A Letter to Santa
Author's Notes: Yes, another Christmas fic. But it's of my new favorite pairing! I made it for a contest in my guild on Gaia. Happy New Years everybody.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. ((cries))
"What do you want from Santa, Zexion?" Demyx inquired in rushed words, beside himself with what might have been mistaken for excitement, if Nobodies had the ability to feel. He followed Zexion through the door of his superior's room, gazing at him with doe-like eyes as he fidgeted with his pajama buttons.
"…Santa isn't real, Demyx. How many times do I have to tell you?" Zexion muttered, exasperated from the walk with the chattering musician. Flopping onto the black, satin covered bed, the sheets rustled beneath him as he glanced up at the pouting blond. He sighed. "…Stop that."
"Santa is too real," Demyx murmured, crossing his arms with the air and sophistication of a seven-year-old that has just been put in time out. "And I'm going to prove it to you!"
"Give it up, Demyx. You're just building yourself up for a let down. Now come to bed." He moved aside and patted the place next to him, the thumps resounding in the stuffing and echoing in the springs.
Letting his arms flop to his sides, he trudged to his lover's side and nuzzled against the lukewarm, familiar flesh. "Fine… But I'll prove Santa's real. Just you wait." Hearing no response, the Melodious Nocturne smirked and yanked the Cloaked Schemer backwards onto the bed. Holding him close, he let his eyes fall shut and the tide of sleep drift nearer.
Before he drowned completely in enticing dreams, he heard a faint, "You can try, Demyx. You can try."
Light filtered in from the windows, sprinkling IX with speckles across his skin. The gentle fluttering of his eyes signified his awakening; he sat up in a hazy stupor. Trying to blink his sleepiness away, he surveyed the room around him with one fleeting look. It didn't take him long to realize Zexion had already left – probably didn't want to wake him on his day off. In fact, that was the first thing he had noticed. The second thing to register in his mind was the clutter of papers left on his lover's desk. Knowing VI as he did, the peculiar sight confused him.
He brushed a hand through his blond locks and stood up, lazily surveying the table. Scratched out sentences, crinkled paper, and ink-blotch marks covered the desk. He frowned slightly at the mess. Pushing the papers aside, he sifted through them in an attempt to find the cause of disorder, huffing when he found nothing out of the ordinary. Sighing, he started to organize the mess, getting what he could in an organized pile.
Making a mental note to ask him later, Demyx wandered to the dresser and dug through one of the drawers for a spare coat.
"I could have sworn there was one in—What the…?" Demyx muttered to himself, cutting his own ramblings short as he spotted a letter buried deep within the folds of clothing. He reached in and pulled it out, examining the simple, white envelope with distaste. "What's this doing in here?" A cloud of paranoia drifted into his thoughts. Had Zexion been up to something behind his back? Dismissing the foolish thoughts, he read the address on the front.
"…This can't be from him…" The handwriting came across as Zexion's (the chicken scratch gave it away), But the words written on the envelope couldn't have been his. "To… Santa? But Zexion doesn't believe in him… He told me himself!" Talking completely to himself, he sat on the bed with the letter and stared at it. His gaze unwavering, he studied the definitive writing, searching for some error – some fault, some mistake to prove that the paper in his hands didn't belong to the Cloaked Schemer.
Remnants of curiosity tugged at him insistently. Trying to resist it, however, proved to be difficult. With a groan of frustration, he opened the letter, tearing the paper and dumping out the contents onto the bed. Despite the nagging thoughts at the back of his mind – such as, "You shouldn't be doing this; it's Zexion's letter, not yours," and, "You're going to get caught!" – He proceeded to snatch up the wrinkled paper that smelled strongly of ink and read the contents.
Number IX's expression slowly changed from that of pseudo annoyance that the other had kept something from him, to a mockery of surprise, amazement, and even embarrassment (for Nobodies could not feel) at the contents of VI's letter.
Dear Santa,
Despite my greatest attempts to ignore you and this frivolous season altogether, I cannot help but wonder. As my lover, Demyx refuses to give in, I'm writing to you in the hopes that I can either quell this notion that you exist, or prove that you do, indeed manage to fly around the world delivering presents to boys and girls from an atrociously under sized sack by squeezing down a chimney more than three times too miniscule to fit your peculiar body type.
In which case, I ask for three things and three things only. The first would be a heart, of which I was sorely robbed. The second, would be for normal lives… for both me and my lover. The third and final, this one being the most important, is for Demyx's happiness… The one thing I want more than any other…
If, somehow, this letter makes it into your hands, despite the fact that the postal service doesn't deliver to the North Pole or that out of thousands of letters this one happens to be read… My fondest wish is for Demyx. If not for his happiness, but for his beliefs.
-- Zexion
Trying to wipe away the bright blush marring his face, he stuffed the paper back into the envelope in which it was addressed and sat flabbergasted on the bed. Why the slate-haired teen had even written such a thing was beyond the musician's comprehension. And he had even blatantly admitted that they were lovers, to Santa of all people. His statement had either shown his unyielding courage, or his unyielding disbelief. Either way, his vertigo at the written words kept him on the edge of fainting from his own "emotions".
Unsurprisingly, Zexion wished for what every Nobody wanted – a heart. Who didn't want one, despite the fact that they were grossly unappreciated until lost? But to wish for another's happiness… his happiness… He honestly didn't know what to say. Ignoring the facts bluntly stated in the letter about how Santa couldn't be real, he still sat stunned at the unselfishness of the words. An act completely unbefitting of the actions of the Nobody, Demyx bordered on skepticism. His trust in the other was the only thing that kept him grounded – the only thing that made him believe in the words written in the familiar handwriting.
"Dem…? What are you doing?" The sudden voice shattered the blonde's confusion-induced stupor, and his head snapped up to meet the midnight-eyes of the Cloaked Schemer. "What do you have?" Panic struck, the Melodious Nocturne, hid the letter behind his back, attempting to give off the impression of innocence…and failing miserably.
"Nothing, Zexion… You just surprised me…" From his place on the bed, he followed the slate-haired teen's movements as he came closer, his hands fidgeting with the paper behind his back. When his superior finally stood before him, he stared up at him with a sheepish grin, trying with all his might to feign innocence.
VI sighed. "You've always been a horrible liar, Demyx." He reached behind the blond and grabbed the letter from his hands. "…Where…" Here he paused, an almost defeated expression on his face, "Where did you find this?"
With the air of a deer caught in the headlights, Demyx froze underneath the elder's piercing gaze. "N-nowhere…" The musician watched the nearly-stoic appearance turn into a frown. Unable to keep the façade up anymore, he hung his head and quietly sighed defeat. "In your dresser… It was an accident, I swear!"
The Nobody's eyes left the blond before him and instead focused on the ripped envelope gently being fingered in his hands. "Dem…Demyx… Xigbar…wanted to see you. He's waiting for you. Go see what he wants."
Nearly jumping at the opportunity, IX stood up and brushed past Zexion, squeaking a barely audible, "Yes sir," before hurrying outside and away from the awkward silence. Glancing sparingly back inside, he observed that the other had sat down on the bed, staring at the paper in his hand. He winced as a wave of simulated guilt washed over him – he had no heart, but he could feel another's pain.
Zexion refused to talk to Demyx for the next three days – not a word exchanged between the two. Not that it mattered much, anyhow, as Demyx's sudden reconnaissance mission kept the two apart. But when they happened to catch glimpses of each other – in the kitchen, in the hallway – VI's eyes refused to meet his. Though the simple fact caused pain and insatiable guilt, he couldn't really say he was heart-broken without one.
Finally, the day before Christmas – "Christmas Eve" as the Somebodies dubbed it – arrived, and yet not a single word had been exchanged between the two. And as Demyx lay in his own "lumpy and frozen" bed, as Demyx put it (though in reality, it was the exact same as Zexion's), the fact slowly and steadily taunted him to the point of near insanity. His wistful sighs fell upon deaf ears, his whimpers unheard, and his cries unnoticed as he lay sulking in his lonely room.
A hand slithered underneath his pillow, only to be pulled back out again with a photograph in its grasp. A picture whose existence had yet to be discovered by the one in the image itself, its edges long since frayed with age and use. The blond had gotten the photo long ago – so long ago, in fact, that it was before Zexion even knew his name. When IX had first joined the organization, Zexion never talked to the newcomers. He shunned them with a snooty air and cast them off as wanna-be scientists. Demyx, smitten by the silent, enigmatic conspirator, admired him from a distance – always in the distance, lest he dared to bring upon the wrath of the Cloaked Schemer, whose lengthy slate-hair and twilight-shaded eyes always caused a sickly-sweet sensation in his stomach that he would not – could not – trade for the world.
In his love-struck state, the musician had sent his Nobodies, his Dancers, to take a picture. After many mishaps and almost discoveries – odd pictures of odd body parts and Zexion's paranoia getting in the way – Demyx finally got a picture. Not that the picture itself was anything special, just thick paper covered with color. But the portrait… that's what mattered – Zexion sleeping, an arrogant smirk on his almost peaceful face. To this day, that was still his favorite expression; on the rare occasion that he caught him still sleeping by the time the blond had already awoke.
Finally, by the time the Melodious Nocturne had started to question his sanity, he made up his mind. Climbing out of the bed, leaving the covers in an ungracious heap of fabric, he made a portal. Stepping through, he arrived on the sixth floor… Zexion's floor. With a stomach full of butterflies, he paused outside of the door before raising his hand to knock.
"What do you want, Dem?" Zexion asked, making the Nobody freeze in mid-knock. As far as he could tell, his hand hadn't even made contact with the door yet.
"H-how did you --?"
"Your scent. I know it anywhere." The musician's cheeks flushed with color at the blunt statement, but his embarrassment was short lived. "Now what do you want?"
"…I…Imissyou…" he muttered in a barely audible voice, looking at the ground to his side.
"You're going to have to speak up."
"I miss you…" repeated the blond, opening the door and peaking his head in. "Please…don't ignore me anymore…"
Zexion glanced up from his position at the desk and paused as his eyes met the lonely ones. His eyes downcast, he sighed. Standing up and going over to the door, he opened it all the way and pulled the younger Nobody into his arms. Hearing him gasp at the sudden show of affection, he smirked quietly. "… M'sorry…"
"Sorry for what…?" Demyx murmured in return, slowly wrapping his arms around his lover.
"For overreacting. I'm sorry."
"…Oh. Well… it's okay. I forgive you."
"Thank you." VI pulled the other towards the bed and held him closer.
"…Hey, Zexy?"
"Hmm?"
"…You know… As long as I'm with you… I'm happy. Well, as close as one could be without a heart and all… but happy nonetheless."
"R-really?" The slate-haired teen replied, a faint, barely noticeable pink tinge coming to his cheeks.
"Yep… You're all I need…" Demyx muttered, finally able to rest in Zexion's arms.
Just as he started to doze off, he thought he heard a whispered, "Hey Dem? Y'know… you're the only one I need too…"
But it could have just been his imagination.
Author's Notes: Reviews?