Disclaimer: I think it's been ascertained by now that I do not own Kingdom Hearts. However, I will eventually write something, and it'll be really popular enough to warrant fanfiction, and then, I'll write fanfiction for it, and I can say that I own it, so ha! Take that court!
A/N: It's Zemyx day, and yes, that means it's another year for me to write another stupid oneshot that people will read and then wish they had done anything else. Anyway, I saw UP the other day, and the old guy was so sweet, but cantankerous and mean at the same time, and I was thinking today about what I wanted to write about, and he came to mind, so I wrote Zexion and Demyx as old people! You don't see that every day now, huh? Enjoy.
Warning: Like everything else I write, I make it too sugary-sweet to bare without some kind of novacaine.
This Perfect Imperfection
The day started like any other morning. Marmalade was slathered over two perfectly toasted English Muffins; orange juice was poured into a glass for Zexion and pink lemonade poured into another for Demyx. There were exactly four strips of bacon, and two links of sausage. Rich and delicately browned pancakes were slid onto two plates, and regular syrup was poured over one stack, for Zexion, and strawberry syrup poured over the other for Demyx.
Demyx had grown to be quite a cook over the years. Then again, he never made anything that was as delectable as his breakfast. Perhaps it was because no other meal was as perfect and important as breakfast was to him.
Zexion would come down the stairs at any time, grumbling about his bad knee and pushing his cane into the thick carpet, fumbling with his hearing-aid. Demyx would smile and help him over to the table and then give him his morning paper. Zexion would say thank you and then they would begin to eat.
Demyx smiled, head full of the images that he had encountered every day of his life since he was twenty-two, a young air pilot and falling in love with a librarian. He considered himself to be lucky. He had found a love and it had lasted now for fifty-four years.
Demyx heard a thump from above and smiled. Zexion was getting up, probably sniffing the air and sighing at the mouth-watering smells wafting from the kitchen. Zexion had always loved his morning breakfast and had been the first to start the tradition.
They never deviated from their breakfast together, no matter where they were or what they were doing.
Demyx whole-heartedly believed that this tradition had been the thing that had kept them going at times, when all else felt like it was crumbling beneath his fingers; when it felt like their relationship wouldn't last.
Next came the creak of the stairs, and Demyx smiled as he heard Zexion's voice grumbling, once again, about his knee, and then mumbling something about the smell.
It was the same, every day, and Demyx never wanted it to end.
"Morning, Demyx," Zexion said, shuffling into the kitchen and standing near the counter, watching Demyx clean the skillet.
Demyx smiled even more. "Morning, Zexy," he replied, his youthful voice no more, but his youthful verve still there as ever.
Zexion grumbled, mouth turning down at the corners, still slightly annoyed by the nickname that he had never been able to get Demyx to stop saying. He believed that Demyx did it simply because it did annoy Zexion, but he could never get any true evidence on that.
Demyx stopped washing the skillet, and wiped his hands on a towel, going over to Zexion and entwining their arms, leading Zexion to the table.
"Your breakfast a-waits," he said, handing the paper to Zexion.
"Thanks, Demyx," Zexion said, smiling gratefully, his cane set down and leaning up against his leg.
Demyx smiled gently, sitting across from him at their tiny two-person table, picking up his muffin and biting into its crispy middle. Zexion did the same, with his two slices of bacon.
They sat there, sunlight filtering in through the window beside them, beams dancing onto the table, casting everything in a rich warm glow. Everything felt so surreal, so perfect and wonderful. Another lazy morning; the newspaper rustling as it was turned, Demyx chattering away once again, talking about his sister and her two grandkids and what they had done the day before.
"Roxas and Sora are getting so big now, she says," Demyx droned on, Zexion listening quietly.
Zexion knew how upset Demyx had been that they had never adopted a child. He would have loved to have been a parent: they both would have. But it had never happened, and the days and months went by, and years passed and then it was too late. They were too old now, and while Zexion was sure that Demyx could keep up with a child even now (Roxas and Sora, at seven and ten respectively, proved this), Zexion couldn't.
But, oh, how they had wished and dreamed, lying in bed together, whispering about how the nursery would look, how they'd raise them, if they wanted a girl or a boy or both.
"That sounds wonderful, Demyx," Zexion said, smiling gently. He had never loved anyone as he had Demyx. Demyx was his world, and Zexion would have done anything to make Demyx happy.
Demyx grinned, teeth biting into a ruby-red apple, fresh from the grocer just the day before.
And their breakfast continued on in this manner, as it always did. When their breakfast was done, plates polished of their proportional meal, dishes stacked in the sudsy water in the sink, waiting to be put in the dishwasher (oh, how excited Demyx had been when they received their first one. He had squealed and proceeded to play with every button, exclaiming about how wonderful it was and how they could really get the plates clean now and do half the work), Zexion and Demyx went out onto their porch (a wrap-around, just how Zexion had always dreamed about).
They sat down in the rocking chairs, facing towards the big oak in their front yard, and sat there, watching life all around them. There were the usual sounds of nature, of course, but above that, and mixed in with it, were the sounds of life around them.
The house next door featured a couple, with a teenage son and another son around ten years old. Both of them had shocking red hair, and the teenager loved to play his music loudly, and the younger one loved to play in the swing set in their front yard.
They both loved spending time with Demyx and Zexion, charmed by the old couple. They didn't mind the loud music. Demyx , in fact, sometimes tried to dance along, entranced by the new music of the time, which was so different from when he was a young teenager himself. And the stories they told, of the years they had been alive and of all they had seen. Who wouldn't be excited to see them?
On the other side lived Demyx's sister, cantankerous old Larxene, who was mean and liked to shout at the children of the neighborhood and snicker as they cowered, falling off their bikes. The only people she is civil is her family. She even acknowledged that she had a soft-spot for her young grandsons, who were lively and fun and always smiling, acting and looking more like their grand-uncle Demyx than their grandmother.
But right now, in the morning, everything was just beginning to awaken, children rushing to meet up with the bus that was coming to pick them up for school, all waving at Demyx and Zexion, who were always outside, rocking in their chairs, Demyx still talking about anything and everything. The people of the neighborhood had grown used to them.
Zexion believed that the only time Demyx's mouth was ever shut was when he was asleep. Once upon a time, long ago, the constant chatter had irritated him. But now, Zexion knew that if he didn't have that chatter, the silence would suffocate him, deafen him. The words were now like succor, soothing him when his knee acted up or his head hurt.
Demyx sighed, rocker squeaking quietly, his eyes closing gently. He could feel the sun dance on his lids, red bursting behind his eyes.
He reached out and grabbed Zexion's hand, fingers feathering over the wrinkles, large veins and liver spots. Zexion smiled, their hands entwining
"Roxas and Sora are coming over later today," Demyx whispered, voice unwilling to break the peaceful silence of this perfect morning and this perfect silence.
"Oh, are they?" Zexion asked, fingers brushing over Demyx's wrinkles. "That'll be nice. We haven't seen them in a while."
"Yeah, I missed them. It'll be great to see them again."
"Roxas'll go over to play with Axel; he always does," Zexion muttered, eyes slipping shut, too.
"Mmm, I don't blame him. Axel's one of his few friends from around here."
Zexion nodded, fingers still lightly brushing against Demyx's hands, unwilling to keep them still. He never got enough of touching Demyx's skin, even after fifty-four years. He loved this man so much.
Zexion looked over at Demyx, at his gray hair, thinned from its old hairstyle and hanging down slightly. His looked no different. The thick fringe over one eye was gone; the beautiful steel-blue color (as Demyx liked to call it) had grayed, and then turned to white.
Demyx opened his eyes and turned to face Zexion, smiling simply.
Perfection, through every change the years had brought.
A/N: So, how'd you like it? Please favorite and review, if you please. I hope you enjoyed. Happy Zemyx Day, everybody. Love you all.
Lilo