And here we go again.
This is your resident Anna, bringing you another fanfiction that she shouldn't be working on because she should be worrying about school. This one's different than the others—I'm doing a Zemyx-centric one. I don't know if I'm going to include other pairings as a side just yet… But if I do, they'll probably be… RiKai, SoNami, and of course, AkuRoku.
The inspiration for this fanfic comes from a few songs I've been listening to nonstop, plus a bit of information on diseases and whatnot from my health and driver's ed classes. This should turn out interesting, but… Hey, I can't know just yet.
I know it's going to be somewhat confusing at first, but things will play out.
My disclaimer will always stand, and my rating as well, for the usual reasons. Themes and Language, and I will never own the rights to Kingdom Hearts. However, I'd like to point out that this will be more mature than my other stories have been. There will be themes and events here that will far succeed my earlier work, and it starts next chapter. If you can't handle it, don't read it. If you read this, don't flame it for what happens. And again, as I've said in my other stories… This is a Boy's Love fic. If you do not like that sort of thing, do not read and flame. It is my choice what to write. It's yours what to read.
Well! Enough of the chitchat, wouldn't you say? Let's get this party started.
Prologue
Black.
Where am I?
Alone.
Am I dead…?
Dead.
No, I'm alive…
Empty.
I still can't feel it…Where is it? Why did it go away? Why can't I find it…?
Heartless.
… But that's impossible. Everyone has a heart. Everyone can feel. I can be angry, I can be happy, I can be…
Afraid?
Yes… I can fear. And I know I can feel. I'm confused… I feel confused…
Fake.
No, that's not true. That's not true! That's not…
-
The creak of a slightly worn bed filled the room, a rush of wind thundering in Zexion's ear as he jerked forward. Dull eyes surveyed the surroundings, wide with surprise to find that he was not in his home, not in his bed. The sheets here were a pristine white, contrary to his own gray, as if nothing had ever touched them. A hand glided across the surface of the bed, finding everything to be crisp and smooth. Gaze then traveled to the floor, finding white and grey tiles perfectly matched in an easy-on-the-eyes pattern. There were chairs here, too; two in the corners, and one at the foot of the metal-framed bed, all three wooden and stained rich brown, cream-colored upholstery covering the cushioning of the seat. A curtain caught his attention next, pulled back beside his bed. He followed the edge of it up to the ceiling, found a metal track on which it could be pulled all the way around, closing off the bed and one of the chairs into a small space. The ceiling tiles were enlarged versions of the floor tiles, and the walls were as white as the bedding. The metal cabinets on the far side of the wall were cleared of all objects, and door with a tainted window was shut tight, enclosing the young man in silence.
The next thing on the agenda to check was his own well-being. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with him. He was dressed in a badly-patterned gown of some sort, and he was without all accessories besides his class ring and left-ear earrings. It wasn't until he reached up to touch his head that he found something odd. A strange tugging feeling in his arm caught his attention quickly, and when Zexion finally let his eyes settle on the offending limb, seeing the needle taped in place and the line of fluid winding around and up to the bag of what he could only assume was a pain killer, everything clicked.
He was in a hospital.
But why? He didn't understand why he, as healthy as he normally was, would be in a hospital room, unable to remember what had happened to him. That didn't make any sense to him at all. He was careful. He was responsible. He was safe, and he'd never been in any accidents.
In his distress and confusion, Zexion failed to notice the shaded figures outside of the window, and only when the door opened did he look up, wide-eyed and confused, to find a woman dressed in all white, followed by another woman dressed in a light lavender shirt and khaki dress pants. The woman in front was a doctor.
The one in back was his mother.
"Zexion…!" She gasped, darting over to his side and throwing her arms around her son. The young man found himself shocked; why was she so worried? What had happened to him?! He didn't know, but somehow he felt safe in her arms, as if an unknown terror—perhaps from his dream (was it a dream?)—was gone.
The doctor soon clasped her shoulder, and shook her head at the woman. His mother's expression fell, from relieved to worry, shock, depression. She was distraught… but why? Why was his dear mother so upset? The doctor stepped in front of her, and she moved to the background.
"Zexion… My name is Doctor Lockhart. You collapsed on your way home from the store yesterday… Please, don't be afraid, but we suspect that you've contracted a new type of disease… We're doing a lot of research on it, but… We'll need to take you through a series of tests first…"
Zexion didn't know how to react. He could only stare blankly at her, until he knew he had to respond. His voice was quiet—it always was—and he didn't say much when he spoke. Speaking was something he didn't like to do much. He preferred to stay quiet, keep his logic and thoughts to himself, and only input when absolutely necessary. Now was necessary…
"… What's wrong with me…?"
-
Zexion sat silently in his hospital room, hand clasped between his mother's shaking palms. Her entire body was trembling, and she was using nearly all of her strength just to hold tears back. She couldn't stand what had happened. She couldn't stand seeing her son like this. She couldn't stand that she was going to lose…
No. Don't think about it. Just let it happen, and everything will fall back to the way it's supposed to be. It's only a dream.
But the blankness on her son's face was heart-wrenching.
He closed his eyes, and tilted his head forward. A deep breath was taken in, and he turned his head to look at his mother. His eyes opened, and the slowly fading emotions in his eyes pierced painfully into her heart. Her son was sick. Her son was fading away. Her son was going to disappear from her life, and for the remainder of his time alive, she would not see him. This was the last time she would ever, ever see his face again… and it was void of all emotion. She felt pain, guilt, regret, anger, sadness—all tearing at her from the inside and trying to pick her apart. It consumed her until she could no longer hold herself together.
She cried.
-
The low rumble of the gravel road beneath the green van soothed the young man in the farthest back seat. He was leaned up against the window, forehead touching the glass behind his veil of hair covering the right side of his face. He was asleep, safe from the world around him that was insisting on eating every part of his soul and mind.
He was enveloped in darkness, cold, but without threat to his well-being. He felt himself shiver, and he wrapped his arms around him. He took a few steps, feeling nothing beneath his feet. In the darkness, he couldn't tell if he was moving or not. The darkness was inviting to him, though, and he took what little joy he could in holding it close to him, wrapping himself in it.
But after while, he began to notice that the darkness was everything there. There were no other people. But he was a threat to people now, wasn't he? He was sick now. It didn't matter, he could handle being alone.
But… he couldn't.
He took a few more steps, and knew that he was moving this time, as his hair shifted. That was good. That meant he could run. And, he did run. He ran as fast as he could, searching for anything—a light, movement, a voice, a vibration. Anything to tell him he wasn't the only one there.
There was no one.
He stopped, began to think. He calmed himself, the inner panic compacting for the moment. He knew it would burst on him later, but if he pushed it down now he could concentrate, and that's what he did. He realized—perhaps he'd been going the wrong direction? He turned around, and began to walk, breaking out into yet another run that lasted for what seemed to be hours.
He slowed to a stop upon the realization that he could go no further, staring blankly ahead at the fading hope that continued to run, run, run as fast as it possibly could, trying to find what drove it so. But Zexion didn't have that morale. He didn't have the strength…
But he didn't want it to leave him. He didn't want it to go. He reached out, and as his arm became parallel with the unseen ground, there was a shift in the reality. A dull, purple glow created a ring; Zexion saw it as about twenty feet in diameter. From the edge, veins of the darkness broke out, weaving and zigzagging, jerking and curving until it looked as though the young man was standing on broken glass.
He stared down, tried to move his feet, and everything caved in. He jolted, began to fall, reached out to grab the edge of the circle. He managed to catch himself on it, hanging on by a mere three fingers. He told himself not to look down, but as the red glow became apparent from the depths, he couldn't help but take a glance. His eyes were immediately met by searing heat and molten rock, tugging at him, trying to pull him from the ledge.
The panic burst.
Zexion began to thrash about, trying his hardest to get his other hand up to the ledge. But as his fingers brushed against the hard surface, it broke away, sending him down, down into the depths of hell below him.
He twisted in the air, turning to face what he was doomed to be submerged in. He held his arms out, staring wide-eyed at the lava as it began to bubble up. A large mass began to rise, thinly spread over a pocket of air that continued to grow in size. It inflated more and more, until it could no longer. The surface began to ripple, and Zexion knew that should it explode, he would be covered in the substance that would surely take his life.
Time seemed to slow as the boy neared the bubble, finding himself a mere six inches from it. He closed his eyes, pulling his arms up to shield his face as his foot came in contact with the great pocket of air. The magma ripped.
But what exploded from beneath it was water.
It encased everything, gushing out and filling the tiny universe. It consumed the magma, turned it to black obsidian, and it wasted no time in swallowing Zexion, too. He gasped for air just before it took him under, managing a good breath as some unknown force of current dragged him down to the bottom. He hit back-first onto the black floor, eyes wide as he stared up at the surface of the water. The only thing visible was the wavering outline of the purple-glowing edge, no longer a perfect circle thanks to the breakage where it had dropped him.
He glanced around him; nothing but an expanse of obsidian floor. Here, he was alone. Here, he could not move. Here, was drowning…
Here, he was dying.
He began to thrash about as his air reserves gave the last that they could, but his movements were muffled, and he couldn't hang on to any control he could gain over his position. As if it were a hurricane wind, the current struck him in the side, a pain numbing his senses. He gasped, but took in nothing but water. He began to cough, strangled by the water and trying his best to get to the surface. But his body was getting heavy, and he couldn't lift himself anymore. He was sinking, and all hope had already run away, chasing after the light Zexion still hadn't found.
He reached up, the last thing his darkening vision taking hold of being the purple glow between his silhouetted fingers, very slowly starting to shine through the appendages as his body—and as far as he was concerned, existence—faded into the nothingness.
When his eyes opened again, he was staring at the open sky. He jolted upright, glanced around, and as things began to become clearer, he felt water around his wrists, flowing forward, then backward. He glanced down, seeing now the beach shore he sat on. He stood, finding an odd comfort in the warm sun and solidity of his body as he surveyed his surroundings and took in the sight of the cliffs and grasses, trees and flowers. He was alive. He was surrounded by life, by movement, noise.
He wasn't nothing.
A flicker of a form caught his attention, up at the top of a cliff. It ducked down below his field of vision, and without even considering consequences, Zexion chased it up the beach and toward the cliff face. He reached it within seconds; grasping the rock and attempting to pull himself up, driven by an unknown force. Perhaps it was the fact that if there really was a person—no, any living being; animal or human—he wasn't alone. He wasn't alone, and that's all that mattered to him. He could make it through any obstacle in this place, so long as he was no longer his only company. If climbing the cliff was what it would take to get that relief, to get his hope back, then he would launch himself up the wall and to the grassy surface.
As he gripped the rocks tightly in his hands, knuckles white as he pulled himself up, he could only hope that whoever had been up at the top was still there. If they weren't, he would search. If he didn't find anyone, he would assume that he had been simply seeing things, and he would live on the island, waiting for hope to return to him, to give him something to live for.
His efforts were rewarded as he reached the edge of the cliff, and he pulled himself up, collapsing on his forearms and knees, curled into a ball on the ground. He was silent, the only sound his heavy breathing that was drowned out by the roar of the ocean below, the rustle of the wind in the trees. He tried to move, tried to look around, but his body refused. He was stuck in place, now of all times, when he needed to move the most. In his frustration and determination, he began to shake. He gathered up all of his remaining strength, his concentration great and powerful, willpower bringing his arms off the ground and hands pressing into the dirt. He shoved forward, and found himself halfway up. But, he couldn't stop there. It was only halfway. His commanded his legs to move, tried with all his might to get them to stand, and when they did, he was proud of himself. He spread his feet to keep his balance a little better, and glanced around.
No one.
His eyes widened, and he felt a pain surge through him. He'd come all this way, and for what? The one he sought wasn't here, and he was too weak to walk. He'd run, he'd climbed, he'd nearly drowned. And now he was standing on top of a cliff with nothing left. He closed his eyes, felt his shoulders convulse, and was hardly surprised when he felt the tear begin to stream down his face. He clenched his fists, and as if that took all the energy remaining in his body, he fell forward. The only thing he had to be thankful for was that he wasn't tipping off of the cliff.
He mentally braced himself for the impact of the ground, expecting a loud thud and loss of consciousness shortly after. However, when it didn't come, he opened his eyes. It was now that he noticed the warmth on his shoulder, across his stomach. He was gently lowered to the ground, but instead of his head hitting the ground, Zexion saw the world around him spin, and the back of his head hit something softer than cold dirt. He wasn't looking at the ground anymore.
He now saw the blue sky, dotted and streaked with puffy white clouds. He saw birds fly, and he saw… a person; a teenage boy, looking to be only a year or two younger than him. His hair was a little bit screwy, but to Zexion, that didn't matter. Striking blue-green eyes stared down at him, and a perfect smile crossed his lips. The young man could only stare up at him; dull eyes wide with surprise, relief, happiness, shock—love? He could deal with that, he thought. If this world was just the two of them, he could handle it.
The boy's hand rose, and pressed to the side of Zexion's cheek. It wiped away tears that were now freely and silently falling, and as it began to move away, the young man found new strength—enough to reach up and grab the fleeing hand. He stared up at him, silent, wanting nothing more than to just stay there with him. Head in his lap, hand clasping hand, he had to bring forth the smallest of smiles. He felt warm, strong—he felt safe. He was okay now… The light of the boy sitting with him bathed him in care, in emotions he thought were gone. The hope was back, and it was shining brilliantly over him.
Words were spoken now, softly, gently. "… Who are you…?"
"My name is Demyx," the boy replied just as quietly.
"Demyx… You know, Demyx…?" He closed his eyes and squeezed the boy's hand as light began to consume everything around them. It swallowed the ocean, the trees, the grass, the ground… everything, until Demyx was all that was left.
"I could get used to this…"
-
The sudden feeling that the motions around him had ceased tore Zexion from his paradise, and he sat upright suddenly as a loud noise brought him fully awake. It hit him all too quickly that he'd been in a dream, that he was still alone. He looked around, seeing that his door had opened. A man in a perfect black suit held it for him, gesturing over to the front gates. As he stepped out, Zexion was ushered over to the giant iron gate, which opened in front of him automatically.
Inside the high walls of the city, the young man found himself staring at cobblestone walkways, tall buildings made of sturdy stone and mortar, shops, people, cars. The entrance in front of the gate was large and round, with an impressive fountain in the middle, layers of unidentified rock or plaster running water in odd directions and creating the look of a hundred waterfalls in one structure. People crowded around it, on cell phones and with friends. This was a full-fledged community, and Zexion was now being forced to be a part of it.
He turned to one of the men. "… Are… all these people sick…?" He asked quietly, and the man nodded. Zexion turned back to the scene ahead of him. 'So much for 'new disease'…' He thought, holding onto his bags tightly.
Another young man, about his age, was sent to greet him at the fountain, show him around the community, and enroll him in the university. He introduced himself as Roxas, Zexion's new apartment roommate. In a couple of months, he was allowed to leave their apartment and live alone if he so wished, but the rules made it clear that he had to spend at least ten weeks with another resident to get used to the environment.
At the end of their trip, when Zexion had put his things away, Roxas told him of the nearby beach, surrounded by cliffs. They were easy to scale, he said, so the newcomer to the community set out to go and find them.
Taking a path he somehow knew without help from the blond, he made his way over to the beach, standing at the edge of the cliffs. He then dropped down carefully, climbing most of the way and then jumping to land on his feet. He stepped over to the water's edge, and stopped, looking up. The sky was mostly clear, the perfect amount of tiny white clouds speckling and floating, spreading, constricting, and doing all of those other cloud-like things. He was mesmerized by their pattern, and didn't notice anything else until a particularly large swell of water hit his feet. He looked down, seeing the crystal clear waters. The farther out he looked, the more colorful everything got. There were fish of almost every color, all swimming in strange paths, likening the water to a kaleidoscope. The colors swirled, mixed, and separated again. Distracted by their movements, he almost didn't notice the breeze at his neck, calming every nerve in his body. This place was a real paradise, and it didn't look like anyone else knew about this particular spot. Anyone in their right mind, and several in their wrong ones, would spend as much time here as possible.
As he turned away to look back at the cliffs, checking for anyone else, something caught his eye. The makeup of the cliffs from this angle was oddly familiar… He scanned over them, trying everything to remember where he'd seen them. He'd never been around a place like this before in his life—hell, never had he been anywhere near ocean—and he had no idea why he would ever come to cliffs in a place like… this…
It hit him.
In a violent rush, everything from his dream came back; the blackness, the loneliness, falling into that abyss, drowning, waking up in a paradise, Demyx. He whirled around, trying to find that particular place in which he'd seen the boy before, and when he saw the cliff that looked eerily like it's slightly-damaged twin, he ran to it, grabbing the wall and pulling himself up. It was the highest point on the beach, but he didn't care. Gripping rock and dirt in his fingers, Zexion pulled and pulled until he was no longer on the cliff face, but standing weak and tired on grass, staring at the emptiness. A pain shot through him, bursting from the deepest part of what heart he still had. Emotion? Perhaps, or maybe the pain was from overworking his already-weak body.
Either way, Zexion hit the floor, slightly alarmed and greatly disappointed that this time, his body and the ground actually connected.
So, there was gonna be even more to this prologue, but I figured I'd cut it off here. It's longer than most of the stuff I do, anyway, and I like this. The other half of the prologue will end up being chapter 1.
What'dya guys think of the new work? Yeah, Puppet Strings and Trapped in the Cold will end up being a little… late, thanks to this and Anime Central over the weekend. Ah, well. I'll get to 'em!
Comments? Suggestions? Questions? Review if you want answers!
Love you all!
The Melodious Nocturne Stalker
(A.K.A., Anna)