Middle school is often looked back on as being the worst years of one's life; the pressure to be perfect, the severe communal disorganization, and the extreme influence of friends can truly prove to be a challenging journey in itself. It feels as if everyone is against everyone else, as it is in some cases, and things nothing anyone does is considered 'cool' or 'in-style' unless they are the select few in the 'popular' cliques. It is sometimes compared to a gauntlet, and rightly so, due to the mentioned factors mixed with raging hormones and mutual insecurity.

This was not the case for Zexion, however. He though nothing of other's opinions of him, and he never let anyone close enough to be considered a 'friend' (in fact, the meaning of the word had long before become a foreign concept), thus eliminating any outside influences that others may wish to bedraggle him with. He lived solely by how he viewed himself and by whatever pleased him, which could be an admirable trait, should one want to be independent of the mainstream but be too afraid to do it. Of course, Zexioin left this aspect of himself unnoticed – he was himself, why analyze it any further?

On a cold night in November, he sat on his bed in his normal position, with his legs neatly stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, while his back was leaning against his headboard. Open on his lap sat a somewhat thick book, and Zexion's face bore its usual apathetic expression as he read the controversial text. He ignored the Roomba as it whizzed underneath and around what little furniture wasn't still boxed up, keeping his sharp mind concentrated on the novel before him.

The Golden Compass, it was titled, and what an interesting book it was; it portrayed the Catholic church as a sado-fascistic superpower that was bent on erasing sin from the world by experimenting on children and turning them into models of purely good behavior and creepy kindness. Needless to say, this plotline had angered the hyper-Christian population of the world, claiming the book was anti-Catholic and corrupting the youth of the world. Zexion thought that all the hype being put around the book and its corresponding movie was stupid. It was a book, books have authors, and authors have differing views on assorted subjects. It is through tolerance of opinions and acceptance that greatness is achieved throughout the world; why couldn't those people see it? Also, the complaints they had been making drew more readers to the novel, increasing the pointlessness of the debate.

He brushed a stray strand of blue-white hair to the right side of his face as he bookmarked his page and closed the book. Zexion had found it hard to focus on the plot because of the event that was due to happen the next day: he would be going to a new school, in sight of his recent move and the fact that the administrators from his old school in Hollow Bastion had been scared of his obvious giftedness. Traverse Town Jr./Sr. High. He repeated its name again and again in his head, observing the linguistic highs and lows of the joined words. The school experience itself would be no challenge for him. What troubled Zexion that night was the actual adapting. Adjusting to change was never one of his strong points, and his intuition was telling him that this time would be no different.

He would be fine, he convinced himself. He would just keep to himself and everything would go smoothly. It always did.

XXXXXXXXXX

Halfway across the city, and 8th grader much like Zexion, yet so much different, sat on his bed as well, tuning his sitar. His blond hair was spiked in a faux-hawk manner, and his green eyes were closed as he listened for the exact pitch that his instrument needed to achieve to work properly. Demyx, as his name was, was without a doubt an extremely musical person, and being as that was, dedication to his beloved sitar was a given. Not a guitar, mind, but a sitar, complete with all of the respective strings, both melodic and sympathetic, four bridges, and sliding frets, all of which were included in the standard making of a sitar.

Demyx prided himself in playing such an unusual and complicated instrument; it wasn't every day that one would come across a sitarist on the streets of Traverse Town, nor was it common to hear a sitar in modern-day pop music. He would often get criticized for his preference, since people thought that a musical instrument was useless unless popular songs were able to be played upon it. Demyx shrugged this all away whenever it came up. Why would he want to play someone else's song when he could just as easily play his own? Aside from that, his sitar was a bright shade of blue, with darker blue streaks going up and down the neck and resonator. How cool was that?

His goal for that night was just that; he was in an artistic mood, and what better to quench a thirst for music than a private session with his trusty sitar? Before the composing could begin, though, he needed to tune the thing, and in sight of the fact that one string didn't seem to want to cooperate, this goal seemed a far ways off.

With a grunt of frustration, Demyx put his sitar aside and stared out of his bedroom window, looking out at the orange-tinted streets and buildings whose color showed itself in daylight. Tonight, however, the concrete and homes gave off a brown-indigo hue; not that it mattered too much. The scenery out his window would be the same the next day, and the next day, and the next. That was, unless, an earthquake hit Traverse Town suddenly, but they were as far away as possible from any sort of fault line, and earthquakes do not just occur randomly unless a fault line and plate tectonics are present. It was too bad, though. The city could use a bit of remodeling.

Reminding himself that it was a Sunday night, he closed the blinds that covered his circular window. Sunday night meant that Monday morning wasn't far away, and Monday morning meant the start of a new week at Traverse Town Jr./Sr. High, Demyx's current school. He directed a glance towards the clock sitting atop his bedstand. It read 9:30 pm, and it dictated that it was high time that he start getting ready for bed before anxiety got the best of him and cost him another night of sleep. Bidding himself 'good night' audibly, he flicked the switch on his far wall and laid down for another nighttime full of restless sleep and merciless dreaming.

--

A/N: This is the first Kingdom Hearts fanfic I've written in a while, so forgive me if it's a little disorganized. Well, I blame my sudden addiction to Zemyx and my newly acquired My Chemical Romance CD for this.

Don't own Roomba, The Golden Compass, or Demyx's sitar (though I wish I owned the last one).