Disclaimer: Afraid not, though it would be pretty cool! I'd probably not be any better at getting KH3 out in a timely manner than the current powers that be though, so. Meh. Also, I claim no ownership towards any music, foods, or other pop-referenced materials therein either.
Warnings: Male-on-male relationships, time-travel-storytelling-voodoo, regular perspective changes, high school ickiness, some sexual themes and swearing, Axel. Rating may change as necessary.
Notes: Happy birthday to me/ I just turned twenty-three/ god I'm getting so ol-olllld/ and I've been in this fandom a million years. *jazzhands*
Hello and welcome! This is the first of what I'm affectionately calling Lost Puppy productions- that is to say, it's something of a collab between myself and my very good friend, Pup. (You can thank her for Vexen. Vexen, why.) We plotted it together (mostly way too late at night), set up the characters together, and arranged/brainstormed some of the dialogue as a team too. Any artwork will typically be drawn by her, and the physical writing is mine!
Finally, this chapter is a little funky. I promise most of the story is NOT written in the present-tense. So give us a chance, yes? Also, it's an awfully short chapter by my standards, so I'll put up the next one in a couple of days probably.
I – Chronological Order is for Noobs
Thin fingers pull open the blinds, letting in the first orange and crimson light of the early morning, spilling it over clean furniture and discarded clothes. It feels warm through the pane, but the melting ice in patches two stories below tell a different story. Mid December. The very heart of the winter season. Colored grey in the city, but serene still somehow in the earliest of the morning light. The man breathes easily, watching the day creep nearer, the sun peeking between skyscrapers and inching shadows across a muddy garden below. Last night had been long, if enjoyable enough, and the day to come longer still, but there is an undeniable happy buzz floating about in the hotel room.
There is singing coming from the bathroom, hot water and steam waking the other occupant enough that his voice comes out bold and clear through the thin door, smooth as water over river stones and so perfectly on pitch it's almost eerie. He harmonizes with himself, turning off the tap and no doubt rubbing white towels over tanned flesh.
"-Got to tell yourself things that aren't true. You've got to tell yourself you can do- you can do-"
A smile pulls at pale lips, facing the infant sun as keen ears listen and a keener nose picks up a strange scent, something like lavender floating on the breeze, blown over ocean seas and honeysuckle in some place that feels like early spring. Strange, but not at all unpleasant, and more importantly… it's theirs. Two separate things twisted and melded together into one. Something stronger and brighter and deeper than either thing had been or could have become alone.
"-My nooks- so into your looks! Bet you're probably crazy- bet I'm being mowed! Bet you're probably perfect for me- bet you're made of gold!" The door swings open with great abandon, releasing humid but sweet-smelling air into the cool room. Out prances the owner of the voice, angular hips swinging in polka-dotted boxers and otherwise bare, towel left on a silver doorknob and hair the color of sand dripping and just everywhere. The man at the window turns, smiles, and does not deny touch when the other draws near- even though the grasp of warm hands and popping of those hips betray his intentions as easily as if he had spoken them.
Demyx is still singing, tugging his partner along now into a sort of dance, fingers linking with fingers on one side, hand placed easily on a hip on the other. He leans in close, grinning a grin which smells of peppermint toothpaste and looks just a little devilish, guiding his partner in a tight circle.
"I think I want to tell you- everything. I think I want to give it all tonight…"
Zexion has gotten used to this, and despite his many protests, he may not be quite the terrible dancer he'd once been. So much is different, now. Demyx bounces them both through at least ten do do dododo's, slowly creeping their bodies closer and closer together until his lips ghost lyrics against Zexion's left ear, hips to hips, chest to bare chest, swaying as fluidly and organically as the taller seems to do everything he does. Hands shift into something that is still dancing but almost more a hug, and when fingernails scrape up a neck and into damp locks Demyx shivers and begins to more purr than sing, tempo easing to something almost sleepy.
"I think I wanna tell you everything… I wonder what you're doing for the rest of your life…"
Zexion tilts his head, eyelids fluttering closed as lips press gentle, tender kisses in the sensitive place just between the underside of his ear and the beginning of hair. He's still humming the tune, still moving them a little, but not to the degree that he was before. Zexion's fingers flex against his scalp as the other hand chases trickles of water over a shoulder and arm, to a flat chest, up over discolorations and freckles, a faded tattoo, and then tracing the thin white scar etched into his skin, there just below his collarbone.
"Hm." The shorter says at last, after several minutes of just breathing and enjoying one another close, rememorizing already familiar scents and sensations, "You should sing your own songs." Demyx chuckles against his skin and pulls back, smiling.
"But that one's just so catchy! It's been stuck in my head for days." He's whisks himself away not a second later, digging around for clean clothes to cover his lanky frame, tugging up his boxers in the back as an afterthought. Zexion watches him, head tilted to one side, and can't help but think… Some things never change. "Besides!" Demyx continues easily, feeling about on his hands and knees now under the unmade bed for misplaced socks, "I've got to give you some good material for that memoir you keep threatening to write!"
Zexion laughs and shakes his head, moving at last away from the window to begin repacking their bags. Somehow their things just always seem to spread out all over creation, even when they're only in a place for a single night. Try as he might to consolidate and control the madness, socks and toothbrushes and the occasional cellphone regularly disappear on the road.
"Won't you be surprised when it's published?" He asks smoothly, tugging on the collar of a shirt with intentions to pop the wrinkles out of it.
"Not at all! And the girls will flock right to the romance-shelves to buy it all up- you closet-squishy, you." There is fondness in the teasing, but Zexion still shoots him a glare as he breezes passed and into the bathroom.
"It's prudent for a celebrity such as yourself to be more concerned about the inevitable tell-all." He advises. Just as he is closing the door between them he hears the laughing response.
"Nah- you're too smart to destroy your own primary income!"
There is a lightness within him as he washes and conditions his hair, midnight-dark from the water and slickened fully off of his forehead in a way which is still a less common look for him than the heavy curtain covering much of his face that he was once known for. Eyes gaze sightlessly at the tiles before them as the muted sounds of singing resume somewhere behind him.
Just about a year since they were last back home, but around ten since Zexion last lived at home. That long, really? Seemed like it was yesterday sometimes, but at others… how a world could change in ten years. Maybe not the world as a whole, that physical, tangible one, in all its coldness and brutality and hate. But his world, and Demyx's world… the worlds belonging only to Lexaeus and Vexen, to Axel… those tiny microcosms within all of their bruised little hearts. If he looks back on himself in high school- or even on the day of the graduation Demyx didn't think he'd make- it's hard to imagine himself believing that his path could take him here.
It seems a dream, at times.
"Axel called," Demyx is saying soon after, while Zexion does up the buttons along the front of his shirt and tugs at the pestering wrinkles set into his collar again. Long musician's fingers are styling half-dry hair, up at the top and swished to one side just slightly- a more mature version of that strange thing he'd done to himself in school. "He wants to meet up tonight for drinks, when we get into town."
"Mm." Zexion rolls his shoulders and takes his turn with the comb, smoothing out freshly washed bangs across his forehead and behind the pierced ear; for now well displaying both expressive eyes for the world to see. "That's all fine and good, but Vexen will have an impressive tantrum if we don't stay for dinner with them, first." Demyx makes a face into the mirror, something like shock and appall.
"Oh please- even I don't love Axel enough to skip taco night!" He laughs, a sound like wind chimes clinking together, and Zexion chuckles too. Indigo eyes admire them both in the wide bathroom mirror, such as they are. Tall and not as much. Sunny golden tones, and the nighttime sky. Turquoise and indigo. Spontaneous and calculating. Two humans, a bit battered but still standing. He feels sometimes as though there's a mirror between them, as much as before them. So very different, and somehow neither has yet to meet a person who is more alike. The thought is pleasing.
Demyx spreads out on the floor, checking under pieces of furniture for misplaced items while Zexion winds up the cords to phone chargers and zips closed bags. They have breakfast in the attached café, coffee and a couple of apple fritters and a bowl of sliced melon. They check out at a reasonable hour. The walk to the parking garage is chilly and unpleasant, but the car warms well with two bodies inside and a carefully-maintained engine purring. Demyx creeps to the side, breath ghosting again against Zexion's neck. He can all but feel the smile, even as he reaches to tuck stray hair back behind his ear.
"Can I help you-?" He asks lightly, rubbing feeling back into his fingers. Demyx huffs out a laugh and reaches, turning him with a hand on a cheek. Lips touch, chaste but slow and warm, and two mouths smile into it. Zexion is the one to pull away, though reluctantly, just to click his seatbelt and shift the car into drive. Demyx sighs and shifts back into the passenger seat properly, settling in.
"Eh. You sure we can't take a little downtime before the drive?" He asks as he adjusts the seatbelt strap across his chest. Zexion glances back at him, thin eyebrow quirking.
"Would you like to explain exactly why we're late?" Demyx grimaces at what is doubtlessly the thought of Vexen, ironically frilled apron and all, ranting and raving like the lunatic he absolutely is about how unsanitary it is to do such things in a car, and how irresponsible it is to keep one's family waiting at Christmastime, and god-knows what else. There is no crossing that man and maintaining a comfortable, complaint-free evening, and both present know it well. Defeated, the blond turns to the radio, tampering with the settings until some song he likes is playing at a reasonably loud level. Zexion creeps their vehicle out of the parking garage and onto the street.
The scents of the city and sounds of some rock-and-roll something fill their senses well until they hit the freeway, speeding along with traffic in a vaguely westward direction. Hollow Bastion isn't too far now- just a few more hours. Once they're well enough on their way, Demyx sends a text to let the family know. Zexion's head is bobbing slightly in tune to the music, eyes on the road while the man beside him taps away on the screen of his phone, snickering after a time.
"Y'know…" He muses, "I always expected Lex to get more talkative after discovering texting… what with getting to write it out instead of going to all that vocal trouble… but if anything he's even worse this way!" Zexion shakes his head fondly.
"What does he say?"
"Don't get lost or the cookies will be gone." They share a snicker, which is cut short abruptly by the yelp when the phone vibrates again in Demyx's lap. He leans back, tapping to check it, and then snorts.
"Axel's already planned some crazy adventure." He informs. "Seventh Heaven and No Name and I guess there's some kind of something going on Saturday at the crystal fissure…" His phone buzzes again and he takes a minute to read. "Everyone's going to be there, he says, and we're losers if we don't go. I think I miss the sleep-all-day-Axel of yore."
"Who's everyone?" Zexion wonders aloud.
"Beats me! But visiting a couple old haunts is good by me, whatever else we do. I owe Tifa a visit anyway, now that things're finally working out." He taps out a reply to their friend. "And Ax is really excited, so…"
"Don't let him bully you into doing shots." The shorter male instructs, changing to the fast lane to get out from behind a heavy truck. "Tequila makes you into a slut, and he knows it." Demyx groans and hides his face in his hands but laughs and does not deny. A song he loves comes on the radio a moment later and he all but leaps forward, cranking the volume and singing along- all air guitar and drum solo across the dash and absolutely brighter and more vivid than the sun climbing the sky behind them. More beautiful to his partner now than even the hopeful little bits of blue sky peeking out from between heavy gray clouds on the horizon. Zexion's thumbs tap across the wheel, almost as familiar with this particular tune as he is the sound of his own voice.
Demyx sings and laughs, answers messages and keeps Zexion up to date on conversations being had. Zexion drives and commentates, and even sings along a time or two. They drive through patches of sun and misty rain, winding their way ever closer to home.
It's around midday when it happens.
Someone in the other lane hits a patch of ice and slides, spinning dangerously as the driver overcorrects. Demyx gasps and Zexion swerves, darting them out of the way and towards the left- but he, too, overcorrects with a jerk when tires slip off of concrete and sink into muddy earth. Something collides with something else. There is a twist, a vertigo-inducing leap, a scream.
The screech of collapsing metal and crunch of a heavy landing. Glass rains from the sky. Zexion's mind is disoriented and his olfactory sense is flooded now with the scents of gasoline and ice… blood, and tears. He feels shock, followed quickly by pain; sharp and bold and all-consuming, surging through his body with such force that he can't ascertain even the cause. He feels too hot and too cold all in one. Something wet and sticky trails down his face.
His eyes force open unseeing, fractured sight desperate to make sense of what surrounds him. His stomach heaves, he gasps for a breath, and the world begins to close in around him. Sounds waver in and out, like bobbing just beneath the surface of some imaginary lake, inaudible seconds before blaringly loud- but never discernable to his mind. He fights, reaches blindly to his right- or is he even moving at all? His fingers have become too numb to tell, or perhaps his brain has become too sluggish. The world shifts dramatically on its axis. The final pinprick of light in the tunnel closes over him, and the battle for consciousness is lost.
This is not the end.
