The Secret Postcard Project
Based on the PostSecret Project, inspired by the music video 'Dirty Little Secret' by the All-American Rejects, I do not own neither or Kingdom Hearts and its characters.
I'm still a virgin.
Demyx Waters read the single sentence on the postcard. It was the first postcard exchanged, and it seemed that this anonymous person had taken the initiative. The sandy haired blonde couldn't help but compare this one sentence with his best friend (now going to college at who-knows-what).
His best friend was a virgin, of course, and he hadn't planned on stopping that until he was married happily. He barely talked, and when he did, he was soft-spoken. But when he did, it seemed that everyone listened. But he usually said one sentence before going back to that book he was always keeping around and reading.
Demyx walked back into his dorm and sat down at his desk. He pressed his pen to a blank postcard and began to write.
I was about to cheat on my SATs but my best friend convinced me otherwise.
There. That'd be okay, right? It's not like policemen or something would read these. Demyx nodded to himself before flipping the postcard over and doodling on it. The postcard that had come was also doodled on, with a sun in the middle and orange and yellow beams spiraling out from the blank white circle.
Demyx looked his postcard over. In the bottom right hand corner, there was a white butterfly surrounded by a black circle. In dark blue, he had drawn tall flowers and in lighter blue, he had drawn leaves and trees and taller flowers. He nodded again to himself in approval before getting up.
The mailman was there when Demyx got there. Demyx handed him the postcard and smiled. The mailman instantly got it and smiled back, before saluting and leaving.
As the blond watched the small blue blur disappear, he sighed in relief, shoulders sagging down. So he had done it. And now he can't take it back. And he had told a secret no one but him and his best friend knew.
Good God.
~.~
I tried to kill myself once. Now, people say I'm happy, but I still want to die.
Demyx's sea blue eyes softened. Three years ago, his best friend had tried to kill himself by cutting a long line on his wrist and sitting down in the tub, and just waiting until he died of blood. Luckily, Demyx had gotten there before he did.
Leaning back into his chair, Demyx closed his eyes and put his hand over them. He should have turned eighteen, college age, just last week. Technically, his best friend was supposed to be a senior in high school, not a freshman in college. But he was smart enough to skip a grade, way back in sixth grade.
Demyx chuckled quietly to himself. He remembered the day when a fifth grader appeared in his first period sixth grade 'Performing Arts' class. Everyone was surprised that someone a year younger was smarter than most of them.
The blond sighed before straightening his back and setting his pen to his paper.
I'm faking being a mute so I don't have to talk to anyone.
It wasn't like Demyx liked lying. It was just because he was shy. After all, going to a university half way around the world and knowing no one in the whole damn campus makes a person nervous.
So he was going to 'speech therapy,' or so his teachers and classmates think. His plan was to come back next year, completely surprising them by talking. By then, he would know somebody, right?
Demyx got up and grabbed his postcard, getting up. He looked out the window for a moment and stared the sunset before leaving his dorm. Like a few weeks ago, the mailman was there when Demyx had gotten there, so he gave the postcard and a smile, which the mailman returned. As the mailman disappeared, Demyx scratched his head. Why is it so easy to tell strangers secrets than it is to tell your actual friends?
Demyx shrugged to himself before returning back to his dorm.
~.~
There are so many mistakes I wish I had made.
Upon reading this, the blond college freshman raised an eyebrow. How strange. His best friend had said this once before, when they were having a conversation in the park. It was a private conversation; one that they had when no one else was around. They were just lying on the grass, staring up at the clouds.
Demyx blinked twice before shaking his head. He sat up and picked up his blue Sharpie. He paused, the Sharpie just above the postcard, thinking, before writing down something.
There were a lot of things I wished I had done better. But I realized that I wouldn't have done it any other way.
It was the truth. For example, that time when he had walked up to his (future) best friend way back in sixth grade, took his hand, and led him to his group of friends, he had wished he had done it some other way. But then they became best friends and he no longer cared about how he would have done it otherwise. After all, if he hadn't done that, perhaps they wouldn't be best friends at all?
Demyx shook his head before getting up, going downstairs, giving it and a smile to the mailman, which was returned, and watching the blue blur disappear yet again. Demyx smiled to himself before turning around and going back up the stairs.
Perhaps he'll tell his Secret Postcard person his name someday.
But not now, not until he was sure he could trust this person.
~.~
Pot has made me happier than I have been since I went to college.
Ah, so this mysterious person was in college. Demyx smiled faintly. Pot? Maybe this person was good at self-control; otherwise they wouldn't have the time to write postcards to some guy they barely knew.
Demyx entered his dorm and sat down at the desk. He looked up at the calendar. It had been four months since that very first postcard. Reaching down, he unlocked a drawer and pulled out the three postcards from the anonymous person.
He smiled again, larger than before, before putting back the postcards again. He pulled out his blue Sharpie – he'll make blue his signature color, so that the anonymous person will know that it's from him, even if all the fumes killed him – and pulled out another blank postcard.
It's been fifteen freaking years since I last saw my 'mom,' if she even deserves that.
Demyx could barely remember the day when his 'mom' had left him, as he was around four at the time. All he knew was that she just packed up her things and walked out the door, never looking back. That had broke his dad, but at least his dad didn't leave or anything. His dad spent all his time trying to keep Demyx, Demyx's two sisters, Larxene and Namine, and himself together.
After that day, they all hated her, but sometimes; Demyx thinks that his dad still secretly loves her.
He got up and did a routine he had become accustomed to, even though he had only done it three times before.
~.~
My older sister was molested by her best friend, yet it didn't break any laws. Even though the police couldn't do anything, I could tell they were breaking in the inside that they couldn't help a twelve year old girl. I don't hate them at all. Should that really be wrong?
Demyx blinked in surprise. His best friend had once told him, just once, that his older sister was molested, the police couldn't do anything, and yet he didn't hate them. Was this all just a coincidence?
He pursed his lips for a minute before shaking his head. No, this mysterious person couldn't be his best friend. And even if his best friend was involved in the Secret Postcard Project, what were the chances of them being paired up?
Grabbing his blue Sharpie – which hung on his collar at all times, even if he didn't use it to 'talk' – he began to write on a blank postcard.
I want my best friend back.
God, more than anything did he want this. It was his freaking best friend since middle school, for God's sake! Every time he called him, he got the answering machine. Every time he e-mailed, there was no reply. Every time he asked around his home town, he got nothing.
No one knew where his best friend went.
Demyx sighed, calming himself before he crushed the postcard in his hand. He left the dorm and began the familiar routine over again.
~.~
I think I might be in love with my best friend, who's also a guy. I haven't seen him since I've gone to college, and I regret that I didn't tell him every day. If I could see him again, just one more time, I'd give anything and everything, even my whole life.
Demyx looked up at his calendar. They've been exchanging postcards and secrets for two years now, and he was starting his third year at college already. Although he didn't understand why someone in Harvard – it was told in one of the other postcards – and is the top of classes – without even studying; how does this guy even do that! – would have enough time to write to someone like him, who was in a run-of-the-mill sort of college and was just…average, compared to the other students.
(He had told his mysterious person in one of the postcards this on many occasions, as they have gotten to writing extended letters every now and then.)
Anyways, he didn't understand it, but, as the saying goes, 'don't fix something that's not broken.' Besides, he was kind of glad that someone was trying to stay in contact with him, unlike a certain best friend.
I haven't seen my best friend since two years ago either. He's either too busy or ignoring me for two years. But…I think I'm in love with him too. I, Demyx Waters, is in love with my best friend since middle school, Zexion Projet.
Demyx dropped the Sharpie on his table, eyes wide at what he had written. He shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Shaking his head and hoping he wouldn't regret this, he grabbed the postcard and gave it (read: shoved it at) to the mailman. Instead of watching the mailman disappear like he had been doing for the last two years, Demyx instantly spun on his heel and stalked back to his dorm, he desperately wished that it wouldn't be of regret.
~.~
"Oi, Wonder boy, someone's here to see you," Axel Danbouki; his new room-mate; called from the living room. Demyx raised an eyebrow. Ever since he began to 'talk' last year – like his plan – people had taken to calling him 'Wonder boy,' a name that he despised because it was all because of a lie.
"Who is it?" Demyx called from his room, continuing his typing. He had to get a paper finished by tomorrow, and he's been putting it off until now. It had been two weeks since he had mailed that postcard, and he was starting to really, really, severely regret ever handing it to the mailman.
"Why don't you come out here and see?" Axel shouted before the door opened and closed. Demyx sighed before getting up from his desk. Dragging his feet, he walked into the living room and his blue eyes widened drastically.
There, sitting on his (and Axel's) small black sofa, was his slate-haired, bookworm, super-smart, year younger than himself, grade-skipper, apathetic, no feelings, quiet talker, charismatic best friend since middle school, Zexion Projet.
"WHAT THE HELL!" Demyx shouted, pointing at the – what, eighteen year old? No, wait, nineteen, his birthday was on that day Demyx had mailed that postcard. "What are you doing here!"
Zexion feigned being hurt before rolling his eyes and holding up a postcard. "I'm here to deliver something."
Demyx eyed him suspiciously before grabbing the postcard and reading it.
My best friend is my Secret Postcard person whom I've been communicating with for two, three years.
Demyx crumpled his eyebrows in confusion. "What…that was you?"
"Demyx, those were all the secrets I've never told anyone but you. Those were all the secrets you've never told anyone but me. I think we're both idiots, though, for not realizing it sooner." Zexion told him, keeping on his apathetic expression.
"…So we basically told each other we're in love with each other without even knowing we told each other…"
"…Yes, basically…"
Demyx smiled before wrapping Zexion in a tight hug. "Dude, next time, tell me what college you're going to. God, I was freaking out so bad…" Before Zexion had time to reply, Demyx swooped down and caught the younger boy's lips in a kiss.
It was ruined soon enough by a certain red haired room-mate of Demyx, who got his ass whooped by the angry blond.
The End