A/N: Part 2/4 of my ongoing crack series!
Hehe, my initial thought for this pairing was, "bookworm couple ftw!". Then I thought about it some more and realized they could be much, much more than that.
Takes place at an undetermined point in 358/2 Days.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Squeenix owns everything. Including my brain.
x – x - x
It is beginning to become a routine for her.
Every day after school, she sneaks into the Sandlot—away from the prying eyes of her friends—and crouches behind a bush. Olette has never been one for spying on others, a stickler for propriety by society's standards, but she cannot help but hold her breath and peer over the hedge.
It is both fantastical and terrifying, reminiscent of those magical moments from the novels she adores. She watches in awe as pages from a hefty book flutter into the air to create a whirlwind of illusions. Darkness pools around scuttling creatures and envelopes them in one fell swoop. The ones that fly are quickly devoured by the mouths of voracious monsters.
Olette isn't afraid, despite the raw power that pulses in the air; the man with silvery hair obscuring one eye is the one behind it all. He watches impassively from the sidelines, monitoring his work as he flips through the pages with a deft hand. The book snaps shut once the last creature has been disposed of. Illusions vanish into thin air; darkness disperses like forgotten dreams.
The magic show is over.
She peers at him from behind the hedge after a long moment. He may not look like it with his unorthodox hair and dark appearance, but to her, he is a hero. He protects their town from the harm of those strange beings.
Finally, the man turns to regard her with a placid stare. Olette's heart palpitates wildly under the intense scrutiny. Oops...
"Tell me, are you in the habit of spying on others?" His tone is wry and inquisitive, though his eyes are completely devoid of emotion. He releases a sigh, and his gaze flickers back to meet hers. "Such a troublesome tendency. Are you not ashamed, little girl?"
She darts to her feet, nervously wringing the hem of her shirt with her hands. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to spy! It was just so captivating..." Her hands drop to her side and she releases a sigh of her own.
"Looks like we got off to a bad start." Olette straightens, ever the decorous young girl, and then does something strange. She looks him straight in the eye and smiles. "My name is Olette," she says, offering out a warm hand. "What's yours?"
He stares at her hand as if it is diseased. "I have no interest in fraternizing with the locals," he answers curtly. "Now if that is all, I shall be taking my leave." The man turns with a soft swish of his black cloak and begins to stride away...
"W-wait! Please..." Her brow furrows as she fiddles with her fingertips.
The man stops, but does not deign to turn.
"It's just," Olette quivers and feels something bubbling up within her, "you look... sad, somehow. I can't describe it. Is there anything I can do to help?" She musters the courage to gaze up at him again. Determination frames her face, and her eyes are filled with immeasurable compassion.
It sounds silly, but deep down, she knows she isn't wrong. If she can deal with Hayner's outrage and daily bouts of passive aggression, she is sure she can help this dour man.
He is silent for a long time.
"Olette, is it?" The stranger turns around. His lips are curled into a full-fledged sneer. "You are unaware of who you are speaking to, little girl. The only reason I have not yet disposed of you is because my desire to do so is not strong enough. In other words..."
Her throat constricts.
"You are worthless."
At that very moment, Olette wishes for nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow her like the mouths of those voracious illusions. Her limbs quiver and her cheeks burn with immense shame. She is a fool for believing in this man—this villain, and she will make sure to never make the same mistake again.
He is gazing at her expectantly, as if silently waiting for her to burst into tears and prostrate herself in his wake.
Olette begins to totter away. Tears threaten to spill onto her cheeks in her abject misery. She hears the soft swish of his cloak and suddenly, a great rage begins to boil within her, swallowing all other feeble emotions in its path.
She clenches her little fists and sprints back up to him, delivering a potent smack across the face. The man staggers backwards in his stupor, blue eyes wide as he nurses his cheek.
"I don't care who you are! How dare you tell a girl she's worthless!" She gropes blindly for something in her pocket and whips it out; in her trembling hands, she holds a simple popsicle stick. "I wanted to give you this today in thanks for protecting our town, but now I realize that you're nothing but a monster!" She hurls the stick at him and runs off into the distance.
There is silence.
Once he recovers from her tantrum, he retrieves the abandoned popsicle stick and reads the word: WINNER.
x - x - x
He tells himself that he is not doing this out of any semblance of regret. The girl has proven herself to be an anomaly, and he is simply here to further study her erratic behavior.
Not to mention that he is rather fond of sea-salt ice cream. It would be deplorable to allow a perfectly good 'WINNER' stick to go to waste.
Of course—that does not explain what possessed him to purchase a second bar of ice cream, but that is beside the point.
The illusionist seeks her scent (summery, sweet, acidic) and summons a Corridor of Darkness with a flourish of his hand. He finds himself standing at the edge of the Clock Tower. Yet another reason for me to be here, he thinks dryly. Perhaps this will allow me to understand why that fool of a trio has been shirking their duties.
He espies the girl perched at the very end of the tower, hidden from plain view. Her legs are curled up to the base of her chest and she appears to be rather sullen, though her tears have long since dried.
He steps out from the shadows with a swirl of his cloak. She lifts her head sluggishly at first, and then jolts back to life. Her eyes narrow suspiciously and the pout she wears is no trifling matter.
"What do you want from me?"
If Zexion had a heart, he would have winced at such a greeting. "I merely wish to extend forth my sincerest apologies," he drones.
"You think you can just waltz over here and expect me to forgive you?" She crosses her arms. "You're going to have to do a better job than that, Mister!"
He quirks a silvery brow. "What else is required of me? An apology consists of nothing more than—"
"Don't say that! Can't you..." she makes a vague whirring motion with her hand that looks truly, quite illogical, "I don't know... put some emotion into it? Make it sound believable?" She looks up at him with beseeching eyes, ones that he cannot respond to.
"You are most illogical for a girl." He retrieves the pair of sea-salt ice cream bars and offers one out to her. "Perhaps this will suffice instead?"
She parts her lips in protest, but it seems she can no longer maintain her ire. Sighing, she accepts the proffered ice cream bar and cracks a smile. "Okay. I forgive you. But..." The girl scoots over and motions for him to join her.
He hesitates, before eventually sitting down beside her.
"Will you tell me something?"
"Perhaps."
"Is there a reason why you're so..." she gestures uselessly with her free hand, and then blushes, "...you know."
"That is hardly a proper train of thought," he chides. "Tell me, are you referring to my distinct lack of emotion?"
She nibbles on the tip of her ice cream and averts her eyes.
"I am… a Nobody," he tells her. "I cannot feel emotions, no matter how I delude myself into believing otherwise. It is deplorable, yes, but it is also the truth."
She remains silent. He takes a bite of his ice cream, allowing the sweet and salty flavor to melt upon his tongue.
"I don't understand," she murmurs, and then turns to regard him with smoldering green eyes. "You're able to savor the taste of sea-salt ice cream, right? So why...?"
"My, my. Ever the inquisitive one, aren't you?" He releases a sigh. "It is only due to the echo of my memories that I am able to savor its unique taste. Without my memories, it would be nothing more than a meaningless endeavor."
"But... that's still something, right?" She takes a bite of her ice cream and gazes out towards the sunset. "Everyone has to start somewhere."
He looks at her askance, because she is still an odd fool of a girl who understands nothing. And yet…
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. You know..." she fiddles with the end of her popsicle stick, "even though you said those horrible things earlier, I still want to thank you—for protecting the town, I mean. You do a much better job of keeping those creatures out than the local disciplinary committee."
He wonders, idly, why he has not yet encountered said 'disciplinary committee' on his missions. He wonders—idly—what could have become of this girl were it not for his data collection on the heartless.
"I was right," she says suddenly, easing him out of his thoughts. "You are a hero."
He is tempted to sneer. Because out of all his years as both a Somebody and a Nobody, he has never been called such a thing. Heroes are for those who possess hearts, not those who covet them.
"I am no hero," he assures her. "I was simply collecting data for an important task of mine. It was in no way related to the well-being of this town."
She smiles, slow and secretive; suddenly, he wishes for nothing more than her enlightenment. What knowledge could this little girl possibly hold that he does not already?
"It's all about perception, silly! Maybe you really were just collecting data. But to me, you were doing a good deed by getting rid of those creatures." She giggles as he blinks in confusion. "See what I mean?"
He remains silent.
"'Without love, it cannot be seen'." She gazes down at her popsicle stick with the softest of smiles. "My mother once told me that. That's why... the world looks so beautiful to me."
He looks at her again, wrapped in the radiant hues of the sunset. No longer does he see the plain little girl he stumbled upon earlier, but an introspective young woman.
"I see," he answers finally.
x – x – x
A/N: Hehe. Olette's quote is from a game I rather enjoy.
I apologize if that sudden switch in perspective threw anyone off. The plunnies told me to write this from Zexion's perspective, but I really wanted to do it from Olette's to get in that 'ooh mystery' factor. XD
Oh, and about my take on Zexion's characterization… I didn't just wanna make him 'that one emo guy', so I ended up with this instead.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Please let me know if you'd like to see yet another installment in the series.
Thank you so much for reading! :D