No one gets it. No one understands.

"Hey, who's that kid?"

"Oh man…..how old is he?"

They never get it. I try and I try, but they never understand.

"He's just a kid. Look at him. He's scrawny and weak."

"He might hear you-"

"So? It's true! Look at him!"

I try so hard to be them, but I never can. I try so hard to be me, but I can't be that either.

"Hey, punk! Get out of my way."

"What's he doing here?"

I don't know who I am. But it still hurts so much…….so much…

"He's a wuss. Pansy. Just look at him."

"Leave him alone."

They never say, "Leave him alone" out of pity. They say it because I disgust them.

"Superior….he's not really one of us, is he? Superior?"

No. I'll never be one of you. Never ever ever.

"Just a child."

Something in that voice made me listen. Made me hope. Made me stop and turn around, made me be brave enough to look at him and dare to dream.

"How inconvenient."

Step step step. I can still hear his footsteps as he turned and walked away. I looked after him….I wanted him to look back at me. Wishful thinking, I guess. Ha ha ha. I can still hear them laughing. I still can see them laughing, laughing at me. Laughing at the scrawny little blonde kid. Laughing laughing laughing. Do they ever stop laughing? Won't they ever leave me alone? I keep hearing them! I keep hearing that laughter ringing in my ears. I want it to stop! I want them to go away!

I……won't cry. I … I will not cry. He sat there, all alone, as far up as he could get. He'd found the stairs leading up to this tower, this white pinnacle of blissful nothingness. Did he just say blissful? How could this abominable nothingness be a gift? He hadn't meant that. There was nothing to see, nothing around him. Just that pale blue-white space surrounding the white castle. Nothing to see. Nothing to feel except for the white stone he sat on. If he had been braver and a little sadder, he would have shoved himself off of the wall he sat on. He would have fallen all the way to the earth, crashed onto the ground. Broken himself. Killed himself. If he wasn't such a wuss, such a pansy, he would have done it long ago. But he was so afraid of the fall. So afraid of how much it would hurt when he hit the ground. And so he never had jumped. No matter how many times he thought in despair that he would like to end his miserable existence, something held him back. He'd always put back the knife. Stepped away from the wall. Thrown away the pills. He always had thought that it was because he was scared of pain. The knife would hurt. So would falling. The poison might have even hurt. But deep down, he knew that the real reason why he hadn't killed himself was because he still had a hope. A hope of finding something living for. Something to fill this nasty emptiness inside of him.

Maybe that's why he had turned around when he'd heard the scientist's voice. Just a child. Yes! He'd thought, for one second. Yes! Does someone get it? But the man had just looked at him, said something that hurt, walked away. Someone, he had managed to escape from the rest of those laughing idiots, somehow managed to drop his bags, and then he'd found the white staircase leading up to this tower. Without another thought, he'd dashed up the stairs, his jacket flapping around him. He'd escape to this place of refuge, and here he sat on the wall, overlooking space, contemplating whether to jump or not. Thinking about why he hadn't jumped before, and about why that scientist had made him feel like that. Reflecting on his pathetic life. For some reason, he kept thinking of a song he'd sung, so long ago, back when he had a heart. Rain, rain, go away. Please come back another day. He should change the lyrics: Pain, pain, go away. Please haunt someone else's day.

"I'm not going to like it here," he told the nothingness. "I thought I would, but I guess I won't after all. It's going to be like everywhere else, you'll see." He paced around the small tower top, folding his hands behind him, just like the scientist had done. "Did you know that they laughed at me?" He asked the silence. "They did. Again. Everyone does. I don't…..don't know why." He looked down at himself, at his red jacket, at his long black pants, at the white sneakers peering timidly out from below the black. He turned out of his hands in front of his face, looking at the many bracelets he had strung on his left wrist. Somewhere under all those bracelets was a wristwatch, though he never used it. Slowly, one hand went up to the top of his head, feeling at his short, straight blonde hair. He'd painstakingly spiked it upward this morning, checked it several times. "Well, they couldn't have been laughing at my hair," he reflected with satisfaction. One of the guys he had seen had red hair spiked about a foot long. Another - the one who had called him a wuss - had blue hair. Blue. Why didn't they laugh at him?

"I guess it's because I'm dressed differently," He said, continuing his one-sided conversation with nobody. All the others had been wearing long, beautiful, black leather cloaks, floor length with hoods. With his red jacket and mess undershirt, he must have looked very different. The Superior had promised him a new suit once he got to this place; maybe once the Superior gave him the cloak, they wouldn't laugh at him. He tried to remember all of the ones he had seen, calling up every face. He must be the youngest here, except for that young guy with all the hair over his face. That guy had only glared at him, then stalked away, a book in his hands. No one had been friendly to him, unless if he counted that scientist. There was no one to make friends with. "Maybe I would be better off dead," he said softly, leaning over the wall and looking down. Down, down at the nothingness. "I wonder how far it is to the bottom…"

"Roughly 70 feet, I should image." The boy whirled around, almost falling in his surprise. There, stepping up the last few stairs onto the roof with him, was the scientist. The boy stared, knowing that he looked like a fool and not caring. His blue eyes swept the other Nobody up and down…and up and down again. Something about that man attracted him, made him feel…..he didn't know what. Maybe it was the man's hair that he liked so much; something about the long, straight blonde hair was rather catching. Maybe it was the man's face, with those cold dark eyes and that judging look. The boy should have been terrified of him, like he was terrified of the Superior. Why wasn't he? "Well?" The scientist asked, crossing over to the wall near the boy. He eyed the boy sidelong, then began pulling something from under his cloak. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"N-no….sir," the boy added hastily. He just stood there like an idiot, backed up against the cold white stone, his hands pressed hard against the firmness of the wall. The scientist looked him over, up and down, from the top of his spiked blonde hair to those obnoxious white sneakers at the very bottom.

"The Superior will give you a new suit soon, I imagine," he said, looking back at what he had pulled out of his cloak. Was there a hint of disgust in his voice? Amusement? Was the boy just imaging it all? He gulped, trying to think of something to say.

"I…" he started, then bit his lip, harder then he meant to. The scientist didn't move. "What-" he tried again, forcing himself to make a complete sentence, "what is that?" He nodded to the thing the scientist held because he didn't trust his hands not to shake.

"This?" The scientist held it up. "This is a notebook." He slid off the leather straps holding it shut, then turned back the cover and flipped the creamy pages, showing them to the boy.

"Oh," was all that the boy could think of saying. The scientist pulled a pen from the inside of the notebook, and simply started writing in the notebook, ignoring his companion. "What are you writing?" the boy finally asked.

"This is my diary," the scientist said simply, in his low, steady voice. He didn't look over or even stop writing.

"Oh." The boy slowly sat down on the wall, holding onto the edge for balance. He crossed his legs and looked the other way, at the nothingness that surrounded the tower. Why couldn't he say anything? The man he admired most and wanted to be friends with most was right here, right next to him, and he couldn't think of anything to say. He just sat there, unconsciously bobbing one sneaker as he fumbled in his mind for something to say. "What do you write in your diary?" he asked. Maybe I shouldn't have said that.. he thought a moment too late. The scientist looked over at him in a glance that could have been one of annoyance, then calmly set down his pen and explained.

"A diary is where you write what happens to you from day to day. Your thoughts, things you find amusing, your speculations." He picked up the pen again; the tip of it squeaked softly across the pages.

"Yea, but what do you write?" the boy asked. Shouldn't have asked that either, he thought again. He wished that he could smack himself for his stupidity, but that probably wouldn't make him look any more intelligent.

"I just told you," the scientist said. This time, the boy was sure that he heard the impatience in the man's voice.

"I'm sorry," the boy blurted, his tongue forming the words before he really though. The scientist looked over at him in surprise, and the boy, mistaking his look for one of anger, hastily scrambled off the wall. "I'm sorry I bothered you," he spluttered. "I never know when to stop talking, I-" he stopped abruptly. The scientist was just staring at him, his gaze impassive. Unreadable. Was he angry? The boy's courage deserted him. "Sorry!" He stammered, dashing past the scientist and running down the stairs as fast as he could. In a moment, he was lost to sight down the white, curving stairwell.

Blundering idiot.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

Stammer an apology. Step out of the way. Walk on. Such an idiot. Where to go? Where to be? I can't go back to the tower. The scientist is there. And he's mad at me, I know he is. Why did I have to be so stupid? I might never get another chance like that. I really am a fool, aren't I?

Someone ruffled his hair. Openly ruffled his hand. Someone's sweaty, big palm swept across his hair in a rough movement that cracked the gel in his hair and roughly swept it down over his ears. Over his face. Someone was laughing.

Oh no, not the hair. Anything but the hair.

Of all the things he made a mess of, his hair was not on the list. He actually could do something right with a comb and some gel. And now someone had ruined his work. He shouldn't be this upset; it was just a hair style. Blushing, he brushed past his persecutor, trying to sweep his hair back up into it's former position with his hands.

Still laughing. Laughing at me. I hate him. I hate all of them. I want somewhere quiet. I want to be alone. I want stillness.

He could see someone else coming down the hall, and knowing from experience that they'd only start teasing him again, he hastily twisted the knob on the next door and slipped inside. The door was heavy; it almost slammed behind him. He made himself shut it quietly, then looked around. He was in a library. Tall wooden shelves, lined on both sides with books, stretched away in several rows, running the length of the room. It was dark in there; the windows at the opposite end of the room were partly covered by heavy grey curtains. But it was quiet. There wasn't any noise except for his still breathing. Perfect. Tiptoeing to preserve the stillness of the library, he crept down one of the aisles. He ran one hand over the rows of books, feeling them. They were all leather bound. Thick. Heavy. Some had gold script on their spines, other had silver. Some, near the bottom, had no writing on them, and were dusty from little use. They all seemed to be books of science, with long titles, long names. All about things that he didn't understand. He wasn't much of a reader. He could read, of course, but he never liked to sit still for so long. Or maybe he just didn't like any kind of books; he detested romance and mystery, didn't like comedy much, and never read for the sake of education. At least….he might have.

But…that was a long time ago. Back in that shady, grey past of his when he'd had a living, thumping heart. He wished he remembered more about what it was like to be like that. A living being. Wishful thinking. He came to the end of the row and started to turn around it, and almost screamed with surprise. He had to jerk back to keep from ramming head-on with the young Nobody. The one with the hair brushed over his face. The other Nobody showed no annoyance; he just glared fiercely at the boy, then brushed past. Storming. The boy couldn't stay here. He whirled and walked as quickly as he dared down the low row of books, heading for the door. Somehow, the other's stonily silence scared him more than anything. He was running by the time he reached the door. He wrenched at the handle, slipped around the heavy frame, and bolted into the hall, letting the heavy door slam behind him. He didn't watch where he was going, and rammed straight into another black-clad body. He tripped and went sprawling all over the floor, hitting it with a bone-jarring thud. It hurt. People were laughing. Mocking him. Someone - the person he'd hit - was prodding him in the ribs with one black boot.

He scrambled to his feet, knocking aside a hand that reached out towards his hair, and started running again. His white sneakers pounding the white floor as, with a flutter of red and black, he vanished around the corner. He heard them still laughing, still calling out jeers behind him.

I hate them all. I hate them and their laughter. I wish they'd all go. Go away. No, they shouldn't go. I'll go. I don't care if I agreed to come here. I don't care about the Superior. I'm going to get out of this place. I'm going to find somewhere to hide.

He dashed up the main staircase, tripping halfway up, and catching himself on his palms. He didn't slow his pace; he just scrambled up the remaining stairs on all fours, and broke into a stumbling run when he reached the top. Which room was his? He couldn't remember. He bolted down the hall, his shoes squeaking as he paused to look in each room. The doors banged as he wrenched each of them other, letting them slam behind him. Sometimes, he heard shouts of anger or indignation as he barged in one other Nobodies, but he didn't care. He dashed down the hall, sprinting from room to room in search of his bags.

I have to leave. I have to go. I don't want to stay here. Why can't I just be brave enough to kill myself and end it once and for all? I wish I was…I wish I could just do it and end all of this….

The last door on the hall. He grabbed the handle, slamming his shoulder against the wood as he turned it. He almost fell into the room, had to grab blindly at the walls for balance. He was gasping for breath, sweating, his eyes wide and crazed with panic. He looked around desperately for his backpack. There it was. On the floor. By the bed. Next to a pair of black boots. Slowly, he looked up. Up the black cloak. Up over the silver chain. Long blonde hair. Cold, dark eyes. It was the scientist, the notebook still in hand. The boy drew up short, staring in fear at the man. The other Nobody just stood there. Looked at him. "So you found your room," he said simply. The boy just stood there, gasping for air, eyes wide. Slowly, elegantly, the scientist bent down and picked up the backpack. "I suppose you came back for your things. You came back right on time. The Superior just gave me your cloak, to give to you." One long finger pointed to a folded up square of leather on the bed. "You can-"

"I'm sorry!" The boy interrupted. The scientist looked at him in shock, stopping mid sentence. "I'm very sorry, but I won't need it," the boy continued. "You.. you can tell the Superior, I'm leaving!" He was across the floor now, bending, snatching up his backpack. Backing out of the room. "I can't stay here, I'm so sorry. I-"

"Wait." A hand caught his shoulder. Those long, elegant fingers wrapped around his shoulder, holding him in a strange grip; something firm, not friendly, not harsh. Cold and warm at the same time. The scientist was holding him tightly, looking down into the boy's wide blue eyes. "Why are you leaving?" the cold, smooth voice asked him. The boy began to struggled a little.

"I can't stay here. I don't belong here." His eyes begged the scientist to understand. "I don't fit in. It's…it's like everywhere else." Oh no, he felt the tears coming. His eyes were glistening. "I don't want to be here. No one wants me. I want….I can't…" He couldn't talk. He was going to start openly crying in a minute. Crying from frustration and despair and hate and longing. Crying because nobody got it.

"None of us belong here," the scientist told him slowly. "The Superior doesn't. He's a genius man who should be in a laboratory far, far away. Saix belongs back with the people that love him, not here with a bunch of….Nobodies. Axel belongs back in his home, doing what he loves. Xigbar belongs back at his studies, no matter how much he hates them." Was that a smile that almost bent the corners of the man's mouth. The boy shook his head.

"I don't know these people," he stammered, gulping back salt water. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. Isn't that the reason to everything?" The boy stopped cold. Froze. As hard as ice. His eyes slowly rolled up to look at the scientist.

Does he…..does he?

"You….you…" The boy tried to say something, but didn't know how. Didn't know what.

"You just don't understand, correct?" The scientist asked. "You try to, and you can't." The boy was getting uncomfortable.

"Let go!" He protested, tyring to pull free of the man's hand. "Let go, leave me alone!"

"Don't run," the other commanded him, holding him tighter. "Don't run away from what scares you." The words surprised the boy. He stopped struggling and stared up into the impassive face, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Who….who even are you?" he managed. His fingers tightened on the backpack, but he wasn't thinking of running. Not really.

"I'm Number Four," the Nobody said simply.

"You…you think I'm a coward?" The boy asked. He had to know. He had to.

"A coward?" One slim eyebrow arched. "No. I don't think you're a coward. That's not it, is it?" Those eyes…they were so deep. So thoughtful. So clear as they looked into the boy's. "Losing your heart is a very….hard thing. A very painful thing." The beautiful eyes winced. "We're Nobodies because even though we…we lost our hearts, we fought to keep on living. We keep this shell, this appearance of wholeness, even though there's nothing there." One of the elegant hands gently touched the left side of the boy's chest. The place where a heart had once been. The scientist bent down, eye level to the boy. "It must be very hard," he said slowly, "to survive something like this….to fight for life…and then not to know why you are alive. Very hard to desperately grasp to the hope that you have a reason for existence. To look for that reason….and to never find it." He paused, looking deep into the boy's eyes. "It must have been very hard indeed."

He….I think….he….maybe…those eyes…I think he understands…I think…

"You're just a child. Are you going to run away from it all?" The scientist asked bluntly. The boy's eyes instantly dropped. Disappointment.

He doesn't. He doesn't. He still thinks that the problem is me being a coward. He doesn't get it.

The disappointment of coming so close to finding someone who'd understand…almost finding someone who got it, was too much. The blue eyes filled with tears is discouragement, and the boy hastily looked away, blinking hard.

"I didn't mean running away from your fears," the scientist said quietly, "because I know that's not the issue. You're a brave person, really. Just…..sometimes, it's not easy to be brave. Not when you don't understand." The boy looked up in surprise.

Wait…wait! He…

"The question of Life and it's purpose is not an easy one," the Nobody was saying. "And I know…." he paused. "I know…from experience…" his hand pressed gently against his empty left side, "I know that it's hard to face that question when there's…nothing to feel anymore. I know that it's a frightening thing, facing the unknown." His dark eyes looked straight into the glistening blue ones. "Facing the unknown takes bravery. A lot of it. It takes a lot of determination, a lot of courage. A lot of sheer will. That's what being brave is, isn't it? Facing what you don't know." To the boy's surprise, the Nobody's eyes were shining. Shining with tears. "Don't leave," he said softly, relaxing his grip on the boy's shoulder. "We…all of us here….we're all grappling with that question of who we are, what our purpose is. We need someone as brave as you to help us." The blue eyes widened in surprise.

He…he gets it. He understands. He understands me.

The tears were gone. The boy was smiling, a shy smile, but still, a smile. A smile of being understood. A smile of someone who maybe…maybe had a chance of finding who he really was. The smile of someone who knew that the mystery of life wasn't to be feared. Someone who had gone through death and life…and still had something to hold onto. Someone who wouldn't have to face that great question of existence alone.

"So," the scientist said, straightening and blinking away the wetness from his own eyes. "Who are you?"

"What?" The boy looked up in surprise. "Oh, um.." He fumbled in his memory for the number that the Superior had used. "I'm Number Nine," he said proudly.

"I didn't ask for your number," the scientist said, a little sternly. "Who are you?" He tapped the boy's chest with those long fingers. "Who are you here?" The blonde Nobody grinned.

"I'm Demyx," he said.

"Hello, Demyx," the scientist said. And he smiled; a real, bright, brilliant smile. A smile that cracked the ice of his face. "My name is Vexen."