AN: So, this little (pfft, as if) story has been sitting in my back pack with the other four or so chapters I have done just waiting to be posted, so I got off my lazy ass and typed it up! I have another chapter typed up, so expect that to be up soon, but don't expect the other chapters to be up any time soon... I'm lazy ^^" So, hope you enjoy~! Reviews and critiques are welcomed, and flames will be used to light fireworks.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. If I did, none of the Organization would have died, there would be an entire game about the mystery of Demyx' life, and Demyx would have a whole lot more lines.

Rating: Rated M for language, suggestive comments, and for gay people because people are too stuck up about them =.="

Enjoy~!


Why doesn't he remember? He promised he would never forget…

Flashes of a clock tower, a town set in a perpetual sunset, and the feeling of being forgotten. It was always the same. His laugh, the laugh that I always made surface, even on his worse days, being made for someone else, and his smile, the one that made me feel as though it might have been possible for us to feel, being flashed from someone else's words. Then, an overwhelming sadness that I never knew I was able to feel, which lasted until the very end. Did you mean it when you said you'd wait for me in the next life? Will you even bother to look? Roxas?

"I had another dream about him, Dem," I said around a mouthful of cereal. Demyx, my roommate and best friend, looked up from his sheet music with curiosity.

"Anything new?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He had always seemed to be interested in my dreams of this boy. Ever since the first dream when I was sixteen and woke up with silent tears in my eyes, Demyx had been there, helping me deal with the sadness they brought on, or even just listen to what I had to say. Why he did it was a mystery in itself that not even I knew the answer to. He said he just wanted to help me, since no one else will, but I think he might be having the same problem as me.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I replied back, "Blonde hair, blue eyes, a sort of sad smile that broke my nonexistent heart and being forgotten… the usual." I sighed running a hand through my bright red hair. I always used to get made fun of for it, not every day you see someone who's hair is that red naturally. That stopped when I got the tattoos, however. I mean, really, who would want to mess with someone with tattoos on their face?

Demyx sighed and muttered something under his breath before he smiled reassuringly at me. "Don't worry, Ax, we'll get to the bottom of this!" The way he said it made it seem like he was telling himself more than he was telling me.

"I just don't see why I have to come to this stupid thing! Why don't you take Luxord to these kinds of things instead of me! He's British, and they like art and shit, right?" I complained to Demyx, rather loudly, who was twitching in his shoes.

"Because, Axel, you were the only friend available today. And not all British people like art! That's like saying all musicians are stuck up snobs!" he replied, his voice agitated. I knew I was being a pain, but, hey, he dragged me there, he should have expected it.
Demyx had told me this morning about some art show he was in, and then I was forced into going to it. Demyx was a musician, and he took pride in all the music he created with that weird sitar of his, but he was always so nervous about it. Now, why I had to come to those things I have no clue, but, next thing I knew, I was being dragged out the door of our cramped dorm room.

Demyx left me there to go chat with some of his art and music friends, and I decided to browse the art that was hanging all over the place. None of it was really my style, them being photos of flowers and girls that were dressed up to look like they were the happiest people in the world, and me liking the darker stuff of people with thick rimmed eye liner bleeding down their faces and heavy amounts of make up to make them look dead, or dying flowers and things like that which had a symbolic meaning, but I looked anyways. If I was going to be stuck there I might as well look around. I was just looking at a repulsive picture of a girl with auburn hair in a pink sundress on a beach in front of a sunset when something caught my eye. I turned around swiftly, seeing a blonde head disappearing into the crowd.

Now, I'd seen plenty of blonde heads before, but none had been this shade of blonde, the shade of blonde that reminded me of the sun, or, perhaps, liquefied gold. I caught the face again, and my throat closed up. Hair like the never ending sunset the boy came from, and blue eyes like the ocean he never got to see "Roxas…" Next thing I knew I was pushing my way through the art students that were fawning over some retched piece, just trying to keep sight of him. I had been looking for this kid for so long, I couldn't just lose sight of him now, not after my first time seeing him.

I heard somewhere in the back of my mind Demyx calling my name, but it was almost like a soft, whispered echo. The sound of his voice was being drowned out by the one thing clouding my mind, a certain blonde haired blue eyed angel that I was losing sight of. I finally reached him and he was laughing with his friends. Friends that weren't me, friends he still remembered. My face went blank, hiding the pain in my chest where the heart I didn't have before was aching. Nothing's changed, I thought dejectedly, He still doesn't remember me. I reached out towards him, thinking that maybe, maybe if I just talked to him, if I told him my name, he might remember, but he walked away with them, and my hand fell limply to my side. Demyx stood behind me, looking at me with a worried gaze. He must have thought I was crazy, being so upset over this one kid. Hell, even I thought I was insane.

"I…I'm going to go back to the dorm…" I said, voice shaking with a barely controlled sadness.

"Axel, wait! What's wrong? Do you know that guy?" he asked, and I smiled wryly.

"Yeah… yeah, I did…. His name was Roxas… then he left," I said, that slightly maniac look still on my face. I ran a hand through my hair and walked away, pushing over a picture of a boy with brown hair and brown eyes on a palm tree with some friends. The artist screamed at me, but I didn't care, nothing could make me more depressed than I was at that moment.

I pushed open the doors of the venue and walked down the street, chilly autumn air stinging my bare arms. I strolled down the crowded streets, all the noises of the city falling on my deaf ears. I had seen him, I had found him… but it hadn't made a difference. I still wasn't important enough to him, still wasn't enough, to make him remember. I pulled the pack of cigarettes out of my jean's pocket, sliding one out and placing it in between my lips. "So, Roxas… I guess you never felt the same," I muttered around the cigarette before I pulled out the lighter that I always had on me and lit up. Taking a few puffs of the cig, I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "If that's so… then why can't I get those times we shared out of my head…"


AN: So, what do you think? Like it? Hate it? Want to punch me in the face because this is the biggest piece of crap you have ever read and I waisted ten or more minutes of your life? Write a review and let me know, because reviews will be rewarded with chocolate and quicker chapters.