's the fact that he is somehow superior and inferior to everyone simultaneously.
But Demyx….
Demyx seems too complicated to categorize like that. He is one of the most infuriating people I know, simply because of his randomness. Nothing he does follows a logical pattern. He is- in turns- kind and harsh, straightforward and multifaceted, shallow and deep and breathes love and hate as easily as air, the way most breathe life and death. It makes no sense. Nobody should be able to do that.
It seems I must study him more, though how to do that in an unobtrusive way escapes me at the moment.
I shall sleep on the question.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Turning off the nearby lamp with a sigh, the librarian stands, shaking his cramping wrist. The walls are stained with slivers of moonlight, blue and silver arching around each other. The man changes his clothes for bed.
As he leaves his room, he sees a faint golden glow from underneath his flat-mate's door. Curious, he walks over. There are the murmurs of conversation, but he cannot make out any words. He can, however, hear the shaking worry and confusion in one of their voices, as well as sharp concern in the other. He shakes his head, straightens from where he was pressing his ear to their door, finishes his circuit, and trusts that they will solve whatever problems have arisen.
When he sleeps, he dreams of an island, pure and white-sanded with clear blue waves that dissolve slowly into hazy purple nothingness, and crisp aquamarine eyes framed by silver hair.
Of a fight he has to win, but loses.
~*~
Something strange is happening.
Roxas and Axel don't seem…quite themselves. I have caught them in the middle of no fewer than five fights, and while they would normally just continue to argue as though I were not there, Axel always cuts off in the middle, and he looks very…distraught. Normally at the sight of me. As though there were something he regrets or feels ashamed of.
His tell-signs are very obvious for once and Axel doesn't seem to feel comfortable within the confines of his own skin. Every time I ask him what is going on, he always says that he's fine, everything is fine. However, it is so very obvious that nothing is alright.
And in between the fighting…well. The last time they were this bad was two years ago, when Roxas first moved in with us.
I'm sure you comprehend what I'm talking about.
I just wish I understood what was going on. They aren't normally able to keep anything from me, but both of them seem strangely tight-lipped about their newest fight. Which reminds me. I mentioned all of this earlier to Demyx, and he seemed…bizarrely relieved by the news, almost happy.
Does…Demyx desire one of them? Does he wish for them to break up, so he can move in on one of them?
I do not know.
He went to talk to them an hour ago, requesting that I keep out of the way until he comes out for me, and I have not heard a thing from them since.
I dislike feeling this helpless. I much prefer it when I am in control and can manipulate events to my liking. Some would call me controlling, but it is rather that I don't like leaving things in the hands of those perhaps less capable. No one else seems to be able to get the results they want from others as well –or as easily- as I do.
Sometimes, given how much I meddle, it is little wonder that people do not trust me.
Why does this bother me so?
It is…illogical, for lack of a better term. I should not be bothered by the fact that my flat-mates are either fighting or fucking, nor by the fact that some…wandering bard has designs on one or both of them. It is not as though we are close, Demyx and I. He is much closer to Axel and Roxas, though it always seems as if he is constantly watching me when I am near him.
And his eyes… They are familiar to me, and yet I have never seen him before Axel introduced him. Everything about him is familiar.
…I do not understand….
But, if I were to be honest with myself, I do.
This is… what I believe to be known as… desire.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man presses a hand to his forehead, an aching band of pressure forming behind his eyes. Slowly, he makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto it, unable to stand.
For a time, he curls around himself, pleading silently for the headache to disappear. When the pain slowly fades, the slate-haired man falls into an uneasy slumber, waves and walls and voices and books all running together in his mind, finally fading into the lines of bold cobalt eyes.
They are familiar and unfamiliar, cold and calculating and wanting.
~*~
Axel is moving out.
Such a simple thing, but it seems to change so much.
He and Roxas have finally saved up enough money to go to Europe. They will be there for a few years, working when money gets low, and traveling the rest of the time, but this does mean that they cannot keep up the apartment here, not if they want to stay and go "everywhere" as Roxas claims they will do. I'm going to have to find and train a new roommate until they get back and can live here once again. It will be quite a bother, since it took Axel seven years to learn everything (though, admirably, it only took Roxas two years), and it was a difficult time for all involved.
Demyx is very uncertain of his place here now and appears to spend all of his time talking to Axel about "the good, old days". Whether he's simply being over-dramatic or truly sentimental, I cannot tell, but I do know that he avoids me as much as possible. This confuses me, as he has never attempted to elude me before.
According to some, I have become quite inept at reading Demyx as of late. This irritates me to no end, as I have been known to be exceptionally talented at knowing and understanding people. But then again, I only have Axel's word to go on. Every time I ask him about it, though, he only laughs in that smug, infuriating way he has, and says, "Oh, you'll see," before walking off.
Roxas assures me that whatever Axel's talking about isn't a big deal and not to worry about it. I find him easier to believe, not because Axel is any less trustworthy, but rather because Roxas is worse at lying than Axel is. Axel's tell signs normally change too rapidly and are so ingrained into his everyday motions that I am no longer certain whether he's lying or really just brushing his hair out of his face. Roxas doesn't lie nearly as readily as his lover. Thank the heavens, since one of the two of them needs to be honest.
In order to inform you, yes, they are back to normal. Apparently Demyx's talk had done them some good.
But back to the topic at hand, the idea that there's something about Demyx that I don't know…. It upsets me.
What discomforts me more, though, is the fact that both Roxas and Axel know about it, and I don't. Whether or not the problem is actually important or not is of little consequence. When did I become so possessive of Demyx? He was Axel's friend first, so I have no claim on him. He barely even knows me beyond the fact that I'm Axel's roommate and I don't talk much, unless it's to berate, correct, goad, or otherwise infuriate other people. I shouldn't expect him to tell me everything. Well, to be honest, I don't expect him to tell me anything.
But I want him to.
I want Demyx to tell me everything, from the small to the large.
If I were to be true to myself, and stop lying for a time, I would admit that I want to know the outward parts and the secret inner sections that no one besides him even knows exist. I want to know what he had for breakfast, how his day is going, what he's thinking, where he always disappears to, why he smiles so often, why those smiles never really quite reach his eyes. I want to know how he thinks, to understand him from the inside out. I also want to know the feel of his body under mine, but that is easily the simplest and most certainly the basest of all these desires, though none of them will ever be easily obtained. I want to know him and possess him. Also, I want him to know and possess me, which is going to be quite difficult.
See, I can't just offer myself up to someone who might not want me in that capacity. Sora calls me a closet romantic, but he is mistaken. I just don't want to waste the effort involved if I will simply be rejected. It is nothing more than simple economics. To that, Riku says that I'm a coward, afraid of being hurt.
Since I do not go about…emotional business that often, I cannot dispute him as of yet, but I find it hard to believe that I am lacking courage. In my observations of the world and relationships, I have noticed that many people suffer from this...cowardice, if you will.
When did I begin to notice him so much?
I will continue this later. I am going to have too much trouble sleeping now as it is, and I don't wish to further aggravate that.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man exits his room, trailing fingers over boxes that litter the hallway and living room. On the couch is a long-limbed figure, sleeping peacefully.
With a quiet exhale, the librarian examines him, cobalt eyes tracing over curves and planes before settling on the blonde musician's face. Ink-stained fingertips reach out and brush against a tanned cheek, calluses catching slightly on the smooth skin.
He repeats this motion unthinkingly once more and stands, slowly striding his way back to his room, deep in thought.
The blonde raises his hand to touch his cheek, chokes back a quiet sob, pressing blunt nails into the flesh there, trying to retain the sparks of heat that the gentle touch caused.
Neither of them sleeps well.
~*~
Normally, I use this journal to elucidate my observations about the people I meet. However, I need to take this moment to write down a few…abnormalities on my end. It should not take overlong.
To begin with, I am remembering things that have never happened.
This past week, there have been moments where I am sitting in the kitchen, watching Roxas cook, and I almost ask him why someone else isn't cooking instead. It is ludicrous, as neither Axel nor I can cook near so well as Roxas. I am also feeling… a bizarre anger and resentment towards my redheaded flat-mate. I don't remember anything he has done to make me so upset with him, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
While they pack for their trip – they leave this weekend – I watch them, and see two roommates I know, and at the same time, people I know that aren't quite them. There are these… strange moments of overlay in my vision, where I am seeing someone… not quite either of my roommates. Both of them are simultaneously too lean, too casual, too comfortable, too searching, too something and it simply does not sit right with me.
I am experiencing strange moments of vertigo as well. At work just earlier today, I almost collapsed, because the dizziness was too strong.
Everything is so confusing right now.
And if Demyx is nearby, it is twice, if not thrice worse.
My heart tries to pound out of my chest, I can barely breathe, and it feels like there are live wires embedded within my skin. He is himself, and not himself, and there are so many false memories that cover him. I hear his music within my pulse, though he has never played inside the boundaries of this house. I remember conversations with him in the hallways of a castle I have never seen, all white and pale and false.
I see the arch of his body, feel his skin under me, know the taste of him.
What is happening to me? Why do I know these things?
I have never …never imagined such an emotion as this before, and yet it settles within me so easily –all-consuming and terrifying and strangely wonderful.
I need, and I desire, and I am a stranger within my own skin.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Lamplight dancing its golden fingers across his pale skin, the man leans back in his chair, a frustrated groan on his lips. He digs the heel of his hand into his eyes and stands rapidly, dressing for bed. With gentle fingers, he closes the book and turns off the lamp, letting the light spots on his eyes fade before he moves towards his bed.
It offers him no comfort through the night.
~*~
It is an early hour for me to write in this, and I would apologize, but I have finally found out what has been plaguing me for so long.
To begin as a sort of time reference, Axel and Roxas have left the apartment, and have been in Europe for a little over two weeks now. During this period, I have seen little of Demyx. Right now, I am glad of that.
These… memory shadows, if you will, are not the product of a fever, or something strange in the water. They are my memories. I am seeing Axel and Roxas, and Demyx, as I remembered them from… another life in another world.
It sounds insane, I realize, but it must be true. Nothing else makes any sort of sense.
I remember everything now. The Castle That Never Was, Kingdom Hearts, the Organization Thirteen. Our quest to retrieve our hearts, and the deaths we suffered because of internal strife and two Keyblade bearers.
Our folly.
…I am Zexion. The Cloaked Schemer. Number Six of the Organization.
And at the same time, I am Zexion, flat-mate and friend of Axel and Roxas, part-time librarian, full time graduate student.
Both versions of me are in agreement on one thing.
I am absolutely furious with all of them.
Because of one thing.
They knew.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Fingers clench around a pen. Shaking his head to clear his eyes, the pale skinned man pushes his chair back roughly, pacing around the room. He feels trapped, caged, impotent, and it infuriates him.
Storming around the quiet room –silent, empty, too empty-, the man swears under his breath, digging short fingernails into his palm. He sits on the bed, jaw tense and lips pressed tightly together. As he takes some deep breaths, he smoothes his hands out, running the pads of his fingers over the silky sheets. They bump against something different, a cottony fabric, and the slate-haired man glances at it, lifts it with shaking fingers.
A simple, blue wristband.
And he presses it tightly to his palm, ignoring the slight sting of tears, just as he ignores the stabbing ache of his heart.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next Chapter...
Pairing: Zemyx
Disclaimer: KH = NOT MINE.
Dedications: to
prettypixiechan . Because she is my lovely beta. All other mistakes are my own.Summary: He pretends to be brainless and insipid, but he has these startling moments of insight. He laughs too easily, the gesture practiced, not natural. He watches, sees things, but I don't know what he sees, or why he's looking to begin with.
SPOILERS FOR ALL OF THE GAMES!!!
I do realize that I said 'tomorrow' in my last entry, but unfortunately, work and graduate school made that impossible. It has been around three weeks. We shall just begin immediately with my observations to make up for the lost time.
He comes over here frequently, at least three or four times a week, though never in any discernible pattern. They are laughter-filled times, as he is quite gregarious and enjoys telling stories about the people he's met and places he has been. Apparently, Axel and his new friend get along quite well, despite their differing views on life. Even Roxas has been charmed by his easy-going ways. I do not understand why they have accepted him so quickly, since they are both creatures of habit, and he doesn't seem like the sort of person they typically like. He's too erratic, too much of an ambiguity, and certainly one of the strangest people I have ever met.
Roxas does seem a little upset that I have adopted this stranger as my new project. Apparently, he doesn't approve of my 'compartmentalization' of people. I don't really consider it such, however. After all, I am constantly reevaluating people, so I'm not just putting them in a box to never reconsider.
But then again, Roxas is a little touchy about people who think they understand everything.
Sometimes, I really wonder what Axel did to get Roxas to fall in love with him. It seems like quite a Herculean task for someone as cocksure as Axel.
Back to Axel's new friend. He is nothing like anyone I've seen. He's…very varied. Like a mishmash of parts of the people I know, but nothing of the things that ties everyone else together. I'm not seeing what lies beneath him yet. Only what's reflected on the surface, as though he were some kind of … social chameleon, if you please, changing how he acts according to who he's around.
Though he is, in some respects, most similar to Sora. But so very different. Sora is more purely happy. The little brunette looks at the sky and smiles as if the fact that the sun is shining is enough reason to be in a good mood. Axel's friend just looks up and smiles. And it seems forced; like he's smiling because it is expected of him. Because he knows nothing else. No other way to act.
I wonder why that bothers me as much as it does.
Perhaps I have been spending too much time with Sora. That boy is a deceptively innocent tank of optimism that will slowly take over your own view on life until you find yourself smiling at small children and animals just like him.
After all, that's what happened to Riku.
It is getting quite late. Perhaps I will bring this journal to work in order to find some time to write in it, as it appears that I am usually too tired to continue writing in it at night. Yen Sid, the man who manages the library, shouldn't mind too much. I am his best worker, after all.
For now, good night.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Sighing into the golden, lamp-lit room, the man stretches ink-stained hands towards the ceiling with a low groan. His eyes are closed, the lines around them tight and weary. As he stands up, he idly closes the book he had been writing in, and turns off the lamp. For a moment, he simply stands there, almost feeling the darkness press against his skin like a living creature.
Then, he grabs his neatly folded bedclothes from his dresser, changes into them, wanders around the apartment before slipping between cool, slick sheets. He falls asleep with his hands curled close to his face, fingers half-closed around a blue wristband that smells of salt and sunlight.
He never remembers having picked it up to begin with.
~*~
Never before have I understood the urge to never go back to school. I understand it now.
So much busywork and not enough time to do it all.
I am currently in the library, having finished with the typical sorting and shelving I am expected to do for my job. It is a rare moment of relaxation for me, as I am usually working until my shift ends. I believe I have mentioned previously how much I enjoy being around books, so working here isn't a chore for me. Even so, a chance to sit down and just breathe it all in is most welcome.
But waxing poetic over books is not the purpose of this journal.
Continuing on, then.
He ('he' being Axel's friend, that is) is a singularly intriguing person. He doesn't seem to have any sort of method to his madness, nor does he react to any situation like a normal person. I have almost never seen him without some sort of smile on his face. Despite this, I am sure he is not constantly happy. Some of his expressions seem quite…bitter at times. Self-mocking, if you will. For such an apparently cheerful character, he seems to have a problem with himself being happy.
As though…he does not quite deserve it.
Strange. Excuse me; I shall have to continue this at home. My shift is over, and I must leave now if I ever want to get back in time for dinner. Tonight is Roxas's turn at cooking, and he always makes delicious food.
Forgive me for the small break. On the drive back to my apartment, I remembered another detail about this new vagrant Axel has picked up.
He carries a bag around everywhere.
I do not know why this is important but I haven't seen him without it yet, and he guards it almost fiercely.
It is a ratty, almost-falling-apart blue and black backpack, where half of the zippers don't work anymore and the flaps are held closed by paperclips and safety pins. Stuff – and I do mean stuff, since there doesn't seem to be another way to categorize it – strains at every gap. I have seen a deck of playing cards, what appears to be a Erlenmeyer flask, some old photographs, a couple of books, a match case, countless pieces of papers all falling out of assorted folders, and old cans of soda in foreign languages in those gaps. The backpack itself has been drawn on with markers and has mud stains, food stains, grease stains, so many stains that I can't even name.
And yet he treasures it, goes nowhere without it. He could easily get a larger backpack, or at least a newer one, but it's obvious that he won't.
Yet another quirk in his personality.
Axel just thinks it's funny.
Speaking of Axel, actually, the biggest item I have to discuss today is about him. He's planning something, I know it. He always has a smug little grin hanging around the corners of his mouth whenever he's plotting, and, after knowing him for seven years, it's easy to spot.
Roxas probably knows that something is up as well. The last time this smirk appeared, the entire flat was nearly burned down.
Actually, that explains why I saw him moving all the breakable heirlooms to the higher shelves where there is less chance of them being hurt.
… I think I shall follow his example, excuse me.
Axel hides things as easily as he breathes, and it's hard to understand that he means no harm by it. This isn't to say that no harm ever comes of his secrets, since –more often than not- his schemes backfire in explosions that could put the military to shame.
I only wish the explosions were just metaphorical. Too often are they real.
I have just come back from getting hot water for my tea. Their blonde friend is over again. It was earlier today when I remembered that he had left his wristband over here a month ago. I just tried to give it back to him, and he took it with a laugh, exclaiming that he had wondered where it had gone. At that, I informed him sternly that he needed to keep better track of his possessions. He simply nodded, blue-green gaze uncertainly watching me.
But that bizarre melancholy bubbled to the surface of his eyes. It seems a strange thing to become maudlin over –me giving him back his wristband-, but everything about this newcomer seems strange. The feeling he gives me is like nothing I've known, and I can't help but want to pry him apart to see how he works. The blonde seems so very at ease with everything when I don't manage to get under his skin with a single acerbic comment that I almost…
…How strange.
I almost feel guilty for it.
That is not a feeling with which I am accustomed. There seems to be more to him than I have previously suspected, if he is able to engender such a response in the short amount of time I have been observing him.
…He is a most bizarre person….
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man slowly shuts his book, tilting his head towards the sounds of laughter coming from the living room. He hears the low purring sound of his redheaded roommate, covered by the crystalline laugh of the small blonde.
Over both of these familiar sounds however, is the bright, waterfall laugh of a stranger that resonates in foreign places within the listening librarian. Shaking his head slowly, the lilac-haired man stands, moves closer to the door, bringing his warm cup of tea to his lips. He stands there for many minutes, listening to the joviality that he cannot join in on for fear of ruining it.
~*~
Today is a strange day.
First, Axel has not been home all day. This in itself is not as strange as I have made it out to be, but it is certainly unusual. When he has nothing else to do, Axel is more prone to lazing around the house, napping like a cat in a sunbeam than gallivanting off to who-knows-where.
Second, Roxas is not here either.
He might still be at work, but I doubt it somehow. Nor do I think that the two are together. It seems that they are plotting something separately, but I have not a clue as to what it might be.
The fact that they have left me here by myself is strange enough. They usually delight in dragging me on their hare-brained adventures.
But third, this must be the first time I have been alone with their musician friend.
Yes, the blonde is currently sitting in my room as I am writing this. He came over in hopes of speaking with Axel, but upon learning that the redhead was not home, he asked if he could come in anyway. Apparently, he is supposed to wait around if neither Roxas nor Axel is here. So he asked if he could simply wait in my room with me, as "the rest of the apartment is just…too lonely" as he put it. I acquiesced, if only to study him more.
Honestly, I expected him to be a bother, constantly talking, laughing, moving, something, but….
But….
He is…less of an obtrusion than I thought he would be. He is almost silent, quite unlike the chatterbox I have become used to seeing sitting on the couch with Axel and Roxas. All he has done is look through my bookshelf, and even that was done with minimal talking, and he never touched a single spine.
The change in his behavior is peculiar.
He's not talking, not doing anything, really. Normally, he is constantly in motion, never quite content to stay still for too long, but now he is simply sitting on my floor.
Just now, I looked over at him to find him staring at me. Peculiar. He is watching me, just as I am watching him. It is almost as though I am being studied as well.
And I wonder… what is he thinking? What is he looking for?
Those eyes of his are too melancholy by far. Why does it seem to always be my fault these days? I am the only one who can drag that expression to the surface, and I don't like that, I find. Contrary to Axel's opinion, I do not delight in causing people pain. It is sometimes a by-product of my prying, yes, but everything I do around the blonde seems to make his smiles falter slightly. Crack, if you will.
The front door has just opened. It seems that Roxas and Axel are back.
And the blonde left my room, smile sliding onto his face like quicksilver, bright and shining.
I hate it.
I hate that smile. The one that speaks of nothing deep, only the fleeting surface of lies and masks. Too often have I seen it, and never have I liked it.
…wait….
What am I talking about? I've only known Demyx for a few weeks. I haven't seen him smile any other way than what he just did, so how would I even know anything different?
Maybe it just reminds me of someone I know.
But I don't remember anyone else smiling like that.
I am going to retire early tonight. My mind is muddled and I believe that I need more sleep in order to restore my typical cognitive abilities.
Good night.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, the pale man lets out a ragged sigh, mouth twisted in a frown. He shuts the journal almost roughly, setting his pen to the side with a clack. For a moment, he stares intently at the wall over his desk as though reconsidering his actions, but only stands and changes into his sleeping clothes.
He makes his usual circuit around the apartment, ignoring the questions about his well-being from his roommates. Stopping briefly at the window in the living room, the librarian looks over his city with all its shining lights. He glances over to the friendly, still-strange blonde. Their eyes meet, and the pale man feels something twist within him.
Quickly, he turns and hurries back to his room, turning out the lights and curling underneath cold blankets.
Even as he sleeps, he can still feel the weight of sad, sad, too-knowing eyes on him.
~*~
I apologize for my abruptness in my last entry. It was not good form for me to become so easily perturbed. In the future, I shall endeavor to curb my reactions. For some reason, my subject was able to get under my skin too easily and it unsettled me.
There is just something about him, at times.
As it is, I have had to put this down yet again due to classes and work. Teachers seem to delight in assigning projects and tests that overlap with every other class that one is taking, so I always seem to end up with two weeks of absolute hell, in terms of work I still have to do. A few more weeks have passed, and I have not been alone with the blonde since last you heard from me. Thank the heavens for that, as I am unsure of my possible reactions to him now.
But a new facet of his personality has come to light.
I don't know exactly when it was that Axel's blond friend started really leaving things. Every week, Demyx comes over, claiming he is there to pick up something –his jacket, a book, music, a pair of shoes- that he had left behind. And every time, he will leave another item without picking up the old one. I have found that wristband of his at least three more times, and I have since given up on trying to give it back to him.
It is a curious habit of his. I wonder why he does it.
A thought just occurred to me though.
Perhaps he just does it to piss off Axel.
If so, it seems to be working. My flat-mate is strangely obsessive about where the clutter is in his areas, and it almost seems sometimes as if he has a system in place that Demyx is carefully destroying. I wish him all the luck in the world, in that case. Axel needs reminding that he's not the best thing to happen to this poor planet, and it's interesting to see the things that can bring him down to a more normal level.
Roxas is first and foremost among those.
I still have no idea as to what the two of them are planning. It is coming up on their three-year anniversary in a couple of months, so perhaps they are scheming because of that? No matter what it is, it's making me nervous. Normally I would have been pulled in to review one or both of their plans by now, so I would at least have some idea as to what to expect.
They are both infuriating people who should know better than to keep secrets from me.
Until later. I have no projects to do anymore, and sleep I need to catch up on.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The door opens, and a blonde man looks inside to see the lilac-haired librarian asleep at his desk. A book is open in front of him, and it is covered in neat writing. With a sigh, the blonde just shakes his head, calls in his redheaded lover, and –with the redhead's help- starts maneuvering the pale man towards his bed.
Watching them with curiosity and a mocking bitterness in his eyes is the musician. He stands in the doorway with the ease of long familiarity, and reaches out to trace the cover of a book on one of the numerous shelves around the room. Another of his strange smiles crosses his face, stretches his mouth in a charade of amusement. He leaves soon afterwards.
Asleep in his bed, the man dreams of white, white walls, false smiles, and a carefree voice murmuring his name.
~*~
How mortifying. It appears that last night, I fell asleep at my desk, and Axel and Roxas had to carry me to bed. They haven't had to do that in years, at least since senior year ended. I don't overwork myself as often anymore, as I have become much better at organizing my time for work. Oh, the days of frequent all-nighters…. I hope I never have to go through that again. I still owe Axel for dragging me out of my studious haze that year.
Hopefully he'll never have to do it again.
Today is a lazy day, it seems. I don't have anywhere to go for once, and I decided earlier that I would just wear my most comfortable clothes, a soft black shirt and blue flannel pants. The sky is dark and overcast, and it is thundering in this dark mixture of anticipation and rain. I am most grateful that all my work is done for now, so I can simply sit in the windowsill with a cup of hot tea and write in this book. I think that today I shall simply write for me. The weather outside makes me want to simply write what comes easiest to my mind.
It is early spring, and the green of growth is just starting to weave its way back into the world. Soon enough, the world will blossom into full summer, and the wind will have the faint tinge of dust on the end of it. But for now, it seems as though everything is content to remain soaked and awakening, turning from Winter's dead yellow and white and brown to Spring's pale, almost shy greens and blues.
The rain is falling harder now, so dense I can't see far beyond the window. The street and trees are blurs from where I am, curled into the chair nearest the window, and it's a comforting feeling of isolation.
He smells like rain. Like water, meant for growth and for sun.
Clean.
Every time I see him, he has that backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder, old and battered. His shirts are worn, and they seem to be almost a part of him, as do his faded jeans. The hems of his jeans are in tatters, indicating that he walks on the backs of them.
Not often is he still. He moves some part of his body at all times, be it fingers tapping, fingers flexing, something. It is like he is anxious.
Waiting for something, though what he is waiting for, I cannot tell.
His name is all I know of him.
Demyx.
That is all.
He is taller than me, though not so tall as Marluxia and Axel. His legs are long and muscular, and he has a habit of shifting from side to side or tapping his foot when he stands still. While walking, he conducts invisible music unconsciously, hand constantly moving in a simple beat pattern. His fingers are long and tapered, musician's hands, and they are pleasing to look at.
But other than that?
Nothing. A name, a face, a shallow, reflective personality that doesn't say who he really is.
Demyx. The one of indeterminate age and indiscriminate friendliness.
It's true that I have not known him as long as I have Axel or Roxas, but normally I am able to understand more about a person within a half year's acquaintance. For some reason, though, he defies all expectations. He pretends to be brainless and insipid, but he has these startling moments of insight. He laughs too easily, the gesture practiced, not natural. He watches, sees things, but I don't know what he sees, or why he's looking to begin with.
Something is there that he simply isn't saying.
Excuse me, someone is at the door.
I apologize. It has been several hours since that last sentence. It is now night and is nearing the time when I must go to sleep.
However, before that, I must tell you what delayed me so.
Demyx is staying the night here.
As I am writing this, he is in the shower, probably still attempting to warm up after the rain. He was caught outside for a few hours, it seems, and he made his way to this apartment. Come to think of it, he will probably have to borrow some of my clothes. Axel's are too skinny for him, and Roxas is too small for any of his clothes to fit Demyx.
One would think that he would have found shelter long before this, but Demyx was apparently too busy thinking to notice that he was getting soaked. I wish I could say that it surprises me that he's so absent-minded. However, it really doesn't… really surprise me in the slightest. He seems the sort to get lost in a train of thought.
Somehow, I get the feeling that he was perfectly aware of the weather, though. He just didn't care.
What in the world could have distracted him so much?
Another thing I should mention. It appears that Demyx regards this apartment as the only place he can go at times like this. I find myself confused by this, but perhaps there is something comforting here?
This is the relevant conversation, as I remember it.
'So, can I…stay here for the night?' Demyx smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his wet and tattered backpack hanging from the other.
I looked at the soaked blond, curious despite my better judgment. 'Don't you have anywhere else to go?'
Demyx smiled a tired, sad smile that only reached his eyes as pain and answered, '…no, not really.'
In that moment, looking at him just standing there, drenched and despondent, I resolved that Demyx would always be able to come here, to my home, and he will always be welcome here. It is …atypical of me to feel that way about anyone. Axel and Roxas were both a little startled when they came home to find Demyx on our couch.
But then, even I am surprised by the sudden determination and protectiveness I felt. It is not normal for me at all. This vagabond of Axel's has affected me more than I originally thought.
That is…not as troubling as it should be….
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man quickly falls asleep after his habitual circuit around the apartment. A few hours later, the door creaks open. His face shadowed by the faint light from the hallway, the blonde musician steps slowly, quietly into the room. He carefully sits down next to the lilac-haired man's bed, expression unreadable.
Many times, he reaches out as if to touch the sleeping man, but he always retracts his hand before he does.
An hour later, he leaves, eyes full of longing and melancholy, his pain echoed by the still-weeping night sky.
~*~
Alright, finals have come and gone, and it has been a month since Demyx first stayed the night here. I apologize for not being able to write in this more often, but there simply has not been time. There have, however, been a few new developments.
It hardly surprises me anymore to wake up in the morning and find out that Demyx has left himself at our apartment.
The first time it happened, Demyx was mortified, stammering apologies left and right. As it became more apparent that neither Axel nor I really mind, he calmed down and casually left a blanket and pillow next to the couch. It is an unspoken promise that he will be back.
Sometimes, we need that promise. He appears and disappears at will, and the only way I know how to find him is when he knocks on my door.
Axel and Roxas's constant worrying about him must be getting to me. I find myself almost… distressed by the fact that I wouldn't know if something has gone wrong.
Reviewing the situation, I realize that Demyx is sleeping more and more at our place. This bothers me less than I think it would if it were under normal circumstances; Demyx's appearance into our lives was such a gradual takeover that even I didn't notice until… just now. How can that be called normal? And again, that fact bothers me less than it should. I should be protesting at the loss of my distance, but instead….I think I need the experience. Just to understand why people do the imbecilic things they do.
No, that was not an admission of anything beyond simple scientific interest. You are reading far too much into this.
Demyx told me today –in that strange, abstracted way he has when he's thinking in colors and sounds rather than in words –that I have what he calls Dreamer Eyes.
Of course, he snapped back into the realm of language not long after, and I was able to get an explanation for that strange phrase without really having to ask for it. I shall try to transcribe his words as I remember them. If I tried to paraphrase what he said, I am afraid that I would ruin his meaning. As it is, I am still unsure of what he really meant.
That aside, here is the conversation.
'W-well, you see, it's…um…it's not really…easy to…please don't be offended, but this…' Here he sighed, not looking me in the eyes as if to save himself from some embarrassment, "Dreamer's Eyes just means that you always look like you're thinking about something else, something far away in the future, not ever here in the present. I think that people who have these eyes, like you and Roxy, intimidate people because when you start thinking, you disappear from this world, and you start thinking at the drop of a hat. It's easy for others to think you're ignoring them, or that you're lonely or sad or really angry, because when you walk, you think, and your face goes blank, except for your eyes, which are really far away, like…they're seeing everything and nothing at the same time." Another sigh, "I'm sorry, Zexy…"
And that was really it. I wasn't angry with him then, and I'm not now, though I find myself smiling in exasperation at his persistence with that blasted nickname. Demyx seems to thrive on informal relationships, and one of his ways to relax himself is to address everyone as casually as he can, which means nicknames. Though one does wonder why he keeps it up with me, when I have made it abundantly clear that I would much rather him call me by my given name.
Demyx is strange sometimes. But then again, he wouldn't be Demyx if he wasn't.
As Axel says, "I don't worry about weird people. It's the normal ones I scared of."
That might explain Axel's eclectic collection of people, now that I think of it. He certainly is in no way normal, and neither is Roxas. Sora's abnormality is his overwhelming belief that everything will work out perfectly; Riku's the fact that he is somehow superior and inferior to everyone simultaneously.
But Demyx….
Demyx seems too complicated to categorize like that. He is one of the most infuriating people I know, simply because of his randomness. Nothing he does follows a logical pattern. He is- in turns- kind and harsh, straightforward and multifaceted, shallow and deep and breathes love and hate as easily as air, the way most breathe life and death. It makes no sense. Nobody should be able to do that.
It seems I must study him more, though how to do that in an unobtrusive way escapes me at the moment.
I shall sleep on the question.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Turning off the nearby lamp with a sigh, the librarian stands, shaking his cramping wrist. The walls are stained with slivers of moonlight, blue and silver arching around each other. The man changes his clothes for bed.
As he leaves his room, he sees a faint golden glow from underneath his flat-mate's door. Curious, he walks over. There are the murmurs of conversation, but he cannot make out any words. He can, however, hear the shaking worry and confusion in one of their voices, as well as sharp concern in the other. He shakes his head, straightens from where he was pressing his ear to their door, finishes his circuit, and trusts that they will solve whatever problems have arisen.
When he sleeps, he dreams of an island, pure and white-sanded with clear blue waves that dissolve slowly into hazy purple nothingness, and crisp aquamarine eyes framed by silver hair.
Of a fight he has to win, but loses.
~*~
Something strange is happening.
Roxas and Axel don't seem…quite themselves. I have caught them in the middle of no fewer than five fights, and while they would normally just continue to argue as though I were not there, Axel always cuts off in the middle, and he looks very…distraught. Normally at the sight of me. As though there were something he regrets or feels ashamed of.
His tell-signs are very obvious for once and Axel doesn't seem to feel comfortable within the confines of his own skin. Every time I ask him what is going on, he always says that he's fine, everything is fine. However, it is so very obvious that nothing is alright.
And in between the fighting…well. The last time they were this bad was two years ago, when Roxas first moved in with us.
I'm sure you comprehend what I'm talking about.
I just wish I understood what was going on. They aren't normally able to keep anything from me, but both of them seem strangely tight-lipped about their newest fight. Which reminds me. I mentioned all of this earlier to Demyx, and he seemed…bizarrely relieved by the news, almost happy.
Does…Demyx desire one of them? Does he wish for them to break up, so he can move in on one of them?
I do not know.
He went to talk to them an hour ago, requesting that I keep out of the way until he comes out for me, and I have not heard a thing from them since.
I dislike feeling this helpless. I much prefer it when I am in control and can manipulate events to my liking. Some would call me controlling, but it is rather that I don't like leaving things in the hands of those perhaps less capable. No one else seems to be able to get the results they want from others as well –or as easily- as I do.
Sometimes, given how much I meddle, it is little wonder that people do not trust me.
Why does this bother me so?
It is…illogical, for lack of a better term. I should not be bothered by the fact that my flat-mates are either fighting or fucking, nor by the fact that some…wandering bard has designs on one or both of them. It is not as though we are close, Demyx and I. He is much closer to Axel and Roxas, though it always seems as if he is constantly watching me when I am near him.
And his eyes… They are familiar to me, and yet I have never seen him before Axel introduced him. Everything about him is familiar.
…I do not understand….
But, if I were to be honest with myself, I do.
This is… what I believe to be known as… desire.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man presses a hand to his forehead, an aching band of pressure forming behind his eyes. Slowly, he makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto it, unable to stand.
For a time, he curls around himself, pleading silently for the headache to disappear. When the pain slowly fades, the slate-haired man falls into an uneasy slumber, waves and walls and voices and books all running together in his mind, finally fading into the lines of bold cobalt eyes.
They are familiar and unfamiliar, cold and calculating and wanting.
~*~
Axel is moving out.
Such a simple thing, but it seems to change so much.
He and Roxas have finally saved up enough money to go to Europe. They will be there for a few years, working when money gets low, and traveling the rest of the time, but this does mean that they cannot keep up the apartment here, not if they want to stay and go "everywhere" as Roxas claims they will do. I'm going to have to find and train a new roommate until they get back and can live here once again. It will be quite a bother, since it took Axel seven years to learn everything (though, admirably, it only took Roxas two years), and it was a difficult time for all involved.
Demyx is very uncertain of his place here now and appears to spend all of his time talking to Axel about "the good, old days". Whether he's simply being over-dramatic or truly sentimental, I cannot tell, but I do know that he avoids me as much as possible. This confuses me, as he has never attempted to elude me before.
According to some, I have become quite inept at reading Demyx as of late. This irritates me to no end, as I have been known to be exceptionally talented at knowing and understanding people. But then again, I only have Axel's word to go on. Every time I ask him about it, though, he only laughs in that smug, infuriating way he has, and says, "Oh, you'll see," before walking off.
Roxas assures me that whatever Axel's talking about isn't a big deal and not to worry about it. I find him easier to believe, not because Axel is any less trustworthy, but rather because Roxas is worse at lying than Axel is. Axel's tell signs normally change too rapidly and are so ingrained into his everyday motions that I am no longer certain whether he's lying or really just brushing his hair out of his face. Roxas doesn't lie nearly as readily as his lover. Thank the heavens, since one of the two of them needs to be honest.
In order to inform you, yes, they are back to normal. Apparently Demyx's talk had done them some good.
But back to the topic at hand, the idea that there's something about Demyx that I don't know…. It upsets me.
What discomforts me more, though, is the fact that both Roxas and Axel know about it, and I don't. Whether or not the problem is actually important or not is of little consequence. When did I become so possessive of Demyx? He was Axel's friend first, so I have no claim on him. He barely even knows me beyond the fact that I'm Axel's roommate and I don't talk much, unless it's to berate, correct, goad, or otherwise infuriate other people. I shouldn't expect him to tell me everything. Well, to be honest, I don't expect him to tell me anything.
But I want him to.
I want Demyx to tell me everything, from the small to the large.
If I were to be true to myself, and stop lying for a time, I would admit that I want to know the outward parts and the secret inner sections that no one besides him even knows exist. I want to know what he had for breakfast, how his day is going, what he's thinking, where he always disappears to, why he smiles so often, why those smiles never really quite reach his eyes. I want to know how he thinks, to understand him from the inside out. I also want to know the feel of his body under mine, but that is easily the simplest and most certainly the basest of all these desires, though none of them will ever be easily obtained. I want to know him and possess him. Also, I want him to know and possess me, which is going to be quite difficult.
See, I can't just offer myself up to someone who might not want me in that capacity. Sora calls me a closet romantic, but he is mistaken. I just don't want to waste the effort involved if I will simply be rejected. It is nothing more than simple economics. To that, Riku says that I'm a coward, afraid of being hurt.
Since I do not go about…emotional business that often, I cannot dispute him as of yet, but I find it hard to believe that I am lacking courage. In my observations of the world and relationships, I have noticed that many people suffer from this...cowardice, if you will.
When did I begin to notice him so much?
I will continue this later. I am going to have too much trouble sleeping now as it is, and I don't wish to further aggravate that.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
The pale man exits his room, trailing fingers over boxes that litter the hallway and living room. On the couch is a long-limbed figure, sleeping peacefully.
With a quiet exhale, the librarian examines him, cobalt eyes tracing over curves and planes before settling on the blonde musician's face. Ink-stained fingertips reach out and brush against a tanned cheek, calluses catching slightly on the smooth skin.
He repeats this motion unthinkingly once more and stands, slowly striding his way back to his room, deep in thought.
The blonde raises his hand to touch his cheek, chokes back a quiet sob, pressing blunt nails into the flesh there, trying to retain the sparks of heat that the gentle touch caused.
Neither of them sleeps well.
~*~
Normally, I use this journal to elucidate my observations about the people I meet. However, I need to take this moment to write down a few…abnormalities on my end. It should not take overlong.
To begin with, I am remembering things that have never happened.
This past week, there have been moments where I am sitting in the kitchen, watching Roxas cook, and I almost ask him why someone else isn't cooking instead. It is ludicrous, as neither Axel nor I can cook near so well as Roxas. I am also feeling… a bizarre anger and resentment towards my redheaded flat-mate. I don't remember anything he has done to make me so upset with him, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
While they pack for their trip – they leave this weekend – I watch them, and see two roommates I know, and at the same time, people I know that aren't quite them. There are these… strange moments of overlay in my vision, where I am seeing someone… not quite either of my roommates. Both of them are simultaneously too lean, too casual, too comfortable, too searching, too something and it simply does not sit right with me.
I am experiencing strange moments of vertigo as well. At work just earlier today, I almost collapsed, because the dizziness was too strong.
Everything is so confusing right now.
And if Demyx is nearby, it is twice, if not thrice worse.
My heart tries to pound out of my chest, I can barely breathe, and it feels like there are live wires embedded within my skin. He is himself, and not himself, and there are so many false memories that cover him. I hear his music within my pulse, though he has never played inside the boundaries of this house. I remember conversations with him in the hallways of a castle I have never seen, all white and pale and false.
I see the arch of his body, feel his skin under me, know the taste of him.
What is happening to me? Why do I know these things?
I have never …never imagined such an emotion as this before, and yet it settles within me so easily –all-consuming and terrifying and strangely wonderful.
I need, and I desire, and I am a stranger within my own skin.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Lamplight dancing its golden fingers across his pale skin, the man leans back in his chair, a frustrated groan on his lips. He digs the heel of his hand into his eyes and stands rapidly, dressing for bed. With gentle fingers, he closes the book and turns off the lamp, letting the light spots on his eyes fade before he moves towards his bed.
It offers him no comfort through the night.
~*~
It is an early hour for me to write in this, and I would apologize, but I have finally found out what has been plaguing me for so long.
To begin as a sort of time reference, Axel and Roxas have left the apartment, and have been in Europe for a little over two weeks now. During this period, I have seen little of Demyx. Right now, I am glad of that.
These… memory shadows, if you will, are not the product of a fever, or something strange in the water. They are my memories. I am seeing Axel and Roxas, and Demyx, as I remembered them from… another life in another world.
It sounds insane, I realize, but it must be true. Nothing else makes any sort of sense.
I remember everything now. The Castle That Never Was, Kingdom Hearts, the Organization Thirteen. Our quest to retrieve our hearts, and the deaths we suffered because of internal strife and two Keyblade bearers.
Our folly.
…I am Zexion. The Cloaked Schemer. Number Six of the Organization.
And at the same time, I am Zexion, flat-mate and friend of Axel and Roxas, part-time librarian, full time graduate student.
Both versions of me are in agreement on one thing.
I am absolutely furious with all of them.
Because of one thing.
They knew.
-Zexion Illuminatus-
Fingers clench around a pen. Shaking his head to clear his eyes, the pale skinned man pushes his chair back roughly, pacing around the room. He feels trapped, caged, impotent, and it infuriates him.
Storming around the quiet room –silent, empty, too empty-, the man swears under his breath, digging short fingernails into his palm. He sits on the bed, jaw tense and lips pressed tightly together. As he takes some deep breaths, he smoothes his hands out, running the pads of his fingers over the silky sheets. They bump against something different, a cottony fabric, and the slate-haired man glances at it, lifts it with shaking fingers.
A simple, blue wristband.
And he presses it tightly to his palm, ignoring the slight sting of tears, just as he ignores the stabbing ache of his heart.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next Chapter...
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You write Zexion BEAUTIFULLY! I swear your perception of him is just spot on! I'm really liking this story so far, course I'm a huge sucker for all things Zemyx but I think your characterization is just so amazing that I'm loving this just a bit more than normal.
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