Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. All rights to characters belong to Disney and Square Enix.

WARNINGS: Teenagers, adults reliving high school, nerds blackmailing popular kids, Time Machines that aren't actually Time Machines, and a mentally-stunted man with a beyond-photographic memory who shows many signs of Aspergers Syndrome as your narrator.

…

Part One: Of Scientists, Popularity, and the Man Who Can't Get Laid

Shoes and tidal waves made great sources, Zexion found, to power his Machine of Time. (He refuses to call it a Time Machine.) The first source was nearly inexhaustible, given the right trip in the right neighborhood with the right extending ladder and a good pair of scissors. Tidal waves seemed to be a different story, despite how we were floating in an inflatable raft just off a stretch of Long Beach. His device-thing was in the water, reading the levels of power it generated. The pod itself was nice and dry at home. I shifted from cheek to cheek (I was sitting,) idly wondering if that cloud of smoke billowing from the mouth of the small contraption he was sticking his head in was a bad thing. A string of almost-curses from the man's lips told me it was at least a minor problem.

"Too much power- I'll need another converter." He sighed.

My head tilted in confusion. "I thought you needed a lot of power for this... Time... Machine... thingy."

"It's not a Time Machine, Demyx," he snapped. "It's a pod specifically designed to delve into the inner cortex with delicate strings of electromagnetic signals that interact with and temporarily configure the brain in order to place the person inside in a simulation of a prior protein configuration. A Machine of Time." He turned and looked at me, then, his blue-gray (periwinkle?) hair flopping in front of his right eye before he put down the electricity-reading-machine-thingy and a hand came up to brush it away and tug it into the ponytail it had escaped from. It stood up on his head a lot like that guy's ponytail from that one show. It half suited him, half made him look weird. "You didn't catch a word of that, did you?"

I leaned forward, then back, shifting my weight in an attempt to stave off boredom. "Of course I did. It's a Time Machine, then."

"Idiot." He turned back to the contraption, tiny wrench thing in hand to make some minor adjustments as I wasted away to nothing due to boredom.

"If power is such a problem," I mumbled, "then just get a battery."

There was a rustle, then the deep clang of a head colliding with technology- or, well, metal. Zexion pulled out of the contraption, groaning and rubbing his head. Instead of almost-cursing some more, though, he opted to fix me with a look. "What?"

I blinked. "What?"

"What did you just say?"

"I said, 'what.'"

"No, before that."

"I said, 'If power is such a problem then just get a battery.'" Really- he was making such a big deal about- whoa! Zexion on the move alert!

He was packing up.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"You say a lot of things, Demyx," he replied, tweaking a hinge here and a nozzle there. Within seconds the Machine of Time power measurement thing was loaded in to the raft and he was starting the engine, aiming us back to shore, then stored the entire thing (reasonably deflated) in the flatbed of my truck (which was the only reason he brought me along, because I'd actually taken his never-learned-to-drive-butt all the way from Walla Walla to Oysterville. That, and I was his lab assistant. The guy actually got Government Grant money for this.) "A lot of them are wrong on so many levels." One would think that Zexion wouldn't have the energy to place everything we'd brought in the back. The entire thing was as if I'd missed a step in the transition since he was heaving and coughing and gasping for air but I never saw him strain in the first place. I would have helped, but he told me to never, ever touch his equipment unless he specifically ordered me to. Ever. Moving on, before I could ask him if he was okay he was wheezing out, "But sometimes I can't believe you're not a genius."

I took the line at face-value because he was a genius and half the things that come out of his mouth are not meant to be understood. A quick, "Thanks?" and my turn was done.

And then he paused, turning back to look into Willapa Bay. Something in me whispered that he was taking in the view, but he was a genius who liked machines, and geniuses who liked machines didn't appreciate things like the large stretch of calm, slightly murky water that wasn't the ocean. Zexion surely couldn't be taking in the view, because we were on Long Beach and the view was on the other side.

However, I had to admit it was nice, gazing off into the bay, where at the far-side you could make out the shapes of what might be the Cascade Mountains some immeasurable stretch away. The clouds dipped down, lining the horizon above them and bubbling over Washington, no doubt raining on some poor soul. (But that was Washington. If it wasn't raining then it was ninety degrees or snowing.) And it may have occurred to me that Zexion chose Oysterville- and this spot- for that very reason.

But geniuses weren't like that, so I brushed it off. There was probably something in the water here that was detrimental to his experiment or something. Some type of algae found only in Oysterville. (Although I doubt algae has anything to do with a Time Machine.) And so, I hopped into the car, Zexion following soon after, and drove for who-knows-how-many-hours back to Walla Walla, where the desert wind nipped at our lungs and everyone was wary of everything despite living smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.

...

In case you're wondering, he later gave me a very dumbed down version of what his project did later. (He'd been dumbing it down for ages, apparently, and I'd almost understood him in Oysterville but I'm just not all that bright. I may be his assistant, but I have no idea what I'm doing.) The Machine of Time plays around in your head and makes you relive memories. By installing a battery he could control exactly how much power goes to what and still have extra juice if something went wrong. Like a power outage.

A week later I was his first guinea pig. I should have been terrified, but I wasn't. This was Zexion. He was a genius. Geniuses don't mess up on things they've been working on for years. Because they're geniuses.

"So what will I be reliving?" I asked as he strapped me into the machine. It was kind of exciting. That look he gave me, however, when I asked? Not so much. His expression was something between boredom and curiosity, but between his lip and his dimple was just a touch of sadism.

This scared me.

"The part of life everyone wants to go back to," he drawled. A chill went up my spine. "High school."

My eyes widened, and I moved to object but the pod closed and everything was dark and I could only mentally almost-curse and twitch and- Just no. Holy flying jellyfish jumping over the rainbow to steal skittles from the Lucky Charms Leprechaun no! No, no, no!

…

Math class is horrible.

Being as horrible as it is, you don't want to have a bad day in Math class. And I am really bad at Math. Now, I usually managed to avoid said days rather well seeing as my partner was Super Nerd Zexion, Lord of the Dorks, and he would write down the answers for me in his notes, then slide them over the table, but today was an exception. Zexion was there, yes. Today was going well, even. However, it was going too well. That was the problem. We all know that high school is a point of discovery and exploration. A time to find ourselves in a crowd of people and create who we will be for the rest of our lives.

Well, this little creation had a boner and a thing for nerds. Especially distracted nerds. And Zexion was very, very distracted. By what, I had no idea. But he would occasionally glance out the window and stare for a good ten seconds before turning his eyes back to the teacher. Was he scared of lightning or something? Or thunder? The news did say something about a thunderstorm that morning.

But back to the boner.

See, right beneath that Math desk my little friend had decided that today, in all its overcast glory, would be a great day to stand at attention every time Zexion glanced out the window, which is a good hop, step, and a jump worse than his usual twitches every other day when he was perfectly focused. And the two guys sharing the apartment beneath him were turning a bit blue in the face in anger. (Thankfully, Super Nerd to my side, Zexion, didn't seem to notice or care. This is a relief as getting anywhere near the kid outside the whole "using him for a Math grade" thing would not bode well with my social standing. Popularity is a fickle thing, my friend. Talking to a geek during class? In fact, talking to a geek at all? That's a no-no.)

I couldn't go out to my car. That would be too obvious. I'd have to walk all the way through the parking lot and hide it with my... backpack? I really didn't know. It wasn't like I had a messenger bag or a satchel to put over top. But soon the bell would ring and I was very aware of the fact that my English teacher was expecting me after lunch.

But wasn't it obvious? I could simply wait until the class vacated and go to the bathroom! No one wants to jerk off in a stall, but beggars can't be choosers. I was brilliant!

My only defense is that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

When the rest of the class vacated I headed to the Science Wing's bathroom. No one used it since the janitors didn't stock it with toilet paper. So I checked beneath every stall for legs, and after finding nothing I locked the bathroom door and ducked into the second booth (because the middle is always the way to go,) undoing my belt on the way.

The entire event was nice, but more than just a bit lackluster. (I was probably the one guy in the universe who sucked at jerking off. After a while it got to the point where when I'd think of jerking off I'd think of how bad I am at jerking off. And, by extension, I'd think of how bad I am at sex. Man, am I bad at sex.) But it was better than usual- and I was in a bathroom stall- so I couldn't complain. But when I flushed there was laughter. Not, "Hardy-har-har, Demyx O'Donohue is masturbating in the bathroom! He's so not cool any more," laughter. More like, "I didn't think I'd ever witness something like this," amusement.

So, naturally, I packed myself away, washed my hands, worked my thumbnail into the space reserved for a screwdriver to unlock the first stall's door, and pulled it open. The occupant had the gall to look surprised. There, seated cross-legged on the toilet was one Zexion Corazza, complete with Math textbook. But the thing is, it wasn't a Math textbook. Well, the cover said it was, but it obviously wasn't, what with the, "Advanced Biology" glittering at the top of the two pages that stared up at us.

"Aren't you late for your daily swirly?" I asked.

"It's hardly daily."

"But it was planned."

"That's not too hard to figure out."

Cue a sigh. "Why are you reading in the boys' bathroom? You missed your swirly. You're just making it worse."

"Why are you jerking yourself off in the boys' bathroom?" was his clever rebuttal.

I paused. "Touche." Leaning against the stall, I sighed. "So why this bathroom? Why this stall?"

He shrugged. "Well, no one comes here. There's no toilet paper, and the smoke detectors are really sensitive." Turning his eyes back to his text book, he pulled out a pen and marked it- because those were the days when all the textbooks were fill-in-the-blank because the school districts could afford new textbooks every year. It's a very efficient process, now that I think on it. "That, and the first stall is always the best, you know?"

"I dunno. I've always been pretty fond of the second." And this was about when the creation started getting another boner. Thankfully, Zexion couldn't tell. Not-so-thankfully, when I made my escape something important had fled my (blissfully restricted) attention. The fact that Zexion was a Super Nerd with a vendetta against cool kids, myself not excluded.

"So what do I get if I keep quiet about this?" This made me pause. Or, rather, the thought of shoving the talkative nerd to the floor and shoving my erection down his throat resulted in an inability to move my legs. It just so happens that at that moment Zexion happened to say that. "I have the ultimate blackmail material and a motive to use it. A rumor's a rumor; doesn't matter who starts it. It'll get around, and it'll get around fast. What will you do to keep my mouth shut?" But if he kept his mouth open... Yeah. Shut up. Not helping.

Thinking fast, which is saying something as I'm not one of those smart people, I dropped my backpack to the floor and pulled out a slip of paper and a pencil. "Here's my address and phone number," I narrated, jotting them down against the bathroom wall. "Call me if you ever need help, or just drop by. Like if your parents kick you out for the night."

Moving from his stall and walking forward to take the slip, he blinked. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack."

There was a lull.

He looked up hopefully. "Do you play video games?"

…

I woke with a start. It was dark at first, but then a crack of light that should have burned my eyes gently played across my retinas until Zexion was there undoing the restraints. "I see it was painless."

"Yeah, but- what?" He seemed puzzled by my reaction. "Shouldn't you be asking if it worked?"

"Parts of you seem to be attempting to spring a leak. And I'm not talking the yellow kind."

"But- wha'?" And then, when I looked down, lo and behold...

He spun on his heel, then, which was completely unnecessary and looked very... not straight. You know. Gay. "You were out for about an hour. Had to choose which memory frame to replay." Zexion made his way over to a computer where what could only be a digital reconstruction of my brain was rotating. "It took a while, but I managed to find that day we really became aware of each other."

"You were watching me-"

"-the day you jerked yourself off in a bathroom stall next to the Super Nerd." I blinked at this. "A handy feature- your thought process comes with subtitles." But that- "Didn't know you sucked at jerking off." Dear lord. "And sex." He paused, allowed me a moment to steep in my mortification. "It seems to be the will of God that I be allowed an unending supply of blackmail material on you."

"I thought you were an Atheist."

"Though I do not participate in the general belief of the populace that makes up organized Religion, I do partake in the belief system. The words of the Bible deem me to be a Heathen and a blight upon humanity, and so I do not wish to take every word as gospel. As things stand, I choose to acknowledge a higher being, or God, in a manner that many other non-practicing Catholics do." Zexion, many people don't realize, is a very long-winded and sarcastic person. What usually takes people half a sentence and a witty joke to get across takes him a good two paragraphs, four sets of blackmail, and seven very witty biting remarks. Naturally, it takes him forever to make a point. Why no one else can see this I will never know. Even though the speech pattern hadn't been as prominent as of late it was still there, and for some reason no one else noticed.

Either they're blind, deaf, dumb, or simply knew him in High School. "Anyways, when am I going to see your memories?"

He paused. "Well..." Seeming to think it over for a second, the man sighed. "I guess it would be a tribute to the 'humane' way of running things that I allow you to take a peek. I have to configure it to be idiot proof anyway." Turning on the ball of his foot- again- the blunette stared me down. "But keep in mind that everything you see I will know you have touched. Every memory you peruse. Every timeline you consider. Every moment. You. Blink." As if he didn't already.

Two weeks later, he sat me down in front of something very reminiscent of Windows Media Player. "Each file is cued to an entire day in my life. You move the slider to choose hours. Some days are not shown for a reason as they are mentally scarring, and since everyone has those kinds of days- even you- it's best to leave them be."

As I am human, the moment he went into the pod I searched the player for the time one spends in high school. Payback, as it were. And there it was, labeled under "Fifteen."

October eleventh, a Friday- our Sophomore year of high school. The day we really met.

But when it prompted me with a slider my hand slipped, and suddenly I was looking at a book under a lamp late at night with a highlighter held at the ready. Subtitles were filling up a good half of the screen. All of it was scientific mumbo-jumbo. Most of it was numbers.

This guy really has no life.

Five minutes, and nothing so much as changed. Numbers. So many numbers. It was nauseating.

But suddenly the subtitles ceased as something seemed to tap on the window. Then again. No subtitles yet. Next, another one shortly follow by two others. The boy raced to the sill, and what Demyx expected to see was the view from his second story window, looking down at some nerdy girl from school who was obsessed with his Science paper or something. Instead, he looked off into the sky as it opened up to the world in a torrent of water.

Rain.

The subtitles were back. No more numbers, no more guessing. "Oh, duh," I whispered to myself. "It rained that day."

He stuck his hand out over the sill just as a bolt of lightning grazed a tree nearby. It smoldered for a second under his wary gaze, but was soon smothered by the rain. Without warning, he bolted to his desk, picking up a small slip of paper- my address and phone number- and the subtitles read through my address, but not in any normal way. He gave the numbers animals, then colors, then settled on a colored animal before outlining how to get to the street. After this he threw on his shoes, tugged on a jacket, and was out running in the rain.

Demyx. Rain. Honest.

There was more to the subtitles than that, but it was a series of figures and such. He must have been thinking in images. Or something like that.

Left, straight, straight, right, left, and look around until you see the blue giraffe.

Then there was a beep and the screen went black. The fifteen minutes were over.

"You've got to be kidding!" I shouted.

I was getting a bit sick of being a creation. No, I wasn't angry about what happened next, because he'd get to the house and no one would answer. We were all having dinner with a family from church. All the lights would be out, and all the doors would be locked. He'd show up to school the next day and never called me out on that favor.

I await the day he does.

…

Now, you all may be wondering just why I'm Zexion's assistant. See, I waited a tad before entering college- a tad being four years. Why? Well, I didn't exactly have a plan to pay for it so I just took a break to work. A lot. Save money and stuff. In my third year I had to get the science credits I'd been avoiding. But, seeing as I didn't know anything about high school science, let along college, I didn't exactly pass. My wallet wasn't happy about this, as you can imagine.

So, Zexion, completely out of the blue may I add, offered me a position as his lab assistant at the beginning of my fourth year. (I'm twenty-six- a good nine months older than Zexion's twenty-five since the guy's an August baby.) Being a genius, he graduated early and got his Doctorate with a paper on brain functions or... something science-related. He'd been teaching university for a good year at that point and still hadn't found an assistant. (Well, he did, but the guy was caught stealing equipment. He was fired. I think I already mentioned that.) In fact, he was the teacher who flunked me. So, this is how I'm getting my science credit. And I'm being paid for it.

His reasoning? Ending the evening grading horribly written papers was not on the list of things he enjoyed. Especially papers written by me. And since I had impeccable handwriting and a photographic memory he took me on.

Why he asked me instead of one of the reasonably attractive bimbos easily twice as stupid as me with enormous breasts, a talent for working tape recorders, and even better handwriting I will never know.

Moving on, today Zexion was distracted. Not a good thing for the hormone parade. So I excused myself to the bathroom.

Zexion's lab was actually a shed that he had refitted to be a machine shop. Because of this there wasn't any plumbing. So I had to go into the main house to use it. The bathroom itself was nice- especially for a bachelor living on his own. It even had one of those squishy toilet covers wish fish on them. But I wasn't there to admire the decor. First I washed most of the machine grease from my fingers. They remained stained, but I was used to it not coming all the way off. Once suitably clean, I just, you know, started masturbating. Used a bit of lotion from the sink and got to it. Didn't try to take a piss, clear my head, will it down with disturbing thoughts of people I hated in bikinis- those never really worked for me. Either I had a boner or I didn't. There was no willing transition from one to the other. The more I tried to ignore it the longer it would be there. Taunting me. Tormenting me.

After that I washed my hands. Again. As you may have well figured, as I aged I didn't get any better at masturbating. To tell the truth, I may have gotten worse. Fact of the matter is that it wasn't that great and the job was done. There was no need to catch my breath afterward because the whole event wasn't jaw dropping, heart stopping, or breath stealing in the least. It was more of a chore than a pleasure.

And when I walked out of the bathroom who else should be there but Zexion?

"How was it, Mr. Bathroom Stall? I trust you had fun?" he asked, all smirks and shits and giggles. The man was insufferable.

Okay, I'm lying. He looked bored. Very bored. Like, "reading the paper on a Thursday morning with the editorials missing" bored.

"Not really."

"Oh, right," the man mused, sipping from a can of Ginger Ale. "Suck at masturbation. Got it." He was being unusually straightforward that day. I probably would have socked him if he didn't state it as absolute fact. It wasn't mocking. Zexion didn't mock. Either it wasn't in him or he found it illogical. Probably the latter. He offered me a can.

With a sigh, I took it. "At least I'm honest about it." Ginger Ale is nice. Settles your stomach, and tastes good. Not to be confused with Ginger Soda, which is gross. So very gross.

Zexion seemed to pause at my statement, on a completely different page than myself. Obviously. He was a genius. He didn't need to think about the difference between Ginger Ale and Ginger Soda as the guy already knew them automatically, being a genius. Because geniuses were like that. "Yeah," he mused, taking a sip. "Yeah, you are."

Then he was distracted again, and I excused myself to write up some papers he wanted.

…

"What I will never understand," Zexion began, only to pause and I nearly jumped out of my seat in surprise. "Scared you?"

"Yes," I squeaked. I'd been deep in concentration, recalling his exact words from earlier in the day to write up notes. Hadn't even heard him approach. A deep breath later I was fine. "Go on."

"I don't understand how you could have such low grades," the man mused, reaching forward to grab the paper and scanning my writing with a heavy gaze. "Your memory doesn't allow flaws when it recounts things you have read."

I shrugged. "My memory may be photographic, but that doesn't mean I can understand anything. Stuff kind of flies right over my head." Snatching the paper back up, I moved to keep writing.

"It's more than that," he continued. "You remember everything I say, too. I'd go as far as to say you're the most useful assistant in the country." A flush spilled across my face at the praise. "Now, you should probably get home." Wait- what? "It's getting late, and we have a presentation tomorrow morning for the board." Ah, yes. The people that hired us. A glance at my watch proved it was, indeed, getting late. Almost ten. The sky was even dark. How had I not noticed?

…

Two days later I woke up in a fog, and when I went to put my first contact in it fell to the floor and shattered. Glasses- out of prescription or not- were a must, or I could wander around town completely blind. Thankfully, now that I was a fully grown man I could actually wear the godforsaken horn-rimmed monstrosities without worrying about a crowd of people staring down at me, judging every inch of the metal rims with cruel eyes, waiting for me to turn my back so they could grab me by my underpants and drag me to a swirly doom. And it seemed the world had begun to graduate from this mentality. Thank goodness. (And people wondered why I went to such lengths to be popular in High School. It was a defense mechanism. When you're a bisexual with a photographic memory in High School it was usually your only option was to hide, and to hide very well. So I hid in plain sight. It was probably the smartest idea I ever had.)

I digress. That day at work I looked nerdier than the Super Nerd, Zexion. Of course, that wasn't very hard. As the man had grown he'd stopped sporting the classic nerd-wear. Instead he wore jeans, T-shirts, and chucks. In fact, with his young, perfectly formed face you'd think he was one of those Models they used to sell things to those Rock groupies. I, on the other hand, was clad in a flannel, some old slacks, steel-toed boots, and a pair of contacts that I managed to pick up from the eye-doctor. But I had an appointment on Sunday to upgrade my prescription, so he only gave me one pair. I'd have to spend two days in horn-rims.

But as I didn't have to hide any more I didn't really care. However, when I got home my flannel ripped, and a quick check of all my clothes prompted the epiphany that they were falling apart. And that, my friend, was my cue to get a new wardrobe. However, there was no giving up the steel-toes. No way.

After a lengthy trip to the Goodwill bins in the rich area two towns over (where you pay by the pound so everything's dirt cheap while still managing to be brand new) and an eye appointment, the next Wednesday I showed up to work clad in a new clothes and new glasses. Ones that, oddly, didn't look dorky. Who knew? Oh- and it was comfy. Very comfy. (Normally it takes forever to get the glasses cut and prescribed and stuff, but the place I go to has all the equipment there, as well as backup lenses.)

And when I got to work Zexion glared. "Still trying to be popular?"

"Hmm?" I puzzled. I stared. I tried to think on what he'd said. Nothing came to mind. "Come again?"

"Your clothes."

"What about them?"

"They're new."

"My old wardrobe wore out."

"It wore out months ago. You just noticed?"

I was slightly offended. "Last Friday, yeah."

He paused. An awkward pause. One that made people reconsider every moment of horror in their lives and automatically assume that person knew.

Then he gave me a once over.

It was strange, being on the receiving end. Did it feel just as weird when you didn't know it was happening? I wonder. "Looks good." Wait, what?

My brain promptly died a horrible, horrible death. "Come again?"

"I said, 'Looks good.'" He blushed and- wait, what?

He turned his back and I decided to change the subject. "Doesn't matter how it looks- it's comfy."

Then he faced me, seemed to sputter for a bit, then laughed. Didn't know why, but he laughed! And it wasn't sarcastic or condescending, and it didn't have to do with a dry joke made by a scientist visiting town. "You got dress clothes in your new comfy ensembles?"

"Yeah." I couldn't stop grinning. Must have looked like such a goof. So, instead of embarrassing myself any further, I sat backwards in a chair. That never looked cool- unless lazy was the new cool.

Zexion's eyebrows rose. "You're not trying to be cool?" I idly wondered if he waxed his eyebrows.

On a whim, I decided to start dancing. In the chair. It was a wheeling desk chair, so it moved back and forth a bit with the movement. My arms were crossed, my palms near my knees, and my left hand was doing that one "Jazz" something or other. Rather poorly. My legs were pushing me sideways, back arched, and I was bobbing my head along to an invisible song. "Would a cool kid do THIS?" And with that, my butt started wiggling, too. It got to the point where the only this keeping still was my right hand, which remained with its thumb tucked behind my left knee.

And then Zexion smiled. Dear lord almighty- he smiled and it was aimed at me and I didn't know what to do with myself. He was laughing, too, and I couldn't quite believe what was going on. So with the index finger of my right hand I pushed up the thick bridge of my wire-rimmed glasses and tried to look smart. The man couldn't seem to stop laughing. It was amazing. Before long he was bent over, clutching his stomach as guffaws wracked his form. It was the first time I'd seen him like that. Who'd have known the guy was a sucker for self-deprecating physical comedy? Then again, who isn't?

"No," he finally managed between gasps for air. "No, they would not." When he finally caught his breath he was still smiling. But what he said next just blew me away entirely. "I do believe you just made my day."

Cue the boner.

"Well, we should get to testing," the man stated, turning to the computer. "Get in the pod."

I glared at the Time Machine. We'd gone an entire week without working on it (it was only one of many projects) but it seemed some kind of Karma was getting back at me for something. For what, I had no idea. Knowing I would be beyond uncomfortable, I climbed on in anyway. It's not like I could ask for a bathroom break.

This time, the memory was a bit more pleasant. However, it wasn't something I wanted to share. A girl and I were on the couch watching movies. Action ones, as they are the safest territory out there. Romance tends to get them excited, scary ones have the creatures clinging to your arm like duct tape, and comedy- well, you can imagine. It gets them to like you really quick.

And so, I suffered through the first fifteen minutes of my date with something akin to pleasured apprehension. The emotions of the date flooded through me, as did the thought process. But about ten minutes in, disaster struck.

Throughout the movie, younger me had realized a striking resemblance between the main character and Zexion. You can imagine what happened, you know, down there.

Next thing I know, the girl's laughing. Then she's on her knees and- no! How could I not have realized?

It was our third date and she was giving me a blowjob. Now, it was pretty fantastic head. I'm not complaining. Most guys would be more than willing to share this kind of thing with other people, if just for the reputation it could bring on for him. However, I'm not normal guys. During a blowjob I don't think about the game, or the next homework project, or the fantastic head I was receiving. In fact, I don't even have the luxury of being a figurative Zombie. I just think one name over and over again.

Zexion.

And there younger me started, on that mental mantra of, "Zexion, Zexion, Zexion," no doubt imagining what the man- at that time teen- would look like if he were naked. (And, lo and behold, "Naked Zexion.") Throughout all of this, though, older me was well aware that said man could see everything younger me was thinking at that moment.

Naturally, I finished quick, what with it being the best sexual experience of my life and all.

Two horrifying minutes later I was released from my figurative prison and into a literal one. Zexion was a bit slow opening the pod this time. He obviously didn't run right over and release me. (Double meaning not implied, but hoped for as my boner from earlier had morphed into a raging hard-on.) Before long, when nothing happened, I began to wiggle a bit in my restraints. They gave a bit. A good ten minutes later I had one arm free, and from there I removed the head-sticky-plunger-like-thingies that were affixed to my temples, along the other restraints. The door was not so compliant, but in a, "I don't feel like moving," way.

By the time the pod allowed me to escape Zexion was nowhere to be found.

It then occurred to me that the hadn't been monitoring the process. At all. During the space of time between activating the machine and my awakening, he had walked away, leaving me to the whims of technology. This was both incredibly gratifying and slightly disappointing. Not to mention confusing. Shouldn't he be taking notes or something?

A sudden crash drew my attention to the main house, and I quickly exited and locked up the shed before racing into the other building without delay. Except, you know, I didn't actually run in. Boner and all, you know? Instead I shimmied up to the corner and peeked in through the back screen door. (Why was the door open? Had Zexion forgotten to close it? Or did he only intend to be in the house for a few seconds?)

"- never wanted things to come to this!" Weird. The voice wasn't one I knew, which was odd considering just how much time I spent with Zexion. Anyone he knew, I'd met at some point.

"Only an imbecile can't look straight in front in him and see a train!" Zexion, that time. A peek around the siding and through the screen brought only a view of the hallway, though. Hoping nothing went awry, I sneaked forward, slowly easing open, and sliding in between, the screen and frame, somehow managing not to make any noise. When I managed to ease the door shut, marking my descent into the house a success, a bit more stealth was utilized and before I knew it I was staring out at the debacle of Zexion and Mr. New Person between two dying potted plants like the good little eavesdropper I am. There had been a lull in the conversation. Then, just as I settled into place, things took off.

"I never meant to hurt you." My eyes widened. Soap Opera material! The best kind to overhear! Jackpot! "I hate seeing you like this."

But, oh, wasn't that boner making it difficult to appreciate the moment? "Hurt me? Hurt me?" Zexion looked just about ready to spring on the guy and slaughter him. Horribly. "Yes, because stealing my life's work and attempting to sell it to a big-name company on the East coast will only ever measure on an emotional level. You not only failed to see the outcome of your actions, but also managed to completely miss the part about me not caring half a shit about how you've been feeling the last few months. Everything bad that's happened to you since then has been all your fault. There's no blaming it on the universe, or God, or even luck. You screwed this up, and only you can take the blame." Then again, Zexion never needed actions to get anger across.

"I realize this, and I've paid the price!" Ah. Soap Operas. Good ol' Soaps. "So there's no way you'll ever give us a chance again?" Wait- again? Oh-ho-ho! Blackmail! Zexion likes guys!

Except not. That would be really low. I may be stupid, but I'm not despicable. "Get out."

"But, Zexion-"

"Get out."

The man sputtered. "Can't we just-"

"Out!" Hunched and nursing watery eyes, the stranger left.

And to think there was someone stupider than me. Stupider. Huh. Is that even a word?

"You can come out, now." Mother pheasant plucker...? Zexion was staring somewhere along the far wall as I hesitantly rose from my hiding place. The man didn't even wait for an apology or an explanation as to why I was there. Instead, he did the last thing I expected in such a situation- he offered information. "It's alright- he was my last assistant."

The world paused and seemed to consider this small offering. Assistant? The one who stole the plans for the machine and tried to sell them? That would make sense. Something like that would get Zexion in a lot of trouble, seeing as the source of our funds had a little habit of being, well, the U.S. Military. "Are you-"

"Lovers?" Zexion seemed to heave a mental sigh at this, and one hand sneaked into his forehead where some strands of hair had begun to free themselves from his ponytail. "We used to be."

There was a lull. An oddly intimate, yet annoying break in speech that served to do nothing but annoy me. Cautiously, I circumnavigated myself into the living room to stand before the man. "I was going to say 'Gay' but I guess that kind of answers my question."

A glare was sent my way. "Whatever. Just go jerk off into the toilet and get back to work. I'll be in later." My face flushed a bright red at this. Zexion was a genius- he probably figured it out ages before hand. The ultimate blackmail, and he'd just thrown it in my face with what seemed to be without a second thought. Cowed, and with a reasonably deflated ego, I brushed past the man towards the bathroom. But as I left, before the door shut behind me, I could just barely hear the man grumble from the kitchen, "What on Earth could have him so riled up every morning?"

But when my hand went to nudge at my groin, reaching beyond the hem of my jeans, I found that my erection has deflated. Blackmail can do that to a guy. However, it also meant pain streaking through my balls all-

Ah. There we go. Pain. Dull, throbbing, absolute through my left nut and spreading to my right. Blue balls, my favorite sport.

I needed to get laid.

…

End of Part 1

End Notes: Still active, guys. Had to switch the deadlines for things around a little bit due to registering for school and such. (And I'm looking for a job.) So I posted something that was already done. Tell me what you think! Reviews make me feel all warm and fluffy, and I always respond.

Quiz: What year did this chapter take place in? (Good luck. Trust me- you'll need it.)

Edit: February 9th, 2012 - Formatting, correcting references, quiz etc.

Until next time!

Besieged Infection