Another one from the depths of my stories folder. I think I wrote this one sometime last year. It's one of my better (and longer!) one shots, so I figured I'd post it. And in case anyone knows my lj account - yes, I do cross-post. Usually stuff goes up on lj, I reread and edit it, and then it goes up here. Don't remember if this has been edited, so apologies for any mistakes. Enjoy!

"Blue Rose"
Zemyx

Zexion knew he was being watched. The feeling had gone on for days now, but he never could catch whoever it was. Throughout the lectures at university, as he walked around the campus, even when he took the chance to go out somewhere in the city – he was always being watched.

At first, the very thought of someone constantly watching him had been rather terrifying. What did they want; why were they doing it? Who were they?

Yet, over time, those questions started to change. Zexion was getting used to the prickling at the back of his neck, and he no longer tried to catch the watcher unawares with sudden movements. It took strength of mind not to, but he had decided to see what would happen. The watcher surely knew that he had worked it out, but had done nothing more than stare while Zexion himself was being cautious. So, Zexion wondered, what would happen if he acted blasé about it? If he pretended to not care, would the watcher grow disinterested, or would they become bolder? Or would they not change at all, content to stay at a distance and just watch?

His latest questions were answered quickly enough. It was only two weeks since he had first noticed his watcher, and it occurred in a place that really shouldn't have allowed for such a thing to happen.

He was at the university, lecturing in the science department as usual, and had just finished his last spiel about genetics. Deciding that he needed sustenance, and not particularly wanting to have to carry all of his materials and books around with him, he left all of his things on the podium and table at the front of the auditorium and left for the university café. He locked the door as he left, that he was sure of, but when he returned twenty minutes later things were not as he had left them.

Sitting on top of all his papers and books, which had also been neatened into a couple of stacks that would be far easier for him to pack into his bag to take home, was a new addition to his belongings. Worried, Zexion hurried forward to check that everything was there – he had left everything but his keys and wallet – but there was nothing missing. The only change to what he had left there was a single blue rose.

Drawing in a breath, Zexion reached down to gently pick up the flower. He knew, from his unfortunate choice in friends, that the blue rose had many meanings, very strong meanings, that he supposed fit very well with the situation he had found himself in. A white rose which had been dyed to the new colour, the blue rose represented mysteries and attaining the impossible; hope against the unattainable love; love at first sight; being enchanted by someone or something; and a majestic and regal splendour.

Turning the rose over in his fingers, noting that all the thorns had been stripped off, Zexion then cast a wary eye around the lecture hall. All the doors had been locked, so that meant that whoever had put the rose there had never left. And, unless they had somehow managed to slip out while he wasn't watching, they were still in the room.

Then, from far down the back corridor, used only by the university staff, he heard a door slam shut and almost swore. Of course, he had never bothered to lock the back door. That door led to a series of corridors that only the staff ever used, or were allowed to use. His mysterious friend had a lot of courage, and knowledge, to be using that way at their exit.

Zexion knew then that he could no longer ignore his watcher after that. He was intrigued by whoever it was now, this person who seemed to be very informed, and very determined. And, by the rose's significance, very much in love with him yet convinced that it was an impossible love. Well, they would never know if they continued to dance around each other like this.

It was time to join the game.

At his next lecture in that same auditorium, one week later, Zexion had a surprise for his watcher ready. For as long as he had been presenting this course in genetics, he had always found it hard to find the right examples for some of the points he was discussing. Now though, his friend had given him the perfect illustration for presenting the idea of genetic modification in plants.

"As most of you should know, there has been much discussion in recent years about genetically modifying the crops that we produce around the world to make them less susceptible to disease, hardier against harsh environmental conditions, and better for us by increasing the production of certain vitamins and minerals within the plant – also known as GM Foods."

Here he paused, briefly considering how well his next point would go down with his audience, before continuing with, "But what you may not know is that this process of altering plants has been happening for hundreds of years in regards to the floriculture industry."

Surprise showed on the faces of many of the young students, and one or two of the girls started laughing softly, but all returned to taking notes not long after. Zexion, busy watching for someone who seemed unusually surprised or interested in the sudden tangential topic change, was disappointed at the uniform response throughout his class. But then his heart soared again. His watcher was not to be caught out that easily, and that made his interest in whoever they were swell.

"Using techniques such as selective breeding, the floriculture industry, and indeed most of the horticulture industries, has been developing lines of plants that match the needs of the industry for as long as humans have wanted decorative plants. Recently however, these techniques have begun to be based more in the laboratories, genetic sciences taking over in place of the old trial-and-error methods. A perfect example of this is the Blue Rose."

A ripple of muttering and soft exclamations ran through Zexion's audience as a picture of a beautifully coloured blue rose appeared on the screen behind him. Mentally noting that the reference to roses was being received far better than his usual speech, Zexion again tried to find his watcher in the crowd. Unfortunately, he still could not pick out any one person among the crowd. The reactions had been so mixed yet so strong all throughout his listeners that no one stood out.

Resuming his lecture, Zexion gave a quick overview of the impossibility of finding a blue rose in nature because of the genetic limitations of all roses. He then moved on to explain, in as short amount of time as he could, how the current search to make a blue rose via genetic manipulation and splicing was having trouble getting the exact shade of blue that the industry wanted.

"The frantic search for the right genes for the right colouration is not only to prove it is possible to go against the laws of nature," Zexion continued, "but also because of the historical meanings of the blue rose that makes it so sought after by consumers."

As he listed the meaning of the blue rose, and the origin of these meanings, Zexion couldn't help but allow a small smile to drift across his face. Let his watcher hide in the crowd, he knew he had managed to get his message across.

He understood what the rose meant, and he had made his move in the game. Now it was his watcher's turn.

It was, once more, one week later when Zexion found out what the next part of the game would be. All week he had been watching and waiting for when the next gesture from his watcher, and after one week of nothing he had come to the conclusion that it was either because they could not find the right chance, or they were waiting for the week to tick over, to follow their previous pattern. Or both.

Deciding that he could work with both of those, Zexion decided to retrace his footsteps of two weeks ago, and took a short break after his last lecture of the day to head down to the on campus café. Just like before he took only his keys and his wallet and spent twenty minutes sipping his coffee in between bites of a slice of cake. And, just like that time now so long ago, when he returned to the lecture hall all his notes and materials were stacked up neatly.

This time however there was no rose sitting on top of the piles. Instead, a small, unobtrusive card sat in the middle of the now clear podium. Picking it up, Zexion frowned slightly. It was a business card, one that contained the name and address of a café in the city that Zexion often went to in his spare time. Only, this card had an addition to the usual details. In tiny writing, with neatly formed characters sitting in a perfect line, 'Saturday, 1:30 pm,' was scrawled across the bottom.

Zexion stared at the date and time for a minute or so, then chuckled very softly as he slid his books into his bag. It seemed that his boldness in answering to the rose had spurred on his watcher, so much so that the other was suggesting a meeting.

Well then. It was a date.

Shaking off the cold of the weather outside and running a hand through his hair to fix up the mess the wind had made, Zexion glanced cautiously around the café as he entered. If he had read into the note properly, his watcher was planning to meet him here. So far, no one seemed all that suspicious among the crowd of waiters, customers and the one lone entertainer playing over on the far side of the room, but that did not mean that his friend was not there. Or perhaps they had not arrived yet.

Deciding that things would work themselves out in the end, Zexion simply took a seat in the corner nearest to the kitchens and pulled out a handful of assignments he had to grade before his next lecture. A waitress came and took his order for a cappuccino and returned with it minutes later, and he was left alone to his marking. Minutes passed and nothing happened but for the occasional pause in the musician's playing.

It was around twenty minutes after he entered the café that Zexion finally looked up, confused. The young man on the stage with a guitar in hand had been silent for quite some time, just sitting there looking at his watch. It took another minute, but when he finally looked up he had the attention of the entire café.

"Sorry for interrupting you all," he said as he grinned sheepishly and let a hand run through his hair – nerves, Zexion concluded – "but I just wanted to make a little announcement. This next song, well," he stumbled over his words slightly and Zexion began to wonder just what had made him so nervous. "This song, it's dedicated to someone. And, well, they're here today, so I just wanted to make sure they were listening first." Looking down at his guitar, fiddling with a couple of the strings to check the tuning, he finally strummed a whole chord and lifted his head again to smile at the audience. "Hope you enjoy it."

As the first bars of sweet harmony floated through the café, Zexion felt a sense of apprehension creep up on him. It couldn't be, it absolutely couldn't, and yet…

"I saw you, sitting there, waiting patiently. You looked on past and drew the last and never noticed me. But I know, I saw, you looked lost and lone. 'Cause you were still waiting there while the world passed you by.

You never moved, never smiled, sitting silently. So I looked for you and followed you and never let you go. 'Cause you know, you understand, when I told the truth. 'Cause I am still waiting here, waiting for your smile.

You are my blue rose, impossible to win. And you are my dear love, will you follow me? For I'll show you the whole world and never let you go. For I know where we could go, together we'd be free…"

Zexion stared, dumbfounded and awestruck, as the blonde musician continued playing through another few verses and choruses. Not once did the guitarist open his eyes throughout it, until the very last refrain when, suddenly, bright blue locked with Zexion's lone visible eye, and the last lines of the tune whispered across the distant between them.

"You are my blue rose, possibly to win. And you are my dear love, will you follow me? For I'd show you the whole world and never let you go. For we could go far from here, together we'd be free…

My blue rose."

Fifteen minutes later, once the young musician had said his farewells to a boisterous round of applause, Zexion waved a waitress over. Her writing pad ready to take his order, he shook his head and smiled at her. "Ask the musician what he would like. I will pay for it, no matter what he orders."

The girl nodded after a moment of hesitation, then wandered over to where the blonde man was carefully packing his guitar into its case. As she explained it to him, his expression went from confused to joyful, and he sent a bright grin to where Zexion was sitting. He turned back to the waitress and she quickly jotted down what he had said, dashing back to the kitchen to put in the order.

Zexion watched, bemused, as the musician cast a look around the small stage to check that everything was in order, but felt an odd stirring of nervousness when the man turned and began to walk his way.

"Thanks for the shout," the man said. "Is it okay if I sit here?"

"Of course," Zexion replied, finding his usually unlimited vocabularies suddenly become incredibly stunted. "Sit where you would like."

Moments of silence passed between them, and another waitress came over to put down the blonde man's chai tea and take the money for it from Zexion, and that finally broke the stillness.

"Thanks again."

Smiling slightly, Zexion muttered a quick, "no problem," then went back to staring into his own, now empty, cup of coffee. Finally deciding that the situation was becoming ridiculous, he continued, "I didn't buy you that for free."

The man laughed at that. "I was sure you didn't. What did you want in return?" There was laughter and happiness sparkling in his eyes, but also an undercurrent of something else. Doubt, perhaps, and something like fear.

Zexion paused as if to consider the question for a moment. "I would like to know something about you, if I could. Anything will do, apart from the fact that you play guitar and sing, and perform here every Saturday lunch and Wednesday night."

"You remember me." The blonde looked surprised, and happier.

"Of course." Zexion raised an eyebrow – the visible one – at the other man's statement. "I quite enjoy your music."

This time when the man laughed it sounded almost nervous. "Thanks. It's nice to get compliments about my playing. I'm not that confident about it." He ran a hand through his hair, that odd mullet and Mohawk mix that suited him so well, and smiled.

"Believe me; your musical talents are excellent. I would like to know however what a student studying a unit in genetics is doing playing music in their spare time."

Suddenly stunned, the blonde blinked and stared at Zexion for a few seconds. "You recognised me?"

"Of course," Zexion responded again.

"Well," the blonde replied to Zexion's earlier question, "music is really just my hobby. I'm doing a degree in marine sciences, and I chose to do a genetics unit as a part of my electives. It's a good thing too, 'cause—"

"Because…?" Zexion prompted when the man cut himself off mid-sentence. He was curious; would the blonde man actually expose himself as the mysterious watcher?

Instead of continuing, the man just shook his head. "What brings you here today then?"

Zexion almost laughed at the sudden change of topic. Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

"As a matter of fact, I was invited here." Now looking purposefully at the man across from him, Zexion drew his words out. "Someone who was been following me around for a while now left me a card that said to meet here today around the time I arrived."

"Oh?" The laughter was back in the musician's eyes. "And you're just sitting here chatting away with me? Isn't that a bit rude to whoever invited you here?"

"Perhaps," Zexion said, "though I am quite sure that, at the moment, they don't really mind."

There was a minute of silence in which the two just stared at each other across the expanse of a small table in the corner of a stereotypical coffee shop, and then the blonde man broke out into a smile.

"Perhaps you're right." Holding his hand out to be shaken, he added, "I'm Demyx."

The older man smiled. "Zexion."