A/N: I figured I might as well post this four-shot, since I'll be without a computer for a few months in about a week. Love it, hate it, don't feel one way or the other, just let me know- also, if I should continue posting it or not. Personally, I kind of like the idea of Demyx as a little more mature than he's portrayed in the games.
Also, the picture for this comes from deviant art, and it's called "Poisoned Skies", by the artist Disthymya. Check'em out, they've got some great stuff.
Anywho, enjoy.
I was nervous.
In my life, I'd done a lot of stuff that a lot of people would get nervous about- performing in front of thousands of people, public speaking, getting shot at- but for the most part, none of that made me too nervous. Except for the getting shot at part. That always got me.
But as of my first day back in school, I was nervous about something else.
When I say something else, I mean my freakin' life. You got it, right?
It was a hot August day, the sun a diamond in the sky providing a curiously golden backlight to the puffy clouds skidding from one end of the horizon to the other. I bounced along the sidewalk, hands grasping my back pack straps, humming along to my iPod, trying to ignore the feeling of everyone looking at me; in my defense, it was harder than it seemed. I could imagine what they were thinking- who is this guy, skipping around here like some freshman, looking so old? It made me walk faster, take bigger steps, and generally feel like sprinting all the way to my next class.
Like I said, I was nervous.
By the time I got to the building my class was in, I had a light sweat going; power walking in jeans and a black button down shirt in the Florida sun will do that to you. Don't judge.
As I walked through the glass doors, a wave of cool (and blessedly dry) air washed over me, and I paused, breathing a deep sigh. A quick glance at my watch told me I was still twenty minutes early for my class- early is on time, on time is late, and all- so I unslung my bag from my shoulders and eyed the couch that was placed so conveniently next to a water fountain.
I looked around, wondering only for a moment if it was okay for me to sit, before I just thought, fuck it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? With another sigh, I dropped into the cushions, and let my head loll back.
Kids- I mean, students- walked passed me, going in and out of the building, some hurrying, others, chatting with friends. I wanted to keep my eyes closed, maybe catch a mini-nap or something- but every time someone would walk by, my eyes would open a little bit. It bugged me. I kept telling myself, hey, man, chill out. You're safe. C'mon.
Still, I'd crack an eyelid at every approach, just to make sure.
Over there they called it situational awareness. Here it's just paranoia.
By the time I was all cooled off from my light jog to the building, I was feeling sleepy. The couch was just too damn comfortable, really. Right underneath an air vent, cushions all soft-but-not-too-soft, just warm enough against my back. I huffed a breath as another pair of kids, neither of'em older than twenty, walked by me, joking and laughing. I couldn't help but look at their hands.
With a spike of irritation, I crossed my arms against my chest, resolving to let the next person pass without looking. I could do it. I knew I could do it. I'd done harder things. Goddamn it, I was totally capable of keeping my eyes closed. Let's do it. Rah.
I heard the door open, and the kid- I assumed it was a kid, 'cause his shoes made almost no noise, so they had to be rubber soled- stopped after a few steps. I really hoped he wasn't looking at me. I figured I looked weird enough- being older than a great majority of the students at the university- but more than that, I felt the beginnings of panic.
I couldn't see his hands.
I couldn't see anything.
Why the hell was he just standing there?
Come on kid, go. Gah, what the fuck?
My eyes snapped open and I realized I was panting and gasping for air, and that pesky sweat had come back. The kid in front of me- for yes, it was a kid, eighteen, maybe nineteen, with slate gray hair hiding half his face- was stopped, staring at me like I had two heads.
I took a big gulp of air and blew it out hard, looking away from the kid, trying to tell myself it wasn't weird that I was hyperventilating in front of some stranger because I'd kept my eyes closed for a second. Despite my best efforts, though, I couldn't help but blush. My whole plan of blending in with the student population was clearly off to a great start.
"Are you alright?"
I jumped a little when the kid spoke, but I looked at him. He still looked at me like I was insane, and he gripped his professional looking messenger bag like he was prepared to defend himself with it.
"Um. Yeah. Sorry. Bad dream." I tried to ignore the silly little fluttery feeling I got in my stomach from looking at him- cute guys kind of have that effect on me- and instead flashed him a smile that I hoped was two parts convincing, one part charming. I then realized I was hugging myself like a long lost lover, and immediately untangled my arms.
The boy, in the meantime, had raised an eyebrow at my disconnected statements. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, apparently eager to be out of my presence, and muttered, "Well, alright then," before turning and pacing away from me as fast as his black slacks would allow.
I watched him go, then ran a hand through my hair.
College was already off to a great start.
-.-.
I strolled into my Philosophy class, hoping I was in the right room. It was still five minutes until the class started, but I wasn't the only one to show up early. In the far back row, a girl in a straw cowboy hat was reading a book. A really dark guy sporting a soccer shirt with the Jamaican flag on it leaned his chin on the heel of his hand. He looked asleep.
And in the front row, the kid who'd scared the ever loving Christ out of me sat, hands folded neatly in his lap. Just my luck. You'd have thought I pissed in God's cornflakes, the way my day was going.
The kid glanced at me as I walked in, and I blushed and looked away; chose a seat near the front, but far from him. Hopefully the rest of the class wouldn't be able to tell I was a freak when they walked in.
In the time between when I sat down and when the teacher closed the door behind him, a good thirty or forty students spilled in the classroom, some of them just barely getting in before the door closed. I snorted a laugh. They were paying forty thousand a year to be late to class? Fuck that noise.
The class itself, Philosophy 101, was, judging from the course outline, exactly what I expected it to be: an absolute waste of time, a filler for my GPA. It cheered me up, knowing I was going to get an A so early on in the semester. As the teacher described the grading scale, I let my mind wander- the apartment I'd rented with my buddy Axel, the new motorcycle I'd bought, the kid in the front row- wait, hold on. Forget that last bit.
I tried to redirect my thoughts from him, but to my chagrin, I couldn't. It irked me that he'd looked at me like I was crazy.
I wasn't.
Well… Not really, anyway. Maybe just a little.
I glanced at him, then back to the teacher.
And back. And forth.
Near the end of the class, the teacher took a moment to call roll, and I piped up when he said my name, but didn't pay much attention to anything else he said. That is, until he started pointing and counting.
"One, two, three, four…"
I leaned over to the kid next to me, whispering, "What's goin' on now? Why's he counting?"
He smiled brightlty in response. "He's giving us our project partners. We'll be working together and stuff for the rest of the semester."
I thanked him with a smile, but my heart sank at his words. Partner? I didn't want a partner; education was hard enough for me, myself and I, without having to worry about some snot nosed brat who'd just left mommy and daddy for the first time. Five years ago, I wouldn't have given two shits about my grades, but now was another matter. School meant, if nothing else, a promotion.
The professor pointed at me, "Six," and moved on. I looked around, and to my surprise, caught Front Row kid staring at me.
Well, not so much staring as glaring, but whatever. Practically the same thing.
When the professor finished counting, he walked back to the front of the room, telling us to pair up with people who had our number and get to know them a little. I could practically hear the sadistic laughter in his voice. Bastard.
Front Row kid waved a hand at me, pulling me from my "I hate you" stare at the professor, to raise a questioning brow at him. He sighed theatrically.
"You got six, right?"
I nodded.
"Then I'm your partner. Come down here."
It irked me that this kid thought he rated ordering me around, but I let it slide. First day of school. Play nice with the other kids, Demyx.
I yanked my bag off the floor, walked down the stairs and behind other kids, dropping into the seat next to the kid.
I had to admit, he was pretty cute, especially close up. Soft skin, cute, pouty lips, and it looked like he had some baby blues that could make even straight guys swoon. But something in his mannerisms was beginning to rub me the wrong way. I couldn't figure out what it was.
"So," he started speaking, and it kind of caught me by surprise. He looked like the quiet type. I'll admit, he had me fooled. "I don't expect you to understand, but I am extremely serious about class. It's fine if you don't feel you need to contribute to our group projects, but I will not let my grades suffer. However, if you do not pull your weight, I will make sure the professor knows it, and you can expect a lower grade than me."
Oh, that's what it is. He's an asshole.
After the surprise had worn off from his little speech, I glared at him. Suddenly, he wasn't as cute as before he'd opened his mouth. Pretentious little dick.
"Look, kid, you do what you want, but I'm here at college to do work." I felt embarrassed, like I wasn't using big enough words. The kid scoffed, and my scowl deepened. "Some of us actually come here to get an education, and- oh, hey, newsflash- not all of us depend on mommy and daddy to pay for it. So you can sit there and talk down to me all you want, but I'm all about college." I resisted mightily the urge to add and stuff, but it still seemed too little, too late.
The kid turned his head to me, giving me the once over with his one visible eye, and- god, can you believe the balls on this kid?- muttered, "Better late than never, I suppose."
I'm not one for violence, and I'll be the first to tell you; but right then, I seriously considered a change in policy. "Excuse me?" I hissed through clenched teeth. This kid was just pressing every button I owned, and then some, y'know?
"Well," he studied his fingernails in a disinterested manner, "clearly you either fell off the wagon or missed the train completely for your first time in higher education. I'm not judging you, of course-" his tone clearly implied he was, "- but aren't you a little old to be taking a class whose students are composed mainly of freshman and sophomore undergraduates? Perhaps your priorities have changed since you were my age, but I won't leave my grades up to chance."
I knew I was blushing. My face felt hot, along with the rest of my body, but I told myself I wasn't going to punch him square in the nose. I wasn't one for violence, after all- but he hit the nail pretty solidly on the head. God, what a dick.
With a huff, I crossed my arms over my chest again, faced forward and leaned back in my chair, kicking my feet up on the desk. "Yeah, well…" I crossed my arms tighter over my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this motherfucker smirk and shake his head. I breathed deeply through my nose. "Running around in a desert and getting shot at on the other side of the world for four years does amazing things for your priorities." I hoped he could hear the unspoken asshole at the end of that sentence, but I didn't bet on it.
The smirk had disappeared, and now it appeared that he was blushing- which would have, maybe, kind of, sort of been cute if the kid wasn't a giant douchebag- but he didn't say anything.
The rest of that class passed in awkward silence between us, and when the teacher finally let us go, I was up and out of the door before he was done talking.
As I power-walked to my bike, I couldn't stop the sarcastic thoughts from springing to mind, shaking my head at the idea of spending the next five months partnered with that snarky little jerk face.
College was going to be great.
-.-.
The next day was better.
And when I say better, I mean "pants-shittingly terrifying". You followed that, right?
The first two classes of the day were easy enough. A speech class, a math class- but that's where the normal ended, and quite abruptly, at that.
See, I chose the college I chose for one reason, and one reason only: it was literally across the street from where I went to high school, which was a block or so away from where I grew up as a kid. I came back to my hometown in Florida after five years running around getting shot at in some desert shit hole because, why the hell not? I figure once you've made being shot at your occupational specialty, there isn't a whole lot any one can say to make you regret a decision.
However, the instructor for my third class that Tuesday was about as close as anyone's ever come to making me wish I'd chosen some quiet college in the Northeast, instead of the world's best aeronautical university.
"So, Demyx, why don't you land the plane?"
Let me explain something, just real quick; I'd never flown anything, ever, at all, prior to that discovery flight that constituted my first flight block. And that flight block was considered a legitimate class, that I could very well fail if I didn't meet the standards.
So when my instructor pilot had told me we were going flying for our first class, I thought, hey, yeah- that's pretty sweet. I was pretty lucky. But when he told me to land the airplane, the first thing that popped to mind was that I'd be the first student in ten years to crash an airplane. Everyone would think I was just another dumb grunt who failed at college. Worse, though, I'd die having been celibate for over a year, not even getting to bone that cute kid in my Philoso- ah, hell. There I go again.
I turned to my IP, with this kind of placating smile, hoping he was joking- no dice. He was grinning broadly at me, and though I couldn't see his eyes behind the aviator glasses, I can say with utter confidence that his expression was nothing short of malicious.
"I, uh, don't think-"
"No, really, it's fine! You'll do fine!"
"Yeah, I know that, but maybe-"
"Demyx, you have the flight controls."
I won't tell you I let out something between a whine and gurgle then, but I won't deny it either.
And it was in that manner that my first Tuesday back at college went from "oh hey, I think I can do this," to "Oh, God, please don't let me die here" in under an hour and a half of engine time.
By the arrival of Philosophy 101 on Wednesday, I was quite sure that between irritatingly obnoxious project partners and psychotic pilots that vastly overrated the abilities of ground pounders like myself, I was probably going to struggle more with college than I had with infantry.
-.-.
As soon as I walked into class that day, I wanted to walk right back out.
Front Row kid- whose name I had yet to find out- was sitting in the exact same spot as the first class, with his little binder and pencils and pens all set out and neatly organized. He glanced up at me as I walked in, and boy, you just wouldn't think there could be so much contempt in eyes that pretty. It was a shame, I thought to myself as I decided to be the most obnoxious asshole I could. In my line of work, cute guys were hard to come by, and even then, there was that whole thing about getting kicked out of my job for wanting to bone another person with dangly bits.
Too damn bad then, I thought again, dropping my stuff and settling in nice and close to Front Row kid. The first cute guy I see when I'm finally not danger close to the big green weenie happens to be a total prick.
As if he could hear what I was thinking, he turned his head towards me, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, tucking his chin, and curling his lip in a sneer.
I grinned cheerily up at him after leaning back, resting my feet on the table and intertwining my fingers over my stomach. If this guy wanted to be a douchebag, well, let him. That's a game I can easily get in on.
Wordlessly, he turned away from me, bristling.
I sighed contentedly, wiggling my foot in the empty air. Considered for a moment putting my earphones back in until class started. Maybe through the duration of class. I mean, really, who the fuck cares about Philosophy? I bet the professor didn't even give a fuck. And then the kid spoke in a rush, and I had to hide the self satisfied grin that snuck across my lips. Waiting game = success.
"Listen, I didn't mean to offend you the other day."
I closed my eyes, and gave up trying to hide my smile.
"Right."
He huffed a breath. "I didn't. You took offense for no reason. I was simply trying to tell you-"
"So you calling me old was no reason?"
"-how serious I am about gr- no, I mean-" he broke off, flustered. "That was my mistake. I shouldn't have judged you. But in my defense, you attacked me first."
I didn't say anything for a second, instead opened my eyes to study him.
Minus the whole douchebag thing, he didn't seem to be that bad of a guy. Young, maybe- I guess that comment about mommy and daddy had struck home- but he didn't look like someone who was an asshole. At least, not a constant, purposeful asshole, anyway.
He was still in his defensive posture, arms crossed, chin tucked, single visible eye darting back and forth between me and whatever it was that interested him on his blank sheet of notebook paper.
I let my grin soften into a genuine smile with a sigh, and stuck out my hand. I could let a teeny-tiny bit of douchebaggery slide, especially for a cute guy. So what if I'm shallow? I'm a lover, not a fighter. Kind of.
"Fine. Th'name's Demyx."
He gazed at my hand for a second, looking all kinds of reluctant, before tentatively reaching out to shake. To my surprise, he had a pretty firm grip, despite the expression on his face that said he'd rather not be touching me. I couldn't help but grin a little bit again; he had soft hands. He broke off the handshake a couple of seconds later, but didn't return to that arms crossed business he'd done before.
Leaning forward, he picked up a pencil and began scrutinizing it, spinning it around in his slender fingers.
One, two, three, four, stop. Around. One, two, three, four, stop. Around.
He said something. I wasn't quite paying attention- zoned out watching him twirl the pencil, trying to surreptitiously examine the color of his eye ('cause upon closer inspection, I found some gray in that gorgeous dark blue) without meeting his gaze instead.
"Say wha?"
He glanced at me briefly with an expression that could have meant, 'I know you're retarded, despite how well you hide it', but I figured he didn't mean it that way.
"I said my name is Zexion."
I processed this, trying to project an expression of… Thinking it over. I tapped a finger to my chin just below my lip, gazing at the ceiling.
"Well, Zexion- can I call you Zex? No? Okay, then. Well, Zexion, I think we'll work just fine together."
I grinned again and he sighed, shaking his head. But at least he wasn't being a dick, if only for the time being.
"Just fine, indeed."
Danger close means being within 600 meters of an artillery strike; in context here, it means being a part of the organization that, while paying the bills, also fucks us. With its large, digital camo winkie.
Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!
Cheers! - ARA
