Snapshot (a collection)
For further context, please read my fanfiction Stereotypes & Misconceptions, which is set in the same universe. A little disjointed, apologies for the gaps. I may fill them, one day.
Vexen wakes at six twenty on Monday morning, sweating. It's like clockwork that he traipses upstairs with sticky pants, fumbles with the key to his landlord's apartment at the top of the block, slips into the bathroom. It's the only thing that keeps him from screaming, from curling tightly in the corner of his disintegrating mattress with his knuckles clenched against each other and praying for forgiveness, the mindless autonomy of clearing himself up after yet another wet dream.
They're coming thicker and faster than ever, now, ever since the boy Marluxia flounced into his life just over a week ago. Today's the first day back at school after. Vexen can't afford to be a mess. He can't let anyone know that anything's wrong, that he's a dirty homosexual and his own parents won't even love him any more.
He slips into the shower and quickly washes himself off before climbing out, wrapping his towel tightly around his body. On the way out he's caught by the landlord's pretty girlfriend, a thirty-something woman he's always forgetting the name of. She comments that he's up early. He grimaces a little, attempting a smile. First day back at school. She wishes him luck.
He needs it.
A few days later and Marluxia's pert little bottom has just disappeared out of Vexen's door. Vexen, sitting on the edge of the glorified mattress, stays stoically still for a few moments then topples over sideways, groaning. Marluxia was wearing a shirt three sizes too small for him, and it was stretched taut across his quickly-thickening body in a way that Vexen could only see as seductive.
He's wrong, everything is wrong. He can ignore men on the street, fully dressed, and men with their arms looped across the backs of pretty girls. But when Marluxia bends over at the waist and not the knees, revealing a crevice between his cheeks that Vexen just wants to slide his fingers into, it's impossible to stop all the perverted, God forsaken thoughts crashing into his mind. He becomes one track, unable to concentrate until sexual release has been achieved, and he hates himself all the more for it. He doesn't want to lower himself to masturbation, because that's wrong, too, but it seems to be the only way that the images in his mind will leave him alone.
He pathetically attempts to read a few times, work on his class assignments, but he can't concentrate. It's maybe half an hour later that he finds himself with his pillow crushed between his teeth and his hands moving desperately below the waistband of his trousers. And it's half an hour after that that he's still crying, holding the mess of his bedding tightly like maybe a companion, or perhaps a lifeline.
It's a few weeks into the new term that, miserable, Vexen finally crawls down to the school nurse. He feels like he's tried everything: praying, wishing, hoping, working, helping old ladies across the damned street but nothing can make the dreams disappear. They can't stop him wanting Marluxia's gorgeous body until he catches himself, from feeling a stir in his heart (and his pants) every time the boy drapes himself innocently across his chest. And he needs somebody, anybody, to tell him that that's not wrong even if it isn't right, that as long as he doesn't act on his impulses it doesn't make him a demon to feel them. That's all he wants.
She's just dealing with a little kid in the first year who's scraped his knee, and Vexen waits patiently until the student scurries along before slinking in and taking a seat. He's been at this school for five years now, almost, and she knows him well.
"Hello, Vexen. How can I help you?"
Vexen thinks about the way his mother paled on the night of his sixteenth birthday and almost flees from the little medical room then and there. He's not sure if he can take another rejection so painful. So he's evasive when he ducks his head and asks,
"Miss… What does God to do homosexuals?"
She smiles at him a little, as though she hasn't seen the way that his hands shake and his eyes threaten to burst forth in tears.
"Well, sweetheart, the same thing that He does to all those who have lost sight of His way. He'll punish them."
It scares Vexen how people can say that so sweetly, that their all-loving God will send His own creations to burn forever in Hell if they don't do that He says. He doesn't even know if God is His anymore. God seems to have realised that He made a mistake, and has forsaken him.
He isn't sure what he was hoping for, but that's not it.
"But… can't they… can't they redeem themselves?"
"There's always room for redemption," The nurse tells him with a friendly pat on his back. "God will always forgive those who see the error of their ways and return to His path."
"What about people who can't help it," Vexen says desperately, fists clenching tightly around the fabric of his trousers. He's glad his hair is long, untied, because it hides his reddening face.
"Vexen, all sinners have made a choice. Murderers, rapists, homosexuals. They have all chosen to ignore the path of God."
"Oh." Vexen says. He chokes on the syllable itself, hardly able to spit it from his mouth. Part of him can't believe that he could be roped in with those who willingly torture, maim and destroy, just for the way he thinks. But it's fact: when he dies, he's going to go to Hell.
"We must all resist our ungodly temptations and in so doing become better people."
Vexen stands. His knees wobble and for a moment he thinks he's going to collapse, from the pain and the loneliness and the sheer self hatred burning inside him, but of course he stays upright, shamefully hiding himself beneath layers of someone that's anybody but him. He turns to leave, unable to look the nurse in the face.
"Thanks, miss."
It's raining today and Vexen didn't bring an umbrella. He stayed at school late today, with a Tupperware box of cold pasta to keep his stomach from growling, until the librarian threw him out and into the rain. He's tucked his school bag inside his blazer, hoping that it'll keep off the worst of the pouring water, but he's already soaked to the skin. If he's unlucky (which he is), he'll catch a cold. If he's really unlucky, Marluxia will take pity on him and keep him company all night. It's not that he doesn't like the other boy, for all his bouncy energy and disproportionate enthusiasm; it's that he likes Marluxia too much. He's known him for just a few months and already he feels like he's falling in love, which is awful and wrong and against everything that God has planned for him in life.
He stops at the entrance of the park and cowers under a tree until the worst of the storm passes, watching the rain illuminated in the orange glow of the street lamps. He's there for ten minutes, shivering, until a car pulls up and a lady with an umbrella steps out. It's his biology teacher, a young woman who's just got back from missionary work in Africa sharing the wonders of God with the locals. Vexen doesn't agree with missionaries, but he dares say nothing.
"Vexen," She says, hurrying over with her umbrella to shield him from the fat droplets percolating through the tree. "What are you doing here? It's late."
"I was going home," Vexen says truthfully, pulling out his school bag and checking the contents. They're dry, thankfully, although only just.
"I'll give you a ride," The teacher says generously. "You live in Garden Close, don't you?"
Vexen doesn't want to admit that no, he doesn't any more, he lives over on the poor side of town in a little converted storage room now. Because he'd have to say why, and he could never, ever tell anyone the truth.
"It's fine," He says. "I'll walk."
She argues with him for a while – it's a long way away, and the rain is pouring down, and he'll catch a cold in that awful weather – but he insists, and eventually she settles for just lending him her umbrella.
Vexen trudges off into the rain.
Vexen's almost asleep by the time the fifth presentation group bustles, laughing, to the front of the classroom. It's E and R and they're learning about Moral Issues In Modern Society. So far he's listened through abortion – it's wrong, IVF – it's wrong too, euthanasia – it's also wrong, and tidily argued the case against divorce because it is, of course, wrong. He wanted a slide on his group's PowerPoint mentioning that sometimes families can benefit from divorce if it makes the parents happier, but he was shot down. No way. Divorce is wrong. There are two left. Vexen thinks that one of them is contraception, because that's another thing that has saved lives and improved lives and the Catholics have decided is wrong.
He was working all weekend, so he's only got half an ear open for whatever babble the group will spurt out: until they laugh over the topic.
"Our presentation is on homosexuality."
Vexen shoots straight up in his chair just as everyone starts laughing. The teacher shushes them and gleefully, the boys talk about how God made men for women and women for men and gays are heretics and all the quotes in the Bible that say that if you have sex with men, you're condemned for life and God will throw you to the Pits of Hell.
By the end of it Vexen can hardly listen, and even so he can't shut off his ears to the conclusion: homosexuality is wrong. Once they've laughed themselves back to the chairs like it's funny knowing that when you die you'll suffer for the rest of eternity, Vexen hesitantly raises his hand.
"Sir? Can I go to the toilet, please?"
"I'd like you to stay for the last presentation, please. You've got break in ten minutes."
Vexen knows he can't sit in the classroom without breaking down in tears for ten more minutes, so he shoots the teacher a desperate look.
"I won't be long," He lies, "I really, really need to go."
Somebody makes pissing noises behind him and is appropriately scolded, but the teacher excuses him and he grabs his bag and rushes out before he can change his mind. He's quick to lock himself in a cubicle that's got a good supply of paper, and fold over until his nose touches his knees, and sob.
A few minutes later, a few of the boys in his class bustle in, calling his name. He lifts his feet up off the floor and holds his breath until they're gone. He doesn't want them to know he's been crying.
"Hey, Vexen, where were you last night?"
Vexen's been awkwardly avoiding everybody since it happened, because he's afraid that somebody will realise what's wrong and pry too close to the truth. He still hangs around with his friends, but he keeps quiet, a little way away from the group. It's Saïx who approaches first, fully two months later, slapping him jovially on the shoulder as they pass in the corridor. Vexen's on the way to the library, working on a homework project that, with no internet access in his - and Marluxia named it – storage box, had to be done at school.
"Huh?"
"Last night I called. Your Mum said you'd be out until late so I shouldn't call back."
Vexen freezes. A few people have mentioned his parents or his house since his birthday, but only teachers and Vexen got into good practice of lying discretely to throw off the trail. But Saïx hits hard with his words, because Saïx isn't an adult, he's a friend, and Saïx doesn't know when to politely quit asking questions.
"I was out at work," He says, truthfully.
"Oh, they made you get a job? My Dad's like that too. Good experience or whatever."
Vexen decides not to tell the other boy that he was actually working to pay his rent and buy his food, and that he's had to put in the extra hours these past few weeks because next month's rent is almost due and Vexen still has twenty pounds left to make up, unless he wants to go without food next week.
"Yeah," He replies shortly. Saïx pulls him aside, in between one of the rows of lockers.
"Hey, Vexen," He says awkwardly, because it's hard for boys to talk about their feelings, "Are you alright?"
Vexen nods like he wishes he was.
"'Cus, you know, you've been pretty quiet recently."
"Just busy," Vexen says. It's not a lie either: he has been busy. If it's not school it's work, and if it's not work it's Marluxia gleefully dragging him down to the park for a picnic or inviting himself round for yet another sleepover.
"Yeah, I guess." Saïx reluctantly agrees. Vexen can see that he's not quite convinced, but he knows that Saïx won't push him further. Guys just don't do that, not real guys. Guys are okay. They're always okay.
But then he adds; "Did you get that thing I posted to you?"
Vexen frowns and shakes his head.
"Must've got lost in the post," He guesses, trying to shrug in a manner that's laid back.
"I put it through your door," Saïx says, sighing, "On my paper round the other day."
Vexen bites his lip, just as the bell goes. He wants to duck his head and run, but Saïx is giving him a look, that when he meets it becomes strangely gorgeous – not gorgeous like Marluxia with his fluffy hair and nerve-melting smile, but a rugged, masculine kind of beauty, and that scares Vexen more.
"I moved," He blurts out, instantly inwardly cringing, because nobody's known until now. He hasn't even told Marluxia, although that's partly because Marluxia is brainless and forgets the moment he asks that he wants to know why Vexen lives alone, in the box room.
"But I saw your parents," Saïx says, frowning in a way that makes Vexen's stomach curl. Oh dear God, he thinks, feeling the familiar onset of arousal, oh God, not at school. Not at an all boy's school where all of the female teachers are either ancient or frumpy. Please, God, no. He realises that he's up against the lockers and Saïx is leaning towards him with his hand by his ear, and Vexen's heart jolts. He remembers the romance novel he'd read a hundred times and then his mind is stuck and there is nothing he can do.
"I don't live with them any more," He says truthfully, rushing his words, and runs. His next lesson's chemistry and that's his favourite – but he can't bring himself to go. He hides in the toilets for ten minutes then formulates a perfect excuse for when he finally arrives.
Saïx… Saïx doesn't talk to him much after that.
It's January and Vexen and Marluxia are dozing in a pile when Marluxia's mother comes in to wake them. She was here at six thirty to turn their alarm off, but now it's eight and the sun is welcoming the sky and she thinks it was time they woke up.
"Marluxia."
She shakes her son's shoulder a little and he grumbles something rather inappropriate about Vexen's anatomy in sleepy half-awakeness, curling more tightly around his companion's hips. Between his lips is a sizeable lock of Vexen's hair, which has become soggy through the night. She carefully prises it from him and rolls him away with delicate care.
"Come on, sweet pea. It's time for you to wake up."
Marluxia moans in protest but soon enough his azure eyes flutter open and blinking deliriously, focus to hers in the weak morning winter light.
"Morning, Mum."
And he leans back to Vexen, still fast asleep on his lap, and gives the older teen a discrete kiss. Vexen murmurs sleepy somethings, but does not wake. He was up late last night, finishing an assignment from school that was due in today. Marluxia, idiotic though he can be, knows better than to wake him.
"Come look at this," Marluxia's mother says, leading Marluxia out of the bed and to the window. Vexen, suddenly alone in the bed, whines in his sleep and grasps for his missing bedmate and hot water bottle. Marluxia giggles at him, kissing his nose, before letting his mother pull back the curtains.
Snow. Oh God, the world is covered by a thick blanket of snow that not even houses can conquer, white and shining and pristine and perfect. Marluxia gasps audibly, pressing his face to the pane until his breath creates condensation on the glass. The sun is just a patch of brighter cloud to the east, and flakes are still slowly falling in fluffy drifts through the sky.
Marluxia skips back from the window and squeals, rushing to shake Vexen awake. The poor blonde starts, almost falling off the bed as Marluxia drags him over to see the snow. There's commotion and excitement, hot cups of tea and rushing breakfast, shoving on coats and pulling on boots and finding hats and gloves and scarves before Vexen's even woken up, and before he knows it Marluxia is throwing him Wellington boots and watching him expectantly.
"But don't we have to go to school?"
"School's closed," Marluxia says, rolling his eyes. "I told you that ten minutes ago. Come on..." And he wheedles until Vexen grudgingly follows him down four flights of stairs and into the freezing, frosty air. But he's smiling, because the snow makes him feel young and free. They set off in no particular direction with no great haste.
When Marluxia picks up a handful of snow and begins shaping it into a ball, Vexen glares at him.
"Don't you dare."
"Awh, you're no fun."
Marluxia throws the ball in front of them and it plops harmlessly into the snow.
"Come on, let's go for a walk."
"Kay."
Vexen treads carefully, observing every footprint he makes in the snow as they round the corner into the park. Marluxia stomps about in childish glee, as though he's not just a few months from sixteen but six years old. There are other people around, milling and chatting, and Marluxia converses easily with them. There's some kid from school, waiting for his dog to escape from drifts, and the baker on his way to open up the shop. Vexen follows him around a little aimlessly until Marluxia grabs his hand and pulls him down banks and flurries of snow and kisses his chilly lips sweetly as snow falls around them.
Saturday night, eleven thirty, and everybody is still awake. Except Vexen; he doesn't seem to grasp the concept of sleepovers and has been softly dozing on Marluxia's chest since nine. He didn't even have a drink; he arrived, settled down on Marluxia's lap and fell asleep. A fifty/fifty mix of girls and boys, they're alternating between horror and chick flicks as popcorn, pizza and beer is passed around and slowly devoured. Right now three people have been killed and there's just two survivors left, an attractive blonde female clinging to a rugged man, hiding from the insane psychopathic killer just around the corner. Marluxia's pretty glad Vexen's asleep; he loves his boyfriend dearly but he has a tendency to complain about the blood being the wrong consistency instead of gasping when someone's arm is hacked off with a chainsaw.
Just as the film finishes - and what a surprise, the couple survived to snog at the sunrise - Vexen mumbles something inarticulate and presses his nose to Marluxia's neck. His deep breaths warm Marluxia's collar, dreamy whispers just catching the fringes of his hearing. He hears molecule, hippopotamus soup and bottom, and not for the first time wishes he could climb into Vexen's dreams just to see what kind of weird, intelligence-induced shit goes on inside his subconscious mind.
"Vexen still out?"
That's Axel, a friend of a friend who seems to hang around everybody like a lost puppy. Marluxia chuckles a little as his fingers tangle in familiar blonde hair, stretching his legs out until his knees click. Vexen grunts at the disruption, half-waking and peering at Marluxia with delirious eyes.
"Pretty much."
Axel laughs, tosses them a duvet that lands in a ribbon across the dip in Vexen's back. It's with a grumpy sleepiness that he tries - and fails - to shove the offensive bedding away, until Marluxia catches his hand and brings it to rest on the flat of his chest, then spreads the duvet out on top of them. Vexen huffs a little, barely in the conscious world, and settles down again on Marluxia's stomach.
Marluxia watches him sleep for a moment as chaos and commotion surrounds him in the form of the others fighting over the next film. Vexen's adorable when he sleeps, expression serene as his breaths bubble out of his mouth, fingers caught in Marluxia's clothes or splayed on his skin. Marluxia sees the kid in Vexen that he never really knew, the little boy with wide eyes and grubby knees. He sleeps like a child, limbs lax around his oversized teddy bear like nothing in the world could ever wake him.
Marluxia leans down and kisses Vexen's lips. He murmurs sleepy words as his head slips away into the crook of Marluxia's elbow, something about blue eyes and flowers tucked behind his ear and tea spoons and true love. Marluxia props him up again in the crook of his neck where his hair is fluffiest, and smiles.
"Who needs rom coms when we've got those two?"
Marluxia laughs as an offending friend weilding a marker goes for Vexen's face and he bats them away. He'd sicken all of them if he acted the way he wanted to with Vexen in public; it's not often that he gets his boyfriend curled around his every curve and he's making the most of it.
"Oh, come on, we're boring. We're not even making out."
Predictably, the girls' faces light up with hopeful glee and the boys pretend to puke into their hands. But Marluxia humours none of them, simply tugging Vexen a little round so his hip isn't digging into his skin and looping his arms around the taller boy. Somebody slots the DVD into the player and turns out the lights, and the film begins to play.
It's one of those nights again. The nights that things come crashing down on the two of them, the nights where Marluxia realises that come September Vexen will be gone, and the nights that Vexen cannot deny that come September he will have to sleep alone, and they cling to each other with a feverish desperation beneath the bedsheets.
Because this year was the best, because as much as the two boys - and almost men - argue, they are irrevocably in love, because the friendship is rib-achingly hilarious, the romance is spine-tinglingly beautiful and the sex is toe-curlingly fantastic. And they're still shying from the truth, even after Vexen's results have come back, straight A's, and he was accepted into Cambridge University, that they probably won't make it through the next year.
They're in love, but it's a kind of love that they need to be close to feel. Whether it's raging hormones or a gorgeous guy (or girl) across the street, it's so easy to forget how perfectly they lie in each other's arms. It's only when they come together in blinding unison that things make perfect sense and they'd never dream of straying.
Marluxia wants to take the train to visit every weekend. He wants to call Vexen every single night just to hear his voice on the phone, because he doesn't want his perfect lover to be a hundred thousand million billion miles away. He wants to Goddamn move in with Vexen, forget his A Levels and school and all his friends here in this sprawling suburban town.
But he can't.
And Vexen wants to put Marluxia on hold for a year, to work at his degree with the best of his mind and no distractions. He wants to return to Marluxia in the holidays and in the summer frozen in time just the way he is now. Because he wants Marluxia, wants Marluxia, but only when it's convenient.
But he can't.
Vexen might have a pathetic gaydar (hell, he didn't even realise that Marluxia was bisexual until their lips were pressed together in the sweetest of kisses), but the moment his saw this guy, he just knew. It wasn't obvious in the stocky blonde's posture or dress, his mannerisms or cocky smirk. But it was definitely there. So when the first girl strutted up with her chest puffed up and her eyelashes fluttering, Vexen simply smirked to himself and returned to his drink.
He doesn't know exactly what had possessed him to actually agree to go to the nearest bar with his fellow students tonight - it certainly wasn't because he has nothing better to do, with the amount of work his tutors have been piling on him - but it might have been something pertaining to the fact that when he gets home he'll be inundated by missed calls from a number he sometimes wishes he could forget.
He's at the edge of the group - of course. Never a socialite, speaking when spoken to but nothing more, he's been tipping down apple juice for the past hour and a half and musing the approximations of the world.
"Evening, darling."
He glances up to see the attractive blonde straddle the stool next to him, and the moment their eyes meet he catches the look that says this stranger's got it too, this ability to just tell. He hums in acknowledgement and returns to his drink.
"Not much of a party animal, are you?"
Vexen shrugs a little, looking up as the other blonde orders himself a beer. Vexen's never much liked the taste. If that makes him less of a man, he doesn't actually particularly care.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink but it looks like you've already got one," The stranger says, not in a desperate manner but more easy-going - like he'd talk to anyone and Vexen just happens to be there. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this, anyway?"
Vexen allows himself to chuckle. He's slouched over the bar here, but he'd easily dwarf most of the men in this room - and there are a lot of them - if he stood tall.
"I'd hardly call myself little."
The stranger gives him a friendly pat at the base of his spine.
"I'd say there could stand to be more of you. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Vexen," Vexen says, mulling over his own name in his head as he speaks. "Vexen Carlisle. Chemistry. Aiming for doctorate, and yourself?"
The man chuckles.
"Luxord. And let's just say I like to gamble with fate."
"I'm more of a chilly academic, myself," Vexen sniffs. Luxord seems to find this amusing, laughing deeply. Vexen's suddenly reminded of Marluxia, and all the subtle jokes that are lost on him.
Yeah. Marluxia. Vexen hasn't spoken to him all week.
"One doesn't see many of us around here," He says lightly after a few minutes. Vexen hums in agreement: most gays would probably at the gay bar down the road. Vexen slipped in there once and was immediately intimidated. He pretended to be a lost heterosexual to anyone who asked and left as quickly as possible. "Local?"
"I live in a little flat on the outskirts of town," Vexen says, sliding down further on the counter. The bartender offers him another apple juice. He seems to know Luxord well, chatting about work and leisure, girls and boys. But eventually he goes to serve others and Luxord returns to Vexen.
"Nice place?"
"It's alright," Vexen says haltingly. For a second he almost calls it home. But it's not really. There's always been something missing from it. "Why, did you want a guided tour?"
Luxord laughs.
"I certainly wouldn't say no, company considered."
It takes Vexen a few seconds to catch the innuendo, the suggestive tone, and when he does his snorts a little into his glass.
"I hope that's not a come-on."
"I'm afraid you walked yourself into that one, sweetheart."
Vexen can't argue with that, so he casually glances up to study the stranger's face. Thick set, clear skin, blue eyes so reminiscent of a certain brunette that keeps wriggling into Vexen's mind. Piercings, and a lot of them, a neatly cropped goatee of the same platinum blonde as his short hair. He's not effeminate, per say. He's just not masculine. A sophisticated homosexual.
They exchange idle banter for much of the evening until Vexen glances at his watch and decides it's time to go home. Luxord gives him a number, sees him off at the pub door.
With a kiss.
Alien lips against his, Vexen panics. This new man is strange, unfamiliar. Unpredictable. He hurriedly pulls back.
"I have a boyfriend."
Before Luxord can answer, he runs away. Marluxia will be waiting.
"Marluxia, I..."
Marluxia's on his bed, legs splayed up against the wall and one hand pressed to his ear, the wireless phone practically crushed against his head. His other hand is toying with the waistband of his underpants. Vexen probably won't want phone sex; Vexen hates phone sex, but Marluxia had some tension he badly needed to relieve anyway, so whether he'll do it now or wait until Vexen's finished calling his pants will still be coming off.
But then again he wasn't even expecting Vexen to call. Vexen never calls. If he does, it usually means there's something wrong.
"Yeah?"
"I met a guy."
Marluxia's heart plummets faster than a rock. Immediately his hand is gone from his underwear, the tension replaced by a cold, blue numbness. No, he thinks. No no no no no.
"Oh."
"He kissed me," Vexen says on the other end of the line. Marluxia lets his phone hand slack a little. He's not sure if he wants to hear. He said he'd be fine with it, if Vexen found somebody better, because all he wanted was for Vexen to be happy. But a hundred sleepless nights have taught him that if Vexen ever left for another man his heart would shatter into a billion pieces and never recover.
"Oh."
"Are you free this weekend?" Vexen asks, and his voice sounds a little strange. Like he's surprised himself, and isn't quite sure who he is any more.
Marluxia checks his calendar. Every day is empty.
"Sure."
There's a long pause. If he strains his ears, Marluxia can hear Vexen breathing. It's shallow, a little on edge.
"Can you come over?" He asks eventually. His voice wobbles.
"Sure."
Another pause. Marluxia imagines Vexen sitting on his office chair, knees tucked under his chin.
"It felt all wrong," He finally whispers. Marluxia's mental image is cemented and he wants to be with Vexen, now, wrapping his arms tight around him and giving him kisses that are all right.
"Maybe you just weren't attracted to him," He says at length, trying to refrain from ruining the mood by joking or worse, snapping. Vexen hums a little.
"Maybe."
Marluxia takes the plunge.
"I love you."
Hitched breath. Long pause.
"I love you too," Vexen says. Marluxia lets out a deep exhalation of air. He's never quite sure if Vexen will reciprocate these days, when stress is at an all time high and love is a hundred miles away.
"I'll get the first train tomorrow morning,"
Marluxia's mother has a letter. She's holding it up, shoulder height, the header slightly crumpled beneath her fist.
Marluxia slides his legs, naked and shaven, from the bed. He looks in her direction, but not quite at her. He's not smiling. He seems unusually stony, defensive. She sighs and tuts.
"Marluxia."
"Yeah," Marluxia says with neither enthusiasm nor malice. His mother puts her hand on her hip, and frowns.
"This letter from your form tutor," She says deliberately, waving the paper, "Says the school's worried about your 'attitude to learning'."
Marluxia doesn't say anything immediately, simply watching her with blank, emotionless eyes. He's perched on the side of the bed, a lean body in a white vest and boxers, his shoulders close, his fists if not clenched, tight, by his sides.
"Yeah."
"I know you're missing Vexen, and I know you don't really want to do this," His mother continues, dropping the letter onto the sideboard beside her. It's cluttered, and has been ever since Vexen left - Marluxia hasn't just stopped concentrating in class, he's also not bothering to tidy up his laundry or pack away his CDs once he's done listening to them. "But please be responsible and think about your future."
"It doesn't matter any more, does it," Marluxia snaps more harshly than he means. His mother sighs a little, but it's a knowing sigh: because she's lost boyfriends before; she's not the only one who's had to learn the hard way that life can't go on forever without changing.
"It still matters," She says softly. She never rises to the bait. Marluxia inherited his hotheadedness from his father; she's cool as a cucumber, rational and sympathetic. "It still matters. He's still your friend."
Marluxia makes a gesture as though to spit; a short, sharp huff escapes his throat.
"He hates me now."
"He's just stressed out," Marluxia's mother says, reaching over to brush her fingers against his shoulder. He crumples, falling into her chest, holding her close and desperate. "He just needs space. Space and time. Even if you can't be lovers, you can still be friends."
"We can't," Marluxia hisses back; he's crying now, not that he'd ever admit it - not that he'd ever admit that he's been sporadically breaking down ever since Vexen dumped him last week over the phone. "I can't be with him without wanting to fuck him. I couldn't ever stand being just his friend."
She holds him for a few minutes, remembering in the back of her mind the Marluxia who would laugh in the face of scraped and bleeding knees, who used to cry for the baby birds who fell too soon from the nest. She remembers, fondly, the Marluxia who always lost his way in the crowd, who would arrive two hours later, grinning, at the customer services desk; the Marluxia with pink hair, the Marluxia with girlfriends - the Marluxia with Vexen.
"I miss him."
She softly strokes his hair, in better health now that the pink dye has faded. It washed out some time last month, with Vexen far away and Marluxia listless without him.
"I know you do, pea."
Marluxia chuckles a little, the sound distorted through a tightened throat. The pet name brings him back to his past.
"I miss him so much."
She pulls herself away and sits beside him on the bed. In a gesture somehow unfitting for his bulk, Marluxia tucks his knees under his chin and wraps his arms around his legs.
"I don't feel like I'm me without him."
"It's always hard," His mother says sympathetically, gazing out of the window. "But you've just got to make the best of a bad situation. You won't lose him. Not forever. You just need time for the wounds to close."
Marluxia rubs at his eyes a little, as though to clear them.
"I guess."
"I think... I think you need to start concentrating on the other important things in your life."
"Like school?"
Marluxia's mother smiles.
"Like school."
Marluxia thinks about this for a while; it's true that the only thing keeping him at school was Vexen, and all he wanted to do was leave school and get a job and live with Vexen, in a perfect dream world where his lover was close and everything was beautiful. His mother seems to sense this; she reaches over to touch her palm to the skin between Marluxia's shoulder and his neck.
"Just... just try your hardest, okay? It's what Vexen would want."
The only reason Marluxia stayed in school was because of Vexen. Because Vexen was there, in the corridors and in the library and curled up in his lap on the common room sofa, because Vexen was fussy and thought that leaving education was a waste of Marluxia's intelligence, because Vexen proofread his notes and took him on study dates and lovingly kissed his lips once the hard work was done. Because Vexen wanted Marluxia not just to have a job but to have a good job, to do the things he loved and to enjoy life to the fullest, because Vexen cared.
Marluxia smiles, for the first time in what seems like an age.
"Yeah."
Things are awkward when Vexen turns up at Marluxia's door. They've barely spoken since the beginning of December, and haven't met in person for more than a month. Marluxia goes in for a hug but Vexen shies away, so he takes the young man's bags instead and stiffly invites him inside.
"You've let your hair grow again," Vexen states as he hangs in the kitchen doorway. Marluxia nods a little. It used to fall loosely around his ears but now it's almost touching his shoulders and he's not going to cut it until it's the same length that it used to be back when he was sixteen and life was good.
"Head was cold."
Vexen chuckles humourlessly, and Marluxia offers him a drink. He just wants tap water and Marluxia delivers with an attention he wishes he was allowed to give to the other man's body.
"How are things?" He asks when Vexen hasn't got anything to say, pouring himself his own glass of fruit juice. Vexen shrugs.
"Okay. You?"
Marluxia doesn't say that it's not been okay at all at his end, that he's been fucking miserable ever since they broke up five weeks ago, that he wants to do nothing more than quit his A Levels and get a job and spend his life with Vexen.
"Yeah. It's been alright."
Vexen hums a little, then looks around for Marluxia's parents. He was probably expecting them to immediately rush over and coddle him - he's like a son to them - and so far, nothing.
"Your parents out?"
Marluxia nods.
"They'll be home in a few hours."
Vexen seems a little put out by that and Marluxia knows - even if he doesn't want to admit it - why. Vexen doesn't want to be alone in the little flat with him. He doubts that it's because Vexen thinks that Marluxia will try to molest him in some way... as much as Marluxia would love to. What he wants is a distraction.
"Look, I-" He helplessly begins, wanting to at least fill the void between them with something. Vexen holds up his hand.
"Leave it."
It's Christmas Eve and Marluxia hesitantly invited Vexen around because he knew his ex-boyfriend had nowhere to go and didn't want him to be alone for the twenty-fifth of December. But hanging awkwardly around him trying not to invade his ever-larger personal space, Marluxia feels lonelier than ever.
There isn't a spare room; the flat's too small. So Marluxia sets up the air bed in the middle of his room where there's just enough space adjacent to his bed. What he really wants is to share his bed with Vexen, to curl sleepily up in the other man's limbs and hold him close. But he's crossed too many lines with Vexen already and he can't afford to break any more of the rules that he never even knew existed before September.
He's unused to playing by Vexen's book. Part of him wishes for the mindless obsession that used to control him back in the first years of their relationship where he'd just do what felt right and things would always work out in the end - but Vexen's changing, they're both changing. And Marluxia can't afford to grow older without growing more mature, and it's high time he started taking responsibility for his actions towards Vexen. So he's giving his (former) best friend some space, as much as his little home allows because Marluxia is as sure as hell not forcing Vexen to sleep on the old, dying couch in the living room.
After his parents retire to bed, loosened by mulled wine and hand in hand, Vexen and Marluxia watch television in stilted silence for a few hours until midnight ticks past.
"Merry Christmas," Marluxia says dully, in the hopes that maybe Vexen's feeling the seasonal spirit, because he as sure as hell isn't. Vexen smiles a little, which is more than he's done all evening.
"Yeah. Merry Christmas."
Marluxia chuckles a little - but he's left hanging and quickly returns to silence. They watch to the end of the program and then Vexen collects up his pyjamas and changes in the bathroom. Marluxia's already in his empty bed by the time he returns, flicking the light switch and disappearing.
Marluxia can't sleep. It's too tense, hearing Vexen's breaths gently accumulate in the silence of the room and knowing all the times they used to sleep together together. He barely even realises he's been holding his own breath until his muscles begin to complain, and he releases the air in his lungs in a shaky sigh.
He half hopes that Vexen will ask if he's alright so he can request a hug, but there's no response from the room's other occupant. Vexen shifts: Marluxia wriggles uncomfortably. Ever since they spent months and months sharing beds every night it's felt weird to be alone, and particularly when Vexen's just a few feet away from him. Marluxia knows that his fifteen-year-old self would have instantly crawled under Vexen's covers and latched onto him with every limb available but he's in dangerous territory, skating on thin ice, playing with fire, hanging by a thread.
It feels like hours, lying in the dark waiting for sleep to claim him. The monotony is only relieved each time Vexen shifts on the air bed, and Marluxia freezes until the movement stops. But it's when the tossing and turning become definite footsteps on the floor that Marluxia stops trying to relax and sits up a little in his bed.
"You going to the toilet?" He whispers into the pitch darkness, his own voice sounding unnatural. There's no reply from Vexen, just slight noises of movement that Marluxia strains to track through his own heavy breathing.
He practically jumps when fingertips blindly contact his skin, when the centre of balance on his springy mattress tips to the left and Vexen's hand weaves across his back. He accepts the other man into him with open arms, clinging back with a hold that is familiar and comfortable. Vexen tucks his head beneath Marluxia's chin and seems content with the close proximity and no explanation.
Marluxia simply enjoys the sudden change of heart for a few moments before curiosity overcomes him and he begins to ask why. He's interrupted by Vexen's fingers needling against his back and an odd growling hum from the back of the blonde's throat.
"It seemed stupid," He whispers, breathing damply and comfortingly against Marluxia's prickling neck, "To be on the floor when I could be in bed with you."
Marluxia couldn't agree more.
Sex isn't on the menu when they wake up together the next morning. Vexen is infinitely glad; he spent half the night tense against Marluxia's sleeping body worrying over the possibility that the younger man would wake up and want to make love. It's not that Vexen didn't want to have sex with Marluxia - he just doesn't want it now, not when work is very nearly killing him and nothing seems to help the agony of leaving his lover. But when morning dawns late and cold Marluxia is a sleepy hot water bottle beside him and nothing more, smiling softly if a little sadly as he reaches up to brush a lock of Vexen's hair from his face.
Vexen, always more awake first thing in the morning, studies Marluxia for a few moments. The boy has changed so much in the last few months; it seems like the innocently perverted and forever adorable mid-teen has disappeared beneath a layer of cropped hair and muscles and the skin's fading summer tan. Vexen doesn't feel like he knows Marluxia any more, which scares him. He doesn't want to open himself to a stranger; he wants someone he knows and someone he will love forever. But there's something both alien and familiar in Marluxia's eyes as they watch each other in a silence that for once is neither tense nor angry. The familiarity is the emotion. What is strange is that Marluxia looks thoughtful.
"Merry Christmas, again," He says, the barest breath of syllables, and Marluxia nods a little, glancing away.
"Yeah."
"I miss you," Vexen whispers without really registering the thought that triggers the words. And Marluxia gives him a look that is nothing short of desperate, and suddenly they are so close, wonderfully close, and-
"I miss you too."
After that there's not much opportunity for words. They just kiss with a desperation and longing that Vexen's forgotten that he had, then curl up together under the duvet where it's warm. But cuddling Marluxia and talking about anything in the world, even if they both know that their relationship is a broken mess, is infinitely better than spending Christmas alone.
Not that he'd admit it, but Marluxia's a wreck of nerves the day he goes into school for the very last time to collect his A Level results. It's not like he cares - hell, he hasn't ever cared about his results because frankly there's more to life than a list of letters but there's a certain weekend away somewhere with Vexen if he passes every subject.
It might help fix your relationship a little, his mother had said. And hell, their relationship needed a lot of fixing. She hasn't told him where she's booking the hotel and he's not expecting anything fancy (hoping for Brighton, because he's wanted to go to Brighton for forever), but he wants it. He wants the break. He wants to prove to himself that he's capable of commitment and hard work.
But mostly he wants to prove that to Vexen.
Vexen thinks he's too fickle for a long term relationship, too immature, too eager to shirk duty. Well, granted, he has had some growing up to do in the last year. But he has grown up; he's accepted responsibility and got serious about the future and the future of relationships. Vexen just doesn't believe that he has.
Not that he'd admit it but Marluxia's hands are shaking as the nice lady behind the table hands him a tidy, sealed brown envelope and he shuffles a little way away. He's been working like a bitch since Christmas. He doesn't want that to be ruined by a grade one place too far to the right in the alphabet.
He wriggles from the throngs of students cheering and laughing and weeping, and out of the gates to where his friends have amassed. They wave him over. Some have opened their envelopes already. Others haven't even gone in to collect them. They crowd around, hiking onto tiptoes to lean their chins on Marluxia's shoulder (he's shot up considerably in the last few years, although not as much as Vexen. Vexen used to be normal. Now he's fucking huge.) as he teases open the gum-tacked fold and slides the fresh white sheet up from inside.
"What'dja get? What'dja get?"
"No pressure, sheesh."
Marluxia squeezes his eyes shut. As long as he doesn't see the results he could have got anything. Like that thing that Vexen was obsessed with when he read that book on quantum physics. The shoe-dinghy cat, or something.
"Well, somebody's a genius!"
"Damn, makes me wish I had a hot nerd boyfriend..."
"Oh, fuck you, I failed geography and all."
Marluxia squints out at the results that he's pulled from the envelope, terrified of sarcasm and a D.
There isn't one. Two Bs and a C in biology that Marluxia damn knows he scraped. But they're passes.
He feels the widest grin of his life expand on his face as he tugs his phone out of his pocket and flips it open, dialling the number hotkeyed to 1.
Vexen told him (albeit in a fit of rage) that he would fail them all. He's going to flip.
The only reason Vexen is at the party in the first place was that he's Marluxia's boyfriend and Marluxia has already found a firm niche in this community. But there are infinite reasons as to why he's currently hiding in the cupboard under the stairs, shielded from the general hum of milling crowds in every other room in the house. There are even people upstairs, which is his first port of call when he needs to run away from small talk, so he's huddling in a space that's hardly the right shape for him between vacuum cleaners and brooms and collections of bags and scarves in near total darkness. From the light of his watch he's been here for half an hour, legs already cramping up and mind wandering to bad places.
He managed about half an hour of standing awkwardly by the nibbles table, a ninja stealing salted peanuts and miniature sausages skewered by cocktail sticks. But people kept approaching him, asking who he was, and after the dozenth time pointing, red-faced, to Marluxia (at the epicentre of a great deal of attention, of course) and mumbling something along the lines of "boyfriend" he gave up and slipped away past circles of talkers and into the cupboard under the stairs. He pulled that disappearing trick quite well, actually, waiting until nobody was noticing and then opening the door as though to check for something but slipping in at the last moment instead. He had to leave it ajar, but a helpful guest closed it properly after a few minutes.
He has nothing against parties, he'd just rather be cuddling Marluxia in bed at home with a good book in his hands. But Marluxia is in his element around devoted listeners, and Vexen doesn't want to be letting him down by being antisocial. Although how hiding in a cupboard is social, he's not sure.
What surprises him the most is finding the door opening forty-five minutes in and a familiar pink haired man smirking down at him from the glowing, cheerful outside.
"I know you don't have the best sense of direction, Vexen," He says in an amused tone of voice, "But this is a little ridiculous, don't you think?"
"Shut the door," Vexen huffs, receding further into the household appliances, "I feel stupid."
Marluxia reaches down to brush his always warm hands across Vexen's cheek, then stoops in and closes the door behind them both. Darkness enshrouds them, but somehow after years of practice they manage to shift themselves into some semblance of order, Marluxia between Vexen's legs and holding his body comfortably close.
"You don't have to join me," Vexen says, feeling an odd mixture of sheepish and downright guilty, but Marluxia chuckles, finding from the memorised map of Vexen's body his neck to kiss.
"Of course I do."
Vexen just fails to catch a breathy gasp as Marluxia licks along his collarbone and grinds their crotches together a little, arching without meaning to into his boyfriend's stomach.
"Not here, you idiot!"
"Why not? Nobody's looking,"
Even that, Vexen cannot deny, so he lets Marluxia unbuckle his belt and tug away his pants. Somehow they bend and flex in amongst the cluttered cupboard for Marluxia's mouth to find his erection, and somehow neither of them groan too load as to attract suspicion.
Another good reason for hiding in cupboards is the brilliant sex.
It's nearly midnight by the time Xaldin finally groans to himself, leaning over to flick on the light. Marluxia, his roommate's boyfriend for whom Xaldin could supply a few choice words, is staying around this week and the two of them have spent the past hour or so arguing loudly in the kitchen.
He rolls out of his warm, comfortable bed, and slams open the door. The kitchen light's still on, angry voices resounding within. He storms right in to find that Vexen actually has Marluxia pressed against the wall with his fist curled in his shirt collar. He's yelling something about Marluxia being an uneducated slob, to which Marluxia screams back that at least he's not an overeducated, sheltered, stuck up bitch. They battle through several biting insults before either of them even realise that Xaldin's standing there with an unimpressed expression on his face and his hands on his hips.
"Are you two quite done yet?"
They both glance poisonously at each other, teeth bared. They actually both hiss, which Xaldin would find comical if it wasn't midnight and he had to get up early tomorrow for a very important lecture.
"No." Marluxia growls irritably, snapping his teeth at Vexen when he gets too close. Vexen jolts back, affronted, and viciously jerks his fist closer to Marluxia's neck.
"God," Xaldin moans, rolling his eyes. "And I thought it was bad when you two spend all night fucking like bunnies. What's the issue?"
"Marluxia," Vexen says accusingly, now refusing to even look at his lover, "Won't stop drinking milk from the carton. I'm sick of it."
"You're just being anal!" Marluxia instantly exclaims, ripping Vexen's hand from his crinkled shirt and pulling away.
"I am not! I shouldn't have to teach you basic manners like you're a five year old! It's a simple hygiene issue, and-"
"Oh, that's rich. You're worried about me getting germs in your precious milk? Need I remind you that we swap spit on a daily basis?"
"If you want a drink you can at least make the effort to pour out a glass!"
"I'm saving on washing up!"
"You lazy bastard!"
"You uptight prick! You're making a big deal out of nothing!"
"I'm the one making a deal? You have got to be kidding me, you're the one screaming in my face!"
"Well, maybe if you could get it into that science-obsessed head of yours that I'm actually saving you work, it wouldn't be, would it?"
"Well, if you were capable of following a simple and polite request, I wouldn't have to, would I?"
"I don't call yelling at me polite!"
"I was polite! But that didn't seem to penetrate your thick, one track brain!"
Eventually even Xaldin, who usually regards arguments and fights with an air of amusement, tires. He shoves Vexen away from Marluxia, because their red noses are nearly touching, and the thin man staggers backward, nearly tripping over a chair.
"Seriously," He says sternly, elbowing Marluxia for good measure, "Guys. I have a very, very important lecture tomorrow. At eight o'clock. So if you don't mind, I want to go to bed. Now fucking quit it."
"But-!" Marluxia protests, struggling against Xaldin's arm. Xaldin's quick to interrupt with a painful jab to Marluxia's ribcage.
"I'm not interested. If you want to cry over spilt milk then by all means do, but not when I'm trying to sleep."
"I'm not crying over spilt milk!" Vexen splutters, even though he practically is. "This is an important issue, and it needs to be dealt with!"
Xaldin sighs.
"Well, you can deal with it in the morning," He says pointedly. "Now play make up, kiss kiss whatever, let me fucking sleep."
"Oh, Vexen won't kiss me," Marluxia says sardonically, "I've been drinking from the milk carton, and now I'm all dirty."
Vexen's face reddens to beetroot and he can't even form a sentence. A few words pop out of his mortified exclamations, but none of them make sense as he shoves Xaldin aside and crashes into Marluxia's body, furiously pressing their lips and tongues together.
And then they suddenly seem to realise that yes, they are lovers, and the two of them crumple, moaning, to the floor. Xaldin watches them furiously making out for a brief moment, then rolls his eyes and returns to bed.