Title: Lost and Found

Author: kailiff

Pairing/s: Zemyx. Various supporting pairings.

Summary: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Demyx. I'm a joke, a fraud, a phony. I don't know how it all happened; I hadn't meant for it to. I found a notebook on the bus, I read it, I became hopelessly obsessed. It wasn't something I'd meant to go so far. Zemyx.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this fanfic. I cry every day.

A/N: Hello! This is a revamp of sorts. I uploaded a fanfic under the same title in 2010 which I wrote in '09/'10 and while reading it recently, I noticed it really could have been better written. So, what better time to rewrite it than now, right? Unlike the previous version, this will be stretched over a few chapters. I expect it'll be a couple thousand words longer, and a little more illustrative (I hope). I didn't want to ditch the title, as awful and cheesy as it is, so I deleted the old one. If you'd like to read the old version (idk why you would, it's terrible) feel free to PM me. :) I hope you enjoy this fanfic, and happy Zemyx Day!

. • • • .

January 25th

Zexion really hated taking the bus.

When he took the bus, he was forced to accompany legions of foul, sweaty people. He had to endure being squished to the wall of the vehicle and other bodies pressing against him. There was little air, and of what air there was he certainly did not enjoy breathing–sensitive nose, always been a bother. Rarely did he ever find an empty seat, and it was always either claimed before he got there or some detestable person sat next to him. These were among some of the many things he hated about going on the city bus. There were more reasons. Of course there were. He, however, didn't want to waste his time and sanity away thinking of all of them at once.

However much Zexion despised public buses, after work he found himself standing at a bus stop a block away, frowning. Always frowning. The bone-cracking cold made sure he couldn't walk anywhere comfortably. There was also the rather unfortunate circumstance of his apartment being much too far away to even think of walking. He definitely didn't want to walk twelve blocks in this cold. Zexion shivered.

The bus arrived–late–and Zexion stepped on, arms crossed, and twisting his face into the most threatening expression he could muster. Less chance of people sitting near him that way. Dusty exhaust billowed into his face, but he supposed he was glad to be out of the frigid January air. Zexion slid his bus card through the slot and looked around, surprised to see there were very few other people on the bus, which left several seats open for grabs. His scary face subsided. If Zexion were a bit of a peppier person, he might have even done a dance. Then again, he probably would not have minded going on the bus so much if that were the case.

Zexion chose a spot as far away from everyone else as he could and sat down. Or he would have, rather, if there wasn't some ridiculous giant notebook sitting there instead. Five subjects, spiral bound. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the object before picking it up and sitting in its place. Turning it over in his hands, Zexion saw it was just a regular, old notebook. It was probably some little kid's, and they'd just left it on the bus by accident.

'Keep out! My secret journal!' was written all over the frayed cover with various colored Sharpie. The smell was absolutely toxic. Little stickers of happy faces, rainbows, music notes, fish, band logos, you name it, were spattered across the cover. In the corner was a large sticker displaying the Squeenix record label logo, one of the biggest labels in the country. On the back were several random doodles. Zexion smirked. He had to admit, it was kind of cute. This kid sure made the notebook their own. He was never this creative as a kid.

He supposed he could turn it in to the police, but there was no name on it, no way to identify the owner. What a shame. The kid was probably worried to bits over their well-decorated notebook. No doubt it was filled with terrible handwriting and childlike tales.

He placed the notebook next to him and made a mental note to remember it, unlike the actual owner of the book. He didn't want the bus driver to have to deal with it, he probably dealt with enough as it was. Zexion soon found himself wondering what might be in the notebook. Who knows, whatever silly tales the kid had written about might cheer him up. Something like, "Today my sister at the last cookie, so I imagined her head being eaten by a dragon." Kids these days said the darnedest things. He extended his hand and... no, forget it. Zexion understood privacy, and he was not one to meddle with such things, not even a child's notebook. He himself was an enthusiastic supporter of having private bubbles in which no one was allowed enter, let alone touch personal belongings.

But still, Zexion picked it up thoughtlessly and turned the cover. He mentally swore at himself for breaking his own rules. There was something about the journal, however, that drew him to it. If magic were real, he could say it was a spell. That was preposterous, though, because magic was not real and had never been real and he was an idiot for even thinking about it. This kid really should have gotten a journal with a lock. It would have been much safer. They also should have put their name on it, but that was beside the point.

The first page was interesting enough, as well as short. The script on the page, if it could be called that, was messy. A scrawl. Terrible handwriting, as expected. It was worse than a doctor's handwriting, really, but there was something about it that seemed friendly in a way.

"June 9

Dear journal,

Happy birthday, me! And you, I suppose. Somehow this is the first journal I've ever owned, or, well, it's just a regular old notebook that I decided would be used as a journal. Pretty sweet, huh? I have something to write down all my yucky, emotional feelings and stuff down on, isn't that neat? I was thinking of using it for writing lyrics, too. I think that'd be pretty great. Who am I talking to, anyway? It's not like you can talk back to me, can you, journal? But whatever. My journal, my rulez. I can talk to a journal if I want. Or maybe I'm drunk, I dunno, I've had a few drinks.

So anyway, y'know, the other day I was boozing it up with Axel and Roxas. Well, I mean, before they scampered off to go do whatever they do. Thank god they left before they started screwing on the table. That would have been embarrassing. I mean, they do love each other, but they have the hormones of 13-year-old boys. I would think they'd have at least waited until they got back to their apartment or something before their fireworks flew around and hit people in the face because that's gotta be messy. C'est la vie, or something like that.

But things like that kinda make me wonder, y'know? The dating scene! Or, I mean, the lack of one. Axel thinks I'm stupid for waiting for 'the one' or whatever, but he didn't have to wait so long. He and Roxas met in middle school. Oh well, I guess that whole deal can be some inspiration for a new song or something. I am kinda jealous, though. Lucky bastards.

Well, I don't really have anything else to say.

Oh! Wait, wait, wait, good news! Drum roll please... That whore music professor of mine finally promised to help me get a record deal! He's gonna give me the number of some label next week. Think about it, my band's gonna be famous some day! Our name will be in lights. Can you see it? Of course not, you're just a journal. What am I even talking about. Hahahaha. Well anyway, bye. Keep ya posted."

The entry ended and Zexion looked out the window, brows stitched together. This did not sounds like a little kid. Little kids did not booze it up with their two friends who made out right in front of them. Little kids did not usually talk about the many people they have dated. Little kids did not usually call their music professors whores, nor did they usually have professors. Little kids usually were not about to get a record deal that would make their bands famous. Zexion did not think this notebook belonged to a little kid anymore. What's more, he found he had a sudden and unexplainable urge to read more.

On the next page was a sheet of lyrics. The words had been erased and written over many times, which turned the paper gray. The page was thin and worn down. Some eraser bits still lingered on the page, flattened by the notebook opening and closing over time. The owner of the journal probably worked on this song a lot. Zexion stared at it, trying to decode the wording.

It was a nice song, he surmised. The lyrics were poetic, which seemed to be a plus. They didn't make much sense. Some odd words and phrases were used, and sometimes the handwriting seemed a bit forced. Seemed to tell some kind of story. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to be very emotional, although Zexion had already been able to tell that from the first entry. The song was interesting, but not enough to keep looking at it. Zexion turned the page to find another entry. He sighed, glanced around the bus, and got down to reading.

"June 16

Hey journal, whats up?

Sooooo, it's been a week. My professor still hasn't decided which label to help me get into. I wonder who it's gonna be? I hope he's actually doing it. Shit, I hope it's Squeenix! Okay, probably not. They're too famous to take on a little band like ours. But if it WAS, well, I would be very, VERY excited. Alright, that's an understatement, but you get it. But can you imagine? Melodious Nocturne, our hit single at the top of the charts! We're gonna be famous, our name in lights. You can be our first groupie, journal, ol' buddy, ol' pal.

I could rant more, sooo much more. But I think I'll keep it super short. Oh, but my song's coming along nicely. I've only come up with like, a verse or two, but it's still pretty good. I'm content with it so far. It's a song for Axel and Roxas. Their anniversary's coming up in a bit. Can you tell? Haha, what am I doing, asking my journal? How silly of me. Well, now I have class. I'll write later. Bye."

Zexion felt a small tug at his lips, the faintest of smiles. He couldn't even think how to describe this person. He was different. He was downright weird, an idiot, and far more emotion-driven than anyone he had ever met. Well, Zexion had never actually met this person. He didn't even know anything about him other than he was a probably a college student and was in a band. Also, he was not a little kid, contrary to what he had previously thought. Can't forget that part.

The bus slowed to a stop and Zexion looked out the window almost in a daze. How long had he been reading? He glanced around, and suddenly his heart leaped right out of his chest as he realized where he was. How could he have missed his stop? He was so engrossed in this person's journal he'd zoned out and hand't been paying attention to where he was. Zexion's frown returned and he sighed as he hurried out of the bus, taking the journal with him. He'd have to walk the rest of the way home. He certainly was not acting himself.

Glancing at the street signs, Zexion deduced he only had to walk five blocks in the other direction to get home, which in all reality was much better than twelve, but still unpleasant. With a shiver he hugged the notebook to his chest.

Was he really going to bring it to the police? Would the police even take it? There was no way to identify the owner, what were they going to do? Put up signs? They could just throw it away. Zexion sighed and tried to ignore his breath puffing around his face like a smokestack. Damn, it was cold.

January was a dreaded month. He sloshed through the snow and blistering cold. The wind nipped at his skin and little crystalline gems stuck to his eyelashes, as well as to the shock of slate-color hair that covered one of his eyes. Was it supposed to get this cold in the city? What's more, the cars and buildings probably even made it warmer than in the country, which was a crime against humanity. Sooner or later he managed to make it back to his warm studio apartment in one piece. One frozen piece. Panting, he placed the notebook on a counter and took off his soaking-wet winter jacket, making sure to hang it on a peg next to the door. His shoes were covered in the snow that hadn't unstuck itself on his way to the door, and he was pretty sure his toes were icicles. Sighing and rubbing his neck, Zexion slowly shuffled to the bathroom where he happily took a very hot shower so he wouldn't get frostbite. Afterward, he went right to bed.

. • • • .

January 26th

The next day, Zexion had to take the bus again. Figured.

Once he got on the bus and swiped his card, he took hold of one of the loops hanging from the ceiling. No seats today, too many people. He was sending death glares towards the good people of the city who had unfortunately chosen to get on the same bus as him that day. Each glare was a warning. No one better come near him.

A few minutes later at another stop, Zexion noticed one particular person coming in. Several people got on, but this person stood out. He looked ridiculous, or at least he did to Zexion. Zexion was a bit bland, and anyone remotely interesting could have looked ridiculous to him. The man was a dirty blond, but that was not the strange part. His hair was shaped in some sort of mohawk-mullet hybrid, and he had a couple piercings. The thing about this man Zexion found the most vexing was that he was walking right toward him, as if he couldn't see his clearly defined personal bubble. Zexion hated it when people were in his personal bubble.

To Zexion's great discomfort, the blond stood next to him. Zexion made a point to frown a lot and avoid eye contact, all the while wringing the strap of his bag in his fingers. He could hear blasting rock music leaking from his neighbor's headphones very well, despite the bus being crowded and noisy. The blond's eyes were closed and he was rocking his head softly back and forth. Zexion looked around for other places this rapscallion could have gone, but found none. He stared at his shoes.

Well, he had to admit it wasn't all bad. His neighbor didn't smell awful, and it wasn't like he was trying to talk to him. He was just minding his own business. It could have been a lot worse, but that didn't stop Zexion from scowling and tensing up.

At the next stop, the man got off and Zexion heaved a sigh of relief. He had survived.

. • • • .

January 27th

The next morning, as Zexion was rushing around trying to get ready before his first class, his eyes fell on the notebook. He had forgotten about it. He kind of wanted to keep reading it but felt it would be weird and creepy if he did. It was kind of stalker-ish. It would sort of be like reading the diary of Anne Frank, but this journal was not a published book for the public to read. It was just him, and that was a little weird.

At last second, Zexion did decide to pick it up again and cautiously read it on his way to class. He'd just have to deal with being a little weird.

On his way home, Zexion thought about getting something hot to drink. He wasn't exactly eager to get home, and he could spare a few minutes just getting something to drink. There were a lot of little cafés on campus, some good for studying, some not. College towns always had cafés by the dozen. In fact, if he was sure he knew where he was, there was a small café not too far away. Probably more than just one, too. Zexion propelled himself in that direction.

The coffee shop he chose was small and quaint, but it was also one of the better ones Hallow Bastion had to offer. Good coffee, he'd heard, but hadn't tried any. The Divine Rose strived to have somewhat of a romantic atmosphere to it, and in that light furnished itself in mostly red. Rose-shaped decorations adorned the walls. All the red was a bit aggravating on his eyes, but it sold hot beverages, which was just what Zexion wanted at the moment.

As he stepped into the café, Zexion's nasal passages were immediately assaulted by various scents and smells ranging from special coffee blends to pastries to finger sandwiches. A bit winded, he suppressed a cough. He disliked being in the presence of so many different smells. Made it hard to think straight. Zexion sighed. If he wanted to get his drink, he had to suck it up.

The clerk–barista?–on the register severely matched the color scheme of the café. He was red. Very red. His hair, tied back out of his face with what appeared to be a (red) scrunchie, was the brightest auburn Zexion had ever seen. Under his eyes, which were a very bright, almost unnatural shade of green, where two diamond-shaped tattoos. His clean, pressed apron and shirt were red and even his name tag was red. Too much red. Too much red in this whole place.

There was a blond person in front of Zexion, and the clerk, who Zexion saw was named Axel, was leaning against the counter and flirting with him. The clerk, or Axel, wasn't very successful, because the blond looked rather annoyed as a whole. The redhead was persistent, which made Zexion sigh and roll his eyes because who knew when he would ever get his drink.

"You, me, a romantic dinner at sunset? What do you say?" Axel asked, winking at the blond, who only groaned.

"I'm Ven," he said simply, albeit with annoyance and exhaustion. "Axel, we've gone over this in the past. I'm Ven, not Roxas." He stretched out his words so even a small child could understand them. There seemed to be a mix-up.

Zexion froze, thoughts and words finally catching up to him. Axel and Roxas? Those names sounded awfully familiar. Zexion knit his eyebrows together in thought. Axel, Roxas, Axel, Roxas. Why did they sound familiar? Then, as if a light bulb appeared above his head, Zexion suddenly remembered who Axel and Roxas were and his face turned white.

A big guy with long, brown hair walked up to them and shot Axel a look that was all but happy before wrapping his arms around the blond's torso, picking him up, and carrying him away toward the pick-up counter, still shooting looks at Axel every odd step as he went.

"Keep your pyromaniac hands off him," the man warned as he went. "This is my twin."

"Well, sorry! It's just that Roxy and Ven look so similar!" the redhead returned, giving a sheepish smile.

"That's because we're twins, stupid," a boy who looked exactly like the blond in front of Zexion exclaimed from a table across the shop, face in his phone.

Zexion sighed, wanting all this nonsense to be done with. It was all too stupid and shouldn't have been happening in the first place, really. What if Axel's manager showed up? So he rubbed his temple and cleared his throat to inform them of his presence.

"I'd like to order, please," he announced to the clerk, shooting him a curt look. Axel's face reddened slightly at being caught goofing around during work hours and returned to his post. Zexion glanced at the overhead menu before telling Axel his order—regular, old hot chocolate—while pulling the money out of his pocket, grabbing the receipt and walking over to the pick-up area. No nonsense.

The blond, or "Ven," was just getting his drink when Zexion approached. The brown-haired man was standing right next to him, leaning against the counter and looking very big and very tall. Wasn't that how mother bears protected their young? Ven glanced up at Zexion.

"Sorry Axel's so dumb," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"He can't even tell the difference between us," Roxas pointed out, walking up and taking Ven's beverage right out of his hands before taking a sip. This made the other blond pout. Zexion had to admit, he couldn't tell the difference either. He didn't even get a chance to respond to that because the small group crowded around Axel again, talking about this and that. Where in the world was Axel's manager?

Zexion's drink was done and placed on the pick-up counter, with some eccentric pink-haired man hollering out the order. He tossed his hair afterward and Zexion would have been damned if he had actually seen rose petals flying around when it happened.

On his way out, Zexion overheard something that made his ears prick up. He strained to listen, trying not to seem too obvious.

"Did you hear that Dem lost his notebook?"

"Yeah, he seemed pretty bummed about it. I wonder what could be in it to make him so down?"

"Well, he's had that thing for a while..."

Stomach churning, Zexion straightened his back, took a deep breath, and touched the journal to make sure it was still safe inside his bag. He left as quickly as possible.

. • • • .

Who was Dem? was that the person who lost this journal? Was it short for something? Demetri? Demerol? Demingo? Dem with some other ridiculous suffix attached? Zexion wanted to know all about this person. Who was he? Where did he go to school? His major? What did he look like? Hobbies? Musical interests? Favorite color? Despite having read much of his journal, Zexion knew surprisingly little about its owner.

Zexion found himself thinking about Dem more often than not. At work he stared off into space. He tripped over himself and was becoming clumsy. He was becoming more and more unlike himself. Over the next week, Zexion continued to read the journal. He would read two or three entries a day. Many more pages were just lyrics.

Apparently this guy made it big, or at least he did on a minor level. He was still pretty underground, doing mostly coffee shop and bar gigs. He was somewhat well-known, though, among the local music scene, and Zexion overheard some people talking about Melodious Nocturne on the bus. If he was so well-known, why didn't Zexion know about him? He figured it was most likely because he was not as interested in music as he was in high school, though it was more likely because he didn't socialize much.

Zexion noticed he started looking out for anything that started with "Dem," just in case it had some information about this Dem person. If he heard or saw something similar to those three letters, he would become very interested. So interested, in fact, that his heart would jump and his face would heat up. His throat went dry and his palms would sweat and he had trouble talking. Or at least that's what he would have done if he were not Zexion. On the outside, Zexion was so stoic that no one would have had even the slightest doubt he was just as straight-faced as always. The inside, however, was a completely different story.

Zexion brought the notebook with him everywhere. He brought it to work, to classes, when he went out to eat or when he visited friends, studied, and he kept it on his bedside table when he went to sleep. Almost every night Zexion stared at his ceiling feeling very bad about this whole thing. He felt like a stalker. He was becoming obsessed with a person he didn't even know. Sometimes he got the urge to just throw the thing away. He probably should have. But he was holding on because, really, it was a rush. It was exciting. It occurred to him he could just look up the band on the internet, but he was nervous. A part of him wanted Dem's identity to stay secret.

Zexion found out Melodious Nocturne had recorded an EP. Then he was memorizing the songs and singing them to himself when he was alone or when he didn't think anyone could hear him. It wasn't what he usually listened to, but he didn't tend to listen to much music. He told himself he was experimenting and broadening his horizons. He didn't fool himself much.