fic title: In Another Light
fic summary: Demyx knew that college wouldn't be easy. He's managed to make it through his first year unscathed, but Sophomore year only gets more complicated when he's trying to juggle his roommate's midnight pancake cravings, a major that's lost its spark, and the blue-haired snob he's forced to partner with for a project. He learns that to make the best of life you sometimes have to look at things a little differently. Zemyx.
content tags: trans character, nonbinary character, college au, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, headcanons and self-projection: the fic
disclaimer: idk if ppl still have do this but its a tradition on ffnet so, i do not own these characters or kingdom hearts. i only own my imagination and a rainbow-colored blanket.
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hello its been a long time lmao i started writing this back in 2015 but life has gotten in the way a bit. this year i wanted to really buckle down and try my best to actually write even if its hard to find the motivation. im actually balancing this fic with an original novel so i'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, but i've put a lot of my heart into this story so i really hope you like what i've got so far! ! ! ! ! ! !
ALSO if anyone has any constructive criticism, or if theres anything that doesnt make sense please let me know! my fics arent beta-ed so i only have my own proofreading to go off of. thank you! ! and happy zemyx day! ! ! !
Demyx had always liked the sound of rain when he slept. He'd always liked the pitter-patter on the roof at home, the tapping of rain on the window of his dorm room, and the faraway sound of rain on the pavement from his place up on the third floor. It was soothing, repetitive. It reminded him that the world continued to spin, and cycle, and change, even when he was asleep. What he did not like, however, was the whispering behind him, and the insistent poking and nudging.
"Hey, Dem. Hey, buddy, wake up. Dem. Demyx. Deeeeemmmmmm."
Groaning, Demyx took his pillow and flopped it over his head. "I have a morning class, Ax, you know this," he mumbled.
Axel obviously wasn't impressed. "Pancakes wait for no one," he said.
Demyx wasn't going to win this battle, and not because of the pancakes. Axel was crafty. He had tricks up his sleeve, and if he had to, he was going to physically drag Demyx out of bed and haul him like a sack of potatoes to go get pancakes. Demyx didn't want to take the chance. He lifted his pillow and scrunched his face at his phone. Three in the morning. Great.
"What paper are you putting off this time?" he asked, blinking bleary-eyed at his roommate and sitting up. The room was pitch-dark, save for a small bit of light from the streetlamps in the parking lot pouring dimly in through the window. Axel offered a chummy smile, though Demyx had to squint to see it.
"Whoooooooo says I was procrastinating?" He shot him finger guns.
Demyx just stared at him. "You always get midnight pancake cravings when you procrastinate," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Is it that Art History class? I think I remember you hating that one." He got up and stretched, nose scrunching, and turned on the light. Bad idea, too bright. He turned off the light. And now his eyes had gotten un-used to the dark, so that was wonderful. His pants had to be somewhere on the floor, right?
"Maybe I have trouble remembering what artist names go with which paintings, and maybe I have a twenty minute presentation due on Monday, but that's entirely unrelated," Axel replied helpfully, fake laughing and waving his hand around as if that emphasized his point. He was sitting on the ground in front of Demyx's bed, already dressed. Or about as dressed as he usually was. Pajamas as clothes were common at college. How long had he been sitting there before Demyx actually woke up?
"That's what you get for joining a 300-level class when you're not even an art major," Demyx retorted, pulling on some Floor Pants. He stifled a yawn.
"Excuse me, graphic design is art, thank you very much," Axel groused. "And you're telling me you can recite the full Latin names of like, every sea creature? I don't know the Latin name of any sea creatures." Demyx could practically hear the eye roll.
"It's three in the morning, we are not going over this," Demyx said, shuffling around, trying to find the sneakers he'd haphazardly kicked off earlier when he'd gotten back from his last class. He shoved them on and threw on an oversized hoodie, "Blondie" displayed proudly on the back over a number 9—an old, worn-out thing from his softball days in high school. He turned to Axel, looking at him expectantly. Axel hauled himself off the ground and they left.
Minnie's Diner, open twenty-four hours a day, was the usual spot for midnight pancake cravings, munchies, breakfast for dinner, or just a good old-fashioned bacon n' eggs whenever the hell you felt like it. It was only a block away from campus, so Demyx didn't really understand why Axel needed to wake him up every time he wanted pancakes. He definitely could have gotten there and back all by himself. Was it loneliness? Malevolence? Whatever it was, Demyx usually went anyway since he liked pancakes, and occasionally the company.
Plus it was raining still, just a little, and the asphalt smelled like earth. The ebbing rain hit the ground softly as it dripped from trees, and under the scattered lights of town the wet street sparkled. It was the kind of misty night that made him feel sorta like he wouldn't question it if he saw a centaur or something, far away and skewed just beyond hazy streetlights.
The two of them sat down in the first booth they saw, sinking into the red, acrylic cushions. Demyx really liked the place. Semi-authentic 50's-style diner with black and white checker and everything. The wait staff wore these little paper hats. There was even a jukebox in the corner, which the two of them had had their fair share of fun with. It was silent for now, appropriate given the hour, but Demyx had an itch to put on some Everly Brothers or something. Though, maybe that would just lull him back to sleep.
Immediately they saw a familiar head of blond make its way over to their table, menus in hand. "Good morning," Namine greeted, smiling weakly. She poured them each a glass of water.
Demyx groaned, flopping over into the crook of his elbow. "I can't tell if it's too late or too early. How did they rope you into hours like this, Nami?"
"Art supplies are expensive," she replied simply, and looked off into the middle distance. "I should never have bought those paints."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Demyx said, offering her a sympathetic smile.
"It's alright," she said. "Xion's coming by before class to cheer me on. Well, I'll be back in a few." She then disappeared through a swinging door.
Demyx got to work looking at the menu. To be honest, he came for pancakes, but he wasn't really in much of a pancake-y mood. Would that be considered treason? He looked up at Axel who was staring intently at his menu, most likely trying to decide if he wanted a short or tall stack. Over Axel's shoulder, Demyx caught a bright flash of blue.
On the far side of the diner in a corner booth sat a person around their age, nose stuffed in an impressively thick paperback. Demyx actually had no idea how he hadn't noticed him at first, since his hair was dyed electric blue, bangs kept out of his face with a barette. Perhaps another midnight pancake run? Demyx couldn't really think of very many reasons someone would choose to stay up this late at a diner when they could be in their room asleep.
Eventually, Namine came out with a coffee cup and placed it in front of the blue guy, who only glanced up at her before returning to his book with a stern expression. He took a pencil tucked behind his ear and scribbled something in the book.
Namine came back over to Axel and Demyx and stood in front of their table, hand on her hip. "Are you two ready to order?" she asked, voice soft. "Though I think I can already guess what it's going to be."
"A short stack of your finest pancakes, madam," Axel said, handing her the menu with a flourish and as much of a bow as the booth would allow. She took it with a smile and turned to Demyx.
"Corned beef hash and toast," he told her, ignoring Axel's insulted protests about how this was a pancake run and he was supposed to be getting pancakes. "I need brain energy since some clown woke me up at ass o'clock."
She laughed softly at that and took his menu, promising to return soon with their food.
"Since you're already up at 'ass o' clock' as you put it, you can just take this as an excuse to work on homework when we get back," Axel suggested. "You know, all the stuff you're also procrastinating."
"Ha, yeah right," Demyx snorted.
"Aww, keep me company," Axel said, frowning. "Save me from tearing all my hair out."
"You mean, distract you? Nah," Demyx said. "I'm going to curl up into a little ball and sleep until spring comes."
Ignoring Axel's dramatic 'Noooooooo,' Demyx peeked back to the blue guy, who dug around a bag hidden by the table and pulled out a highlighter. Maybe Demyx was a weirdo who was people-watching but there wasn't exactly a ton to do to bide his time until food arrived. Maybe they could have asked for crayons and a kid's menu, played some hangman. Maybe he could have busied himself studying the cracks in the dessert menu's lamination, or the nutrition facts label on the ketchup. Maybe he could have brought his phone.
Yawning, Axel leaned back on his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. He leveled Demyx with a lazy, low-lidded grin. Demyx raised a brow at him.
"So, you gonna tell me what's soooo interesting, or am I gonna have to embarrass both of us by looking over obnoxiously?" Axel asked. "Answer wisely."
Demyx kept his gaze steady with Axel's. First of all, he was already obnoxious, but the man could smell fear. Chewing on his lower lip, Demyx deliberated on possible outcomes. Either way, Axel would to crane his neck over his shoulder in the most obvious way possible. They were the only people in the diner, and unless Blue Guy was really that absorbed in his book, it was pretty much a given he would notice and be very weirded out.
But then again, Demyx had never seen the kid before and would likely never see him again, so it couldn't be that bad.
"Okay, but you have to resist the temptation to look," Demyx replied.
"At this point I'm too scared to look in case it's a monster."
"You got me, Ax, it's a monster, and I've been paralyzed with fear since the moment I noticed it," he said.
Before he could blink, Axel turned around to catch a glimpse at the guy in the corner. When he turned back he had the most shit-eatingest grin Demyx had ever seen. "Dem, my man," he said. "My dude."
"Don't you dare," Demyx warned, pointing a finger directly in Axel's face. It was easily waved away.
"First of all, I'm disappointed you would lie to me, Demyx," Axel said, frowning seriously, though this was just a ruse to cover up his grin. "That's not a monster. Au contraire, that's a hot guy."
Demyx dragged his hands down his face and groaned. "Oh my god, this is not happening."
"Say the word and this guy," Axel paused to point at himself with both thumbs, "will be your ultimate wingman." He leaned on the table with his chin in his hand and looked at Demyx as if this was the most unquestionable, once-in-a-lifetime deal he would ever get.
"Axel, it's three in the morning and we're in a family diner," Demyx argued, voice hushed. "No wingmanning will be occurring tonight, thank you."
Axel picked up the salt shaker and began pouring salt onto the table. "Just like, go and talk to him," he said, drawing shapes in the salt. "You're cute, he'll love it."
"I'm not gonna hit on some random stranger I see in a diner in the middle of the night," Demyx said, sitting back and taking a sip of his water. "It's late, I'm tired, I just want to get my food and leave, thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck, playing with his already messed up bedhead. It was getting long.
"What's the worst that can happen?" Axel rolled his eyes. He formed the salt into a smiley face. "Most likely he turns you down and then you never see him again. So, nothing to worry about."
Fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, Demyx sighed. "Or I could not, and then I never see him again, and nothing embarrassing happens for me to remember five years from now," he said. "Besides, I don't think we'd get along. He looks kinda… serious."
"I dunno about that." Axel destroyed the smiley face by drawing spirals through it. "You both have stupid-looking hair. You could bond over that."
"I don't want to hear anything about stupid hair from some Knuckles the Echidna lookin' motherfucker."
Axel sputtered at that so hard he scattered the salt everywhere. This conversation was just going in circles. Thankfully, Namine saved him by returning with their food. She glanced at the salt all over the table and frowned, but said nothing. Axel was satiated, distracted by steaming, fluffy pancakes. He poured syrup all over them until they were soggy, and Demyx was glad he went with the hash.
Food gave the conversation room to breathe, and Demyx almost sighed aloud in relief when the blue guy collected his things and left. Demyx was doing his hardest to pay attention to his meal, but when he heard the familiar chime on the door and the sound of an umbrella opening, he looked up at Axel and saw a stupid grin on his face.
"Looks like you won't be taking that nerd's lunch money today," Axel said.
"Yeah, yeah. Yuk it up," Demyx replied. It was way past too early for any of this. "Try to control yourself in public, you animal."
"Owwie, that hurts my feelings, Demmy." Axel stuck out his lip, faking a pout.
Demyx threw a balled-up napkin at his face. "I hope you die in a terrible accident."
Work was slow on Tuesdays.
It was a school day, so anyone who trickled in was usually older, or else a local high schooler or college student on break between classes. Not many people came into the music store, Arpeggio, that day. The only people who had come by was a small group of high schoolers, who came in at some point when Demyx was digging around a box behind the counter and camped over by the metal section, and a middle-aged man who came looking for some top 40's single for his granddaughter before leaving with his purchase. Other than that, not a one.
Arpeggio didn't just sell music. There were a few displays up front carrying various knick-knacks: buttons, magnets, bobble-heads, posters, some nerdy merchandise. One wall stretched full of tshirts ranging from band shirts to cartoons to video games. The speakers played whatever Demyx's phone had on shuffle, which ended up being mostly classic rock that day, although some days it waned more on the indie-pop side of the spectrum, and other days it was jazz. He was the only employee in the store at the moment, not that they needed anyone else. Larx was on her half-hour, which left Demyx to slump in his seat behind the counter with his feet up.
Demyx didn't have any classes that day, but when he was able he unearthed some textbook from his bag and skimmed through a couple pages, forgetting entirely what was on the syllabus, until his eyes glazed over. Finals were coming up soon, but Demyx was determined to not do anything at all until the weekend of, when he would panic and stay up for 72 hours straight cramming until his eyes bled. No one ever said he was a wise man.
He was getting to quite an exciting bit in what was supposed to be lit homework but ended up being issue #6 of a random comic book he'd grabbed from the other end of the store, when the cow bell over the door sounded. He didn't shift his gaze from the book to greet the new customer, but he put a hand up in a lack-luster attempt at a wave. Coulda just been another teenager joining the group that still hadn't moved from the corner. At some point they had started up an out-of-tune, creaky whisper-yelled rendition of Down With the Sickness, and his role as token retail worker stopped him from rolling his eyes and mumbling a "really?"
A few seconds after the cowbell stopped clanging, someone cleared their throat. There was his cue.
Demyx lifted his head to glance up after placing his book and feet down, customer service smile already plastered on. The vaguely familiar head of bright blue he saw was not what he expected in the least, and he stood up straight.
"U-uh, hey, welcome, anything I can help you with?" he asked, slamming his hand down on the counter a bit harder than he had wanted. Why did he do that?
Blue looked him up and down before finally settling his gaze on Demyx's face, eyes bored and disapproving. Or maybe he just always looked that grumpy. "No," he said flatly, flipping his fringe out of his eyes. It fell back into place immediately, and he continued into the store, toward the vinyls.
Uh, what?
A minute later, Blue walked back up to the counter and placed a record on it. Demyx had been sitting there waiting for him in a fog of confusion, trying to parse what had happened. He looked down at the record, a used copy of Frank Sinatra's Come Dance With Me!, and then back up to his wonderful customer. Huh. Demyx wouldn't have pegged him as a jazz fan, but he supposed anyone could be a fan of Sinatra. Most people would probably look at Demyx's soft mohawk and never once assume that he sometimes listened to Baroque choral music when he felt like thinking deep thoughts.
Blue's hands gripped the tattered strap of the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and Demyx swore the kid might have even growled, but that was probably just his imagination.
"Will that be all?" Demyx asked, scanning the record and placing it in a plastic bag, smiling sugar-sweet. He considered fluttering his eyelashes to really sell it.
Blue hummed briefly, tapping his chin in thought. "I've got a question for you. You were hired here to work, weren't you?"
Demyx stared at him, stunned. "I, excuse me?" he sputtered.
"Maybe you can take some initiative and find work to do when things are slow instead of lounging around reading comics."
The high schoolers craned their necks around to stare. Demyx only gawked. The gears in his head had stopped turning entirely.
"What? Upset that I pointed out your laziness on the clock?" Blue huffed. "Anyway, that's all." He put his money down on the counter and turned to leave.
"What the fuck is your problem?" Demyx blurted, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Blue whirled around, eyes wide.
At that moment, the cow bell over the door clanged, and Larxene, his manager, stood in the doorway looking just as shocked as they did. The song on the overhead speakers came to an end and the store was washed in silence for an eternity of seconds before the next song started up. She thumped over to the counter, her heavy combat boots echoing through the store.
"I know you did not just say that to a customer," she said, staring Demyx down and pointing a finger right in his face. She turned towards Blue and began apologizing and offering a free keychain or candy or something. He just glared at Demyx and left with his record.
Larxene stood in silence for a moment before clambering around the counter. "What the hell was that?" she asked, eyes narrowed and arms crossed like she was holding herself back. "Is there a reason you're cussing out customers?"
"Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same if some guy was shit talking you to your face for no reason," he said, and plopped down on his seat. He pushed the abandoned comic away. Stupid thing had gotten him in trouble. "I didn't even do anything and that guy was talking to me like I was his number one fuckin' enemy."
She just sighed loudly and leaned back on the counter. "You're right, and I'd do even worse," she said. "But that doesn't excuse what you said. You can think it all you want, but it's bad for business to cuss out even the bad customers."
Larxene looked around the store at the near-nothingness all around them. She turned to the high schoolers, still staring in a huddle from the metal section. "Move along, nothing to see here." Shuttering, Larxene mumbled under her breath, "Ugh, youths."
"You'd probably castrate the poor bastard," Demyx said. She flashed a catty grin, but Demyx knew she was still angry and he was still in trouble.
Demyx was in trouble. The weekend of finals had finally snuck up on him, or rather, that was one way of putting it. More like he had, as predicted, allowed the work to build up after spending all his time playing guitar and video games and watching clips of How It's Made whenever he told himself it was time to study. He found himself up to his armpits in cramming and essays. All the extra paper he had in his 5-subject notebook was ripped out and turned into makeshift index cards, and if he didn't have Axel, who at the very least procrastinated only slightly less than he did, to get him every few hours or so to stretch and get something to eat, he was sure he would have died.
It wasn't too horribly late yet, the sun had only just set if he remembered correctly. Or maybe not, since when he glanced at the corner of his laptop screen it was already past 10 pm.
His laptop sat in front of him on his desk, the top of which generally acted as a dresser most days. Whatever was on top of it before finals weekend had been hastily shoved onto the floor to mix with the dirty clothes, chip wrappers, and other miscellaneous detritus around his feet. And on that laptop was a coffee-fueled Chem paper that Demyx frankly couldn't tell heads or tails of, because he'd written it in a trance.
Demyx wasn't entirely sure if he should just submit this travesty and at least get partial credit, or actually go find a student tutor at the library to help him unspool whatever word puzzle he'd written down. He couldn't even tell what he was talking about in it. He mentioned "samples" at some point, but never actually brought up said samples again. And he couldn't ask Axel, who was useless in this situation. As an art student he didn't even have to take Chemistry if he didn't want to, choosing instead to take Astronomy last year for his Gen Ed science credits—a class that, from what Demyx had heard, amounted to sleeping through a droning lecture in a dark lecture hall and answering multiple-choice questions. Questions like, "The sun is a floating ball of what?" and knowing right off the bat that the answer couldn't possibly be "A) Five-alarm chili."
So, maybe he should try a tutor just in case.
Was the library even open this late?
Instead of worrying about that, he shoved his keys, ID, and phone in his pockets, his feet into untied winter boots, ear buds in his ears, and threw on his too-big hoodie. For his own health it was a binderless weekend, but layers and a sports bra would work just fine in the meantime. He grabbed his laptop and propelled himself out the door and into the frozen college tundra, where snow was piling up and the sidewalks hadn't been sprinkled with rock salt yet. In the dark, the snow-covered quad looked like a wasteland.
A five minute trudge through slush later found him at the library entrance, where he stamped his feet on an already snow-soaked mat, which was marked on all sides with wet floor signs. The library was full to bursting, the exact opposite of its usual state on Sunday nights, but that was only to be expected.
Though he had never been there before, Demyx recalled the general place to find tutors was on the third floor, and he certainly did not want to use the stairs if he didn't have to, so he walked along the walls until he found the elevator and pressed the button. The old thing squeaked as it came down to meet him—a relic of decades past, with musty, stale citrus-scented orange and brown carpet lining the walls. It felt like the kind of elevator someone could get murdered in if it was the 70's.
In the corner of the third floor, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of dusty newspaper archives, was a cluster of offices and study rooms with a sign outside pointing towards them labeled "student tutors." That was probably where the tutors were. The problem, however, was that there was also a line. The line stretched out beyond the main door of the cluster and bent around past several rows of shelves. A small sitting area sat in the middle of the room, which also happened to be swamped with people staring at essays as if their lives were ending.
As he slid into line, Demyx briefly wondered how much student tutors made before shaking that idea out of his head. He was definitely not cut out to be a tutor.
After a few minutes in line, a hand tapped Demyx on the shoulder. "Look who it is," said a voice behind him. Turning around, he first saw a black and gray striped beanie, then golden locks peeking out from beneath it, then finally, Roxas.
"I figured I had to come here at some point," Demyx said, pulling out an earbud. "Thank god you're here. Maybe you can help me if this line never moves."
"What subject is it?"
"Chem."
Roxas made a face. "Not really my strong suit," he admitted.
"It's Chem 110, though," Demyx said, frowning. "That's like, one of the easy ones."
Roxas took off his hat and fussed with his hair. His nose was still red from the cold, and he wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses he really only wore when he was too exhausted for contacts. "So?" he asked. "Science isn't exactly my thing."
"Computer science," Demyx retorted, as if that would make his point.
"I hate to break it to you, Dem, but CompSci and Chem aren't the same," Roxas replied. Then he smiled and patted the bag slung over his shoulder. "But I could take a crack at it if you want to take a look at my Medieval Lit essay."
"Very tempting, Roxas," Demyx said, rolling his eyes. "But I don't think you want me anywhere near it."
Roxas snorted. "Right, I forgot you never learned how to read."
"Hey!"
The line had moved up several feet, and Demyx resisted the urge to look at the time. How many tutors were in there, anyway? The sitting area was still crawling with desperate students shuffling through notes and flashcards, and even the bean bag chairs laid out on the other side of the shelves were all occupied.
Demyx sighed and took his other ear bud out, cramming them in his jacket pocket. "So, why are you even here with a Lit essay, anyway?" he asked. "I thought you were good at Lit."
"Uh, I wanna make sure I get a good grade?" Roxas replied. "Not everyone only comes here when they're desperate to not look like an ass."
"Stop bullying me," Demyx whined, hugging his laptop to his chest. This earned him a snort and a shove.
After what felt like several millennia, they neared the door. If they had to wait much longer than that, they might have dissipated into dust and floated off, joining the centuries-old ghosts haunting the stacks, or the bats that lived up in the fourth floor somewhere. Demyx had once seen a bat the previous semester when he'd come looking for research project refs, because of course classes at a school this old still required actual physical books in works cited lists. People always associated owls with books and libraries, but bats seemed to really like it there.
A kid with large bags under her eyes walked out, trying to stuff papers back into the pockets of a notebook. She looked like she was going to cry. And Demyx was next.
"Next," called a voice. Then Demyx looked at the source of the voice and froze. His heart sunk down into his stomach.
Sitting at a desk a few feet from the door, was Little Boy Blue.
"You!" Demyx pointed a finger right at him, and nearly lost his grip on his laptop. He scrambled to keep it pressed to his chest.
Blue watched him for a few seconds, eyebrow raised. "Me," he said. "Now, if you don't need help, then step out of the doorway and let the next person in." He looked at Roxas.
Roxas peered up at Demyx.
"You don't… remember me?" Demyx asked, eyes narrowing.
With a sigh, Blue leaned his head in his hand, elbow on the desk. "Should I?"
Oh. Oh, of course. This little asshole clearly couldn't remember all the people he'd humiliated, obviously there were just too many. It was like picking a face out of a crowd. But Demyx remembered. He'd got him in trouble at work, and Demyx had almost pushed that little hiccup out of his memory, but sitting right here was the harbinger of his humiliation. He would probably take one look at Demyx's paper and laugh, and then post flyers on all the doors and bulletin boards on campus about how much of an idiot he was.
Unless he was just being coy, in which case, Demyx could play his game.
"Uhh, nevermind, can you help with my Chem paper?" …Or not. Maybe all the people staring at them and a paper worth 30% his grade were a little more important. He didn't want to look around to see just how many people there were.
Blue just watched him for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "Come here. What do you need help with?"
Demyx sat down in the chair next to him and opened his laptop on the desk. "Uh, everything. This is my Chem paper. I don't even remember writing it, to be honest." Okay, maybe admitting that was embarrassing. Perhaps he shouldn't have conceded so quickly.
Blue leaned forward and started scrolling through the paper as Demyx looked anywhere else. He clicked his tongue.
"Well, you're right, it doesn't make much sense, and it's not even in the right format," he said.
"Oh no," Demyx said, wringing his hands together nervously. "Are you a Chem major?"
Still staring at the screen, Blue took a second to reply. "No, but I'm familiar with it." He squinted at the words Demyx had written like they were a foreign language. "Did you even go to class?"
"Uh," Demyx hesitated. He stared down at the floor. "Well, technically, I was there, yes."
It was only then that Blue turned to look at him, hollow disbelief written across his face. He took a deep breath. "Okay, listen, I can only help you so much. I can't write your paper for you. If you brought your syllabus I can probably help you review, but you can't base a paper off of an experiment you never did." He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. "Do you have a TA or anyone?"
"Yeah, but I dunno if I can talk to that guy," Demyx answered, shrugging. "He's kinda… weird."
"Ah, yes, Vexen," Blue Guy said, rolling his eyes. He picked at his nails, chipping away black nail polish. "I'm not surprised. That one tends to get a bit intense."
"In that case, can you just help me review?" Demyx asked, reaching for his laptop so he could pull up the class page. "So I can at least get some of the written final right."
"Fine." Blue Guy sighed, and began going over what was on the uploaded slides for a while, until the library lights started flicking off and they realized just how late it really was. Unfortunately, Demyx would still have to stay up for further cramming, but at least he had a cheat sheet to bore into his brain before his Chem final.
"Name?" Blue asked.
"Huh?" Demyx said. Blue just looked at him.
"Your name?" he repeated, somewhat impatiently. "For the slip?"
He was holding a small slip of paper. Right, when you go to the tutor you fill out a slip so the professor knows you came, and then you get extra credit. It was a wonder Demyx hadn't come earlier. He really could use that extra credit.
The slip already had his tutor's name written out.
Zexion.
"Uh, it's Demyx," he said, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. A nervous habit. "Sorry, I haven't come here before so I forgot that was a thing."
Zexion jotted it down and handed him the slip. "From the state of that paper, maybe you should come more often."
Demyx opened his mouth as if to say something, but whatever it was died on his tongue. He knew it; this guy thought he was an idiot. But Demyx just frowned and collected his laptop.
When he had walked back out the door, he noticed Roxas was gone. Likely already been helped and left the premises, though many students still crowded around tables and printers. Demyx slumped against the wall of the elevator and stared at his blurry reflection in the door, trying not to smell the stale cleaner. He just wanted finals to be over.