Ok, here we go. I don't own the rights to anything, let alone FF XIII. Also, I really don't intend to say much outside of the story itself. That being said, let's get on with it.

Chapter 1

"As you tear me to pieces,

You are beautiful"

In This Moment

'Sick Like Me'

The readout on the digital clock said it was 2:39 AM as Frizzy started the coffee maker. Again. It hissed for a moment, then began to gurgle and bubble as the hot, brown fluid began to drip. He treasured the sound, as it allowed him a short reprieve from his thoughts. He sighed, then peered out the window. Lightning flashed, and he turned away, a small smile on his face. He had always loved storms.

His friends called him Frizzy, or any number of variations on the name Frizzy, such as Frizz, Frizzo, Frizzle Frye, etc. It was so rare for him to hear his birth name that it always took him by surprise. Frizzy was a short, thin young man with long, curly brown hair and glasses.

He hadn't been sleeping well, nor had he eaten much of anything in the last few weeks. On the days he could sleep it amounted to just a few short hours between sunrise and noon. Every night he would wait for his roommates, Ahmed and Colton to pass out before making pot after pot of coffee and pacing. Sometimes he would reach for one of the numerous guitars that crowded the apartment, yet he couldn't bring himself to lift, nor play any of them.

Other nights he would put in a movie, yet he could only listen to it as he paced in a ponderous circuit about the place. Video games no longer held his attention. Music, which he loved above all the arts, was muted and tinny to his ears. In summary, he felt like he was half past dead. Frizzy had become hollow, distant, and much less than a shadow of himself.

Now, Frizzy has this... failing. He tends to get attached to people, and when they leave it shatters him. This probably isn't all that uncommon, however, not all of the afflicted people tend to shut down so fully. Frizzy does. Then, he draws away from everything and every one. In recent years, his coping skills were reduced significantly due to the introduction of alcohol into his diet. However, at 24 years of age, we find him 4 months sober and falling, alone, to his depths.

As he watched the coffee slosh into the mossy green, hand-crafted clay mug, he breathed deeply. The thick aroma betrayed none of the drink's bitterness. Steam rose as he set the mug on the cluttered table and the pot back onto the coffee maker's warming plate. He paced and the coffee cooled.

He thought this one might stick around. She liked his music(he liked a large portion of her's, but there were some rubbish songs in her pretty little head), she was alright with his sobriety, and they liked similar movies. They both worked. She liked his tattoos. He liked her hair... And secretly she liked his, but she wanted to see it cut short just once. But... then she had left. Well, she had in fact broken their relationship off in person and then left in tears.

Three loud knocks suddenly broke the silence. He stood stock-still, eyes glued to the once white door, stained as it was with cigarette smoke. The three knocks came again, louder.

'Damn.' he thought as he walked slowly to the door. His pulse raced in his ears as he set his hand upon the cold doorknob. He sighed, but then pulled open the door.

And there she was, like a freshly reopened scab. Nevertheless, he threw his arms around her and held her like she was a dream, soon to vanish. The top of her head came only to his chin. She giggled as he held her, then lifted her chin and nipped playfully at his neck. He breathed her in, and the scent of rum and smoke filled his nostrils.

"Well, hey, Frizz. Can I come in?" She said, running a hand down the left side of his torso gently, the tiniest of promises.

"Of course! It's great to see you, Vanille." He said, getting out of her way. She giggled again and closed the door behind her.

"Ok! You get some shot glasses and hook us up," She said, handing him a partially consumed bottle of cheap spiced rum. "While I roll us a joint."

Frizzy rushed to obey, reminding himself only once that there was a reason he didn't do these things anymore, then returned from the kitchen with two full double shot glasses. The pretty redhead had sat down upon the bed and had the joint nearly rolled. He had to admit, he was impressed that she was even willing to try to roll a joint drunk. Drunkenness made many things difficult, he reflected. He waited for her to finish. When the joint was done she set it to the side and fished two cans out of her purse. She opened one, a can of Sprite. She then took the shot from Frizzy and handed him the other can, a Dr. Pepper. He set the two items down and tied his hair back, then opened the soda and rose with the can and shot glass in hand.

They clinked the shots together and then downed them. Vanille handed him the empty glass and her soda. Frizzy took them to the kitchen and returned just as she lit the joint. She stood up and took a heavy toke, then passed the joint to Frizzy. They smoked it until it was time to put it out, and then they moved to the kitchen to take another shot. Frizzy laughed when she stubbed her toes on the wall, but they both forgot as they took the next shot, and then another. Frizzy, being very high and drunker than he had been in months, put an arm around her waist and drew her close. His lips touched hers gently, but then she threw herself into the kiss, parting her lips and moaning softly. He slipped his tongue between her lips and then pulled back, teasing her.

She frowned at him. "Now, why would you wanna play hard to get with me?" She said, drawing close again. She whispered, "I don't think that's very nice of you..." Her fingers found his belly and slipped under his shirt. She raked his skin with her nails as she pressed herself against him, her head upturned, lips puckered in a sweet little pout. He lowered his chin to meet her lips, but then she jumped back. "Too late. No lovin' for you." She said, shrugging adorably, yet somehow losing her balance and falling back against the wall.

"Fine then." Frizzy said, then took the bottle, shot glasses and soda over to his room. He set them down and sat down on the bed. Then he poured the shots and waited for her to come to him, which he knew she'd do, as he had her booze. She sat down next to him, nipped at the side of his neck, and lifted her shot glass. He lifted his own, and they drank deep. Vanille, the drunker of the two, exercised the very best in drunk logic and swung her leg over his legs, straddling him. She lifted his shirt and slipped it off of him. She discarded it and lowered her lips to his torso. She explored his skin, leaving a trail of kisses and bites across his belly and chest. She took one of his nipple rings into her mouth and sucked for a moment, before sitting up and pushing him back onto the bed, her hand over the winged guitar tattooed on his chest.

She took his belt in hand, expertly disabling it and moving on to his jeans. Neither could say definitively what happened next, but considering the last few moments neither was about to back out now.