A/N: what is with me and angst lately? damn.
So, I haven't abandoned Of Coffee and Cigarettes, my angsty lil akuroku threeshot, or any other fics or oneshots, but i'm a little stuck. it's all coming together, just sort of slowly. too many ideas, too many things I wanna do all at once, just not enough time between work and con work/prep and sleeping and aaaaaaaah! lots of shit going down rn.
most of the feels in this are influenced mostly by blink 182 and halsey. usually when i write those two are all i listen to. helps fuel the fire, man. it works.
anyway, now on with some weird, demyx angst! because...why not...
He'd never been much of a moping around kind of guy, nor had he ever been the angry sort.
Not in his past life - his full life, and certainly not in this rather newer, supposedly unfeeling existence. The nocturne had always been lighthearted- at least when he'd had one-, upbeat, unfazed by most things, and easy to get along with. because why worry, right? Why stress? He'd always believed strongly in peace, happiness, or even just contentment over anger.
Once he had been the life of the party, levelheaded and fun, easy to please, quick to smile or laugh it all away.
Yet he was none of those things now.
The man was sitting on the floor, legs straight out in front of him with his back stiff and straight against the nightstand that sat next to the bed in the stark white room.
A storm was raging outside the window, as per the norm in The World That Never Was. The fact it could still rain when the world ought to be ending almost felt soothing. It almost seemed normal.
However, outside of the norm, he wasn't at the window watching the rain fall, or tapping his fingers to a beat only he and the storm seemed to know.
The man loved water, he loved rain. Anytime a storm raged outside, and luckily for him; it happened often, he was relaxing to the sounds of it.
Despite this he currently, try as he might, couldn't find any hint of an interest in watching the rain fall. Why bother? What was the point? The rain meant nothing to him now.
The weather outside was nothing to rival the storm raging inside of him.
He wanted to destroy them. Maybe he would. They all saw him as a weakling- useless, an utter joke.
They were wrong. He was more than that, despite what he allowed them to believe.
He was a storm, the raging waves of an angry sea, a goddamn hurricane, and he would wipe them all out if they tried to oppose him. And wouldn't that just be some kind of goddamn poetry? If their undoing was caused, not by the Keybearer or his friends, but by the comrade they underestimated?
He wanted to wipe the smirks off their faces, watch them spiral downwards until they began to truly, completely realize it was all over. He wanted them to feel how he felt, he wanted to watch them suffer and weep and beg for mercy.
The musician had been a pacifist, once. Or had that been the old him, the one before?
Either way, fighting had never been high on his priority list, but suddenly he found had a lot more fight in him than ever before.
He wanted to wipe the world clean of all of this misery, of those beings so foul, and then he could return to the darkness and accept it willingly, and hopefully be reunited with his beloved.
A face flashed in his mind's eye, pale and thin, with a sheet of lilac hair and dark blue eyes.
The thought of this face, the person it had belonged to, did nothing to slow his fury, but instead added a horrific extra layer of sorrow to match it.
They had taken away the only thing worthwhile in this whole damn place, these uncaring, horrible excuses for any kind of existence.
And now they wanted to continue to use him as though he wasn't important, as though what he was going through didn't matter, as though he wasn't angry and upset and grieving. They cared not for his pain, for what he'd lost and mourned.
They just saw him as another pawn in their giant game.
He didn't want to play their game anymore. Their mission, their dream; this wasn't his fight. He'd never asked for this endless, terrible feeling of not being right. He'd never asked to begin to see the light again, just to have it ripped away from him.
This wasn't what he wanted - this emptiness.
He hadn't wished for this.
All he'd wanted was to keep living. When the Heartless had come for him- for Myde, the poor bastard- and ripped out his heart, all he'd felt under the fear and agony was the need to continue on. That's all he'd wanted, all he'd pushed forward for, was to live.
When the Superior had found what was left of him, shivering and weakened and nearly dead in the same alleyway he'd been ambushed in, and when the imposing man had explained to him his newfound purpose, if he so chose, he'd grasped at the opportunity. All he'd wanted was to keep going, continue living in whatever capacity he was allowed.
He'd been assigned a new name- and some days, when he felt truly lost, he almost couldn't even remember his first name, his original name, anymore- a title, and a job. To unleash more destruction, to work towards a seemingly endless goal that was supposed to bring them all peace in the end.
It was all meaningless and futile, and he didn't take any joy in any part of it except the Sitar that had become his newest, greatest best friend and asset.
He could command water, he could play music like he'd always loved to do, but he was still supposed to be empty, and meaningless.
A Nobody.
The word, it's meaning or lack thereof, had made him flinch the first time he'd heard it in this new life. He'd shied away from the Superior and his cold eyes, he'd cringed and tried to hide when Saix referred to him as useless, he'd nearly broken down when the fiery Axel had called him weak.
Nothing was such a terrible state to be in, and he quickly began to worry he'd made the wrong choice. He'd been so eager to live, so very sure he needed to continue on, and this was what he'd gotten in return?
It was lonely, it was miserable, but he soldiered on. He remained as upbeat as one could outwardly, despite the fact everyone mocked him for it. All he ever did was try to make the best of things.
"You can't feel, stop pretending, No. IX," the higher ups would hiss and cajole, but he refused. He wanted to remember what feeling was like. Most of them did, why was that so wrong? If regaining their hearts was the endgame anyway, why shouldn't they keep pretending to fill the void until that day came?
Despite his outward appearances, when he wasn't on a mission or in the common rooms, or worse still: when he wasn't laying around, worried he was suffocating slowly from the inside out, he only really felt... empty. Just the way they said he should be. Just the way he didn't want to be, the way he was horrified of being.
And that had been the routine for a while.
Except then he'd met him.
The younger Nobody had skirted on the outside of the rest of them, rarely appearing for meals or casual conversations, apparently preferring to spend most of his time locked away in a lab with the mad Scientist, as Axel had jokingly referred to their higher ranked comrade. He knew No. VI existed, somewhere, but he'd never properly met the young schemer. He'd caught a glimpse of slate now and then, but never anything substantial.
Yet, that first time he'd properly laid eyes on the short, pale Nobody with the mess of lilac hair, he'd been entranced.
That had been the first time he could fully remember wondering if this meant he hadn't made such a terrible decision, after all. Nothing could be so truly awful if it meant he could be near that perfect specimen, if that beautiful person had helped found this whole thing. How could someone so ethereal and beautiful be bad?
Not that the feeling had been mutual right away.
In fact, the first words No. VI had said to him had been, verbatim, "You're quite possibly the biggest buffoon I've ever come across in this or any life," when he'd tripped over his own feet rushing to introduce himself to the beautiful man.
That hadn't deterred him, not in the slightest. He'd laughed, rubbing at his neck nervously, suddenly bashful. Could he be bashful? Was that allowed?
"S-sorry. I'm Demyx. It's nice to meet you."
The lilac haired boy raised his one visible eyebrow, then his lips curved up just the slightest amount in one corner.
"Zexion. It's a... pleasure." His voice lilted slightly at the end of his sentence, as though he found something funny in his choice of words.
It was the first time Demyx felt something other than sad or empty since arriving at this castle.
Good things don't last, though, as it was all gone now.
He stood abruptly, crossing the room in short, pacing steps, a back and forth motion across the tile, the only sound aside from the storm the clack of his boots and the swishing of his long coat.
A glance towards the window shows the rain hasn't stopped, but he knew that already. He could feel it, and suddenly, he knew he needed to be out there.
Stepping through the balcony door, he left his hood down, the steady fall of rain soaking through his hair, drenching him near instantly.
It was almost comforting.
Zexion hadn't liked water very much - in fact, he mostly hated getting his hair wet. The World That Never Was didn't suit him very much, as it were, and Demyx had enjoyed being paired with the younger man for missions to sunnier worlds with open skies and few clouds to be found. It always provided him with a glimpse into a more - well, not happy, Zexion was fierce in his beliefs that he couldn't feel such a thing for so much of their time together - but at least, a content Zexion.
"Isn't Twilight Town beautiful? Look at those skies, not a hint of storm clouds in sight!" He'd exclaimed to his companion, who'd merely chuckled and shook his head, the sheet of hair that hung in his face swaying with the motion.
"I thought you rather preferred stormy weather." Zexion murmured, eyes regarding Demyx curiously.
"I do. But I know you don't. C'mere, there's somethin' I wanna show you!"
Zexion stepped nearer, leaning against the railing with Demyx as they overlooked the city and the tracks.
"What is it you want to-" but the words were cut off by a train whistle, as a large purple train began barreling down the tracks, steam billowing from it.
"The ghost train!" Demyx explained to the blank look on Zexion's face, grinning.
Zexion frowned. "How can a train be a ghost, No. IX?"
Demyx sighed at the use of his title instead of his name, but grinned and launched into the local story about the mystery behind the ghost train.
At the end of it, Zexion had chuckled and pronounced him ridiculous, but his smile had been worth it.
Those were the best kind of memories, and he'd cherish them as long as he could hold onto them.
His face was wet, and not just through rain. A hand flew to it, his mind belatedly catching up, realizing what he already knew: the water was warm, salty.
Demyx was crying.
Nobodies shouldn't cry.
Eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't do this here, he couldn't break down here, this wasn't supposed to be happening.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way.
He wasn't supposed to feel at all. What he'd give right now for that to actually be the truth.
"We do too have hearts. Don't be mad."
Falling to his knees, he let the rain beat down on him as the grief poured out, remaining even as the rain became harsh bites of ice as the grief poured from him, draining him more than just physically.
He'd just never wanted to watch the water wash everything away before as much as he did now.
"Why do you think we can't still feel anything?"
They sat together, in Demyx's room, the question hanging in the air. He'd long abandoned his sitar, but Zexion was still content reading in his corner.
Their camaraderie had felt strange at first, due mostly to Zexion's intentional distance, but lately he'd relented and spent more time with the older male, which made the musician feel...elated.
And he couldn't explain it, so he hoped if he voiced it, if he put the thoughts into words, that Zexion could make sense of them.
Flipping a page absently, Zexion said,
"No. IX-"
"Demyx. Call me Demyx. P-please." He hated the way it sounded nearly instantly. Too whiny, too demanding. He was always asking for too much, and he knew that.
Zexion heard it too it seemed, as he raised an eyebrow, closing the book with a snap and standing.
A sigh tore through him, and he began again,
"Alright then, Demyx... you know how I regard these matters. We don't feel. We can't."
The taller of the two had gotten to his feet as well and pushed him against the wall, not angrily, just desperately. Zexion stared up at him, dark blue eyes just slightly widened.
"But I do feel, Zex, I do." He whispered, and Zexion began to say something but Demyx cut him off, seeking the smaller boy's lips with his own, fiercely pouring his feelings into the gesture. He'd show Zexion how he felt, he'd show him that they had to be feeling something, anything, because how couldn't they?
Zexion responded back in kind, to his surprise- he'd assumed he'd be attacked for this, that the Illusionist would make him pay dearly, but instead the object of his affection was kissing him!- and when finally, finally Demyx broke away, he begged,
"Don't tell me you didn't feel anything. Please for the love of Kingdom Hearts, don't do that to me."
Zexion was rather red in the face, the color radiating out across his cheekbones. His breathing came raggedly, and he whispered,
"I felt that." Then, with a slight smirk, "Although, I believe I'd need to try again to gauge the depth of the feeling."
Demyx chuckled, relief coursing through him. "Well by all means, then, carry on," and as Zexion pulled him down again, crashing their lips together fiercely, he felt...
happy.
"Nooooo," he moaned brokenly, the tears still streaming down his face as the icy rain poured down with renewed vigor, responding to his sorrow.
Why did they have to take the one he loved away? Why was the world so cruel? What had he done in all of Kingdom Hearts' name to deserve this particular brand of torment?
"Nobodies...aren't supposed to exist." Hadn't he heard that a million times?
Hadn't Axel said the same thing before, though when he'd said it, it sounded mocking?
Didn't they all just want to live again, truly live?
Or perhaps were they all doomed to suffer for daring to exist in worlds that didn't naturally breed them?
"Zexion..." He whispered, mourning for the love he'd lost, for the life they didn't get to truly live.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair it wasn't fair it wasn't fair.
He'd make them pay, all of them.
They'd pay for using him and Zexion, and everyone else as their pawns.
He'd ruin it all for them, that he was determined of. Hopefully, he'd get to stick around long enough to watch it crumble beneath them, but as long as he set the wheels in motion, did it really matter if he stuck around when it all actually fell down?
He'd start slow- volunteer for the harder missions, he'd make them believe he believed in their cause- he'd be the perfect Nobody.
What would they suspect, anyway? That he, Demyx, known pacifist and protester against violence, would be planning to take them down? He'd be the last person they'd assume such mutiny of, and wasn't that the best part of it all?
When the day came for him to throw whatever wrench he could into their plans, he'd do it or die trying.
Maybe, if they got a next life, if they were lucky enough for that, Zexion would be proud of him.