I've seen him- walking down the hallways, perched in his chair. And I've seen him, talking and laughing, and I feel my chest expand where a heart should be, and the impression of a feeling of love runs over. And sometimes he smiles at me, and I wonder- Does he perhaps feel the same? I talk to him, I make him grin, and as my tongue ties I wonder- Do I make him nervous and cause his knees to crumble at the very sight of a feature, the peal of a laugh?

And then I've seen him in bed. How horrible it was- how I feel as though I am breaking, being torn apart. And I wished I was. I wished someone would put me out of my misery, cut me into a million pieces, to make my false emotions actual physical pain so that I could justify them.

And then I heard him moan- the most perfect sound I have ever heard come out of a mouth. And I peeked just once more, and kept watching. I crouched behind his door and jacked off to it. I was and still am disgusted with myself, but I enjoyed it. I pretended I was that little blonde traitor, and that he loved (however much he can) me and only me.

And when the brat left and broke his heart( again, figuratively), who was there to pick up the pieces? I was. When he needed a friend, who was there to lend a shoulder, a smile, a promise? I was. And when he tried to drink the pain away and needed someone to take his sexual tension out on, who was there and only too eager to accept his slobbery advances? I was, of course.

And when he woke up the next morning, remembering nothing, who was there to receive his confused stare? I was. And who was the one who had been scorned with shock out of forget? I was. And who helps him pretend the whole thing never happened, who keeps up the other half of the charade? I do.

And as I feel myself being eaten away by the darkness, I want to laugh. I want to cry and scream and beat the shit out of that brunette punk and his queer little friends. I want to laugh because of the idiot I've been, hiding behind the mask of goofiness and smiles until no one could question me; I want to cry because even if he did accept my 'love' we could never truly feel anything; I want to beat the shit eating smirk off that little brat's face because he reminds me of him: of Roxas. The stealer of my one and only love, the traitor of the Organization. But mostly I 'feel' hate: hate for myself. Because in the end, I have to laugh.

Because it was all worth it.

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A/N: Yeah. A little different from what I've been writing recently, as it is Demyx/Axel, however one sided it is. ^^'

Poor Demyx. D: Not only does the guy he 'loves' not 'love' him back, but they can't even really feel love. That has to suck some major ass.

Oh, and to clarify: at the end, when Demyx is talking about the little brunette we know as Sora, he's talking about how much he reminds him of Roxas. Which makes sense, you know?

Anyhoo, review plz? :D

Demyx, Axel, and Roxas belong to Square and Disney.