There was something oddly intriguing about the way that Demyx sat on the floor on those rainy summer nights, listening to his sitar with one ear and listening to the rain with the other. Zexion watched him from a safe distance; he was tucked between the bookends and once in a while holding a cup of steaming tea to his lips, then putting it down again, deeming it too hot to drink.
Perfect pitch. Demyx was searching for a note somewhere an F sharp and an F flat, a median between the two. And then, with a tiny turn of the highest golden knob, The Nocturne hit the note, perfectly. "That one's called the Shãdja." Demyx had explained once before, pointing at the top string. Zexion saw a small smile light his face for a moment, as he moved on to the second string.
They were sitting in the library, which both of them used regularly. Zexion would sit, enveloped by the cushions on the armchairs, as he read. Demyx knew that his instrument didn't bother Number VI as much as it bothered anyone else in the organization – Zexion had never complained about the music, sometimes he even seemed to enjoy listening to Demyx practice scales.
Zexion turned the page of the book and continued reading: Demyx turned the pancham tuning peg and tested it. Zexion decided that the book was too boring; he turned around and slowly pulled a book off the shelf, and he continued reading. Demyx finished tuning and began to patiently run through the scales, carefully mouthing the names of the notes, occasionally hitting a string that brought Zexion's eyes up from the text and up to regard him for a moment, then go back.
Demyx yawned. It was past his bedtime. Zexion seemed to be asleep already – his eyes were closed although he still held the book open. Upon Demyx's further investigation, Zexion was asleep. He gently took the book out of his superior's hands and set it back on the bookshelf, then he found a blanket on one of the couches and placed it carefully on the sleeping nobody. The Nocturne smiled again, kissing Zexion good-night before he made his way down the long dark staircases to the Proof of Existence.
Zexion woke an hour-or-so later, suddenly becoming aware of the open window and the rain that had fallen on his face and made his hair wet and sticky. He was perhaps more tired than when he had first fallen asleep.
And the tea had gone cold.
I may do a second chapter...if I get a few reviews. It seems too short to just leave as a oneshot.
I know that I dislike Zemyx, but this was light and onesided and innocent, so I let it slide. :D