A/N: I know the POV's a little bit skewed; sorry about that.
Veeerrryyy slightly inspired by an RP my friend and I did a while ago.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and everyone knows that as well as I do! :P
The alcohol burned its way down Naminé's virgin throat, leaving an unfamiliar, dry sensation in her mouth and a thirst for more. She'd had wine before, of course, a sip or two from her father's glass when she was younger, but liquor was much stronger than wine, and lent her a faint, buzzing feel, something she both shied away from and welcomed. It was a nice distraction from her conflicted thoughts, and the dim light, combined with the indistinct murmurs of the other people, helped quiet her turbulent mind.
It was the first time she'd ever entered the bar. It wasn't in the most savoury part of the city, and as a young girl she'd been warned away from it, and cautioned never to walk near the district at night. But she wasn't a young girl anymore –– she was nineteen now, with longer hair and tired eyes, and a surprisingly numb broken heart.
It was a little funny how she'd reacted; instead of breaking down or freaking out as other girls might have done, she'd locked eyes with him, indifferent and cold to surprised and guilty, pulled her cap down onto her head, turned on her heel, and walked away, making sure to close the door gently behind her, for she knew it broke easily.
And instead of going home to cry her heart out and wallow in self-pity, as she imagined some other ex-girlfriends might have done, she'd checked her purse to make sure she had money and took the wrong turn on purpose, walking not to the art academy's dorms, but to the shadier part of the district to where the nightclubs were.
Once there, she did something she never would have believed nor imagined herself doing: she ordered a shot of strong liquor ("whiskey", the bartender had called it) and silently promised herself that she'd drink herself to oblivion.
So far, so good. Ordering another shot, Naminé let out a weary sigh as she took another sip, wincing as the alcohol burned its way down her throat once more. She welcomed the sting, for wasn't it better to feel this than nothing at all?
A large black form suddenly entered her peripheral vision as someone sat down next to her, and leaned back against the counter, their left elbow almost touching the empty glass. The scent of something faintly sweet, like roses, tickled her nose.
"Well, well, well; of all the people I'd expect to see drinking away their sorrows and heartbreak, you, dear Naminé––" The blonde grimaced as she recognized the voice.
"What do you want, Marluxia?" she interrupted, her voice coming out harsher than she'd intended. She could practically hear the other smirk as he turned around in his chair to face the counter, same as her. A calloused hand, slightly tanned and surprisingly gentle, cupped her chin as Marluxia coaxed her into looking at him.
"You needn't take that sort of tone, sweetheart," he said softly, tilting his head to the side. Wisps of pink hair fell into his ice-blue eyes as he did so –– they were quickly shaken back with a single hair flip, returning to their original cascades of rose-pink locks.
Marluxia's hair was odd, and the man himself even odder. Strong and handsome, and undeniably masculine despite the pink hair and fondness for flowers and gardening, Marluxia was powerful, famous, and rich. He was also a notorious seducer, something Naminé knew very, very well, and used to tease her a few years back. She ignored his last comment.
"You dodged the question: what do you want, Marluxia?" She pushed the gentle hand away, almost immediately missing his cool touch; not that she'd ever admit it. The rosette smiled, a charming quirk of his lips featured on at least three magazine covers a month.
"Only to make you feel better." He brushed a stray strand of fair hair back behind her ear. "What he did was unforgivable, making your beautiful face look so tragic and sad..." Naminé swatted his hand away, recoiling from him.
"Don't touch me." A warning, a threat –– she knew the effect was lost on Marluxia, who always enjoyed a bit of risk. He moved a little closer to her, though he complied with her wish.
"Why not?" His voice was smooth like velvet. It was almost flattering to know that she was desired... but not by the one she'd wanted. "I'd never hurt you, unlike him... Naminé, Naminé... Why don't I buy you a drink? Something to cheer you up. You're drinking cheap poison, and that will surely never do you any good." Naminé's eyes widened marginally, blue eyes worried as traces of panic began entering her blood. A beverage from Marluxia could very well contain a drug, and that could not end well. Though a gentleman to all appearances, she wouldn't put it past him; she knew firsthand how conniving he could be.
"I-" Marluxia quickly cut off her protest with a disarming smile.
"Here. My treat."
Almost instantly another drink was in her hands, replacing the half-empty (half-full?) glass of amber liquor. Clear, pink liquid sloshed around as Naminé halfheartedly toyed with the glass, and she sighed once before daring to take a sip.
It didn't taste all that bad. Sweet, crisp, and leaving the slightest hints of the taste of something floral as she swallowed, it reminded her of wine and gave her a stronger, warmer buzz. Her head felt a little bit lighter, a little bit dizzier, and she took another, less tentative, sip. Marluxia smiled –– one would never expect an ugly motive hidden behind his pretty face at first glance (or second, or third).
"So how are you, Naminé?" A simple question like that, she'd surely answer. The petite blonde shrugged, taking another sip and hugging herself with one arm.
"Excluding right now? Life's been normal. I go to college, I draw, I paint, I earn money, I spend time with friends when I'm not working..." She sighed, and raked a hand through her hair. "What am I gonna do? I spent a year with him, and now..."
"What are you going to do? Is this some sort of joke?" Marluxia looked mildly affronted, but an amused smile crept onto his face. "You're Naminé, are you not? My god, woman, pull yourself together! You'll keep your head up high, and leave him for the scum he is, and you will show him that he has no power over you. Honestly..." The rosette chuckled and shook his head. Naminé ducked her head and let out a soft laugh, to which the other smiled: a small victory. It was only the first of the other victories he'd gain that night.
"I guess you're right," said the blonde as she took another sip of her strange drink. She felt like the tips of her toes were being tugged by an invisible string, and if she wasn't careful, she'd begin floating. Surprisingly, the headache she'd had before was gone. Marluxia was right about the whiskey being cheap poison.
"Is it Saturday or Sunday?" she asked. Her voice came out slightly slurred, something that surprised her.
"Saturday, sweetheart," the man replied, then the strangest thing happened.
Naminé began laughing; a clear, light sound of mirth, something unwarranted yet not unwelcome. Something about the way he'd said the endearing term just tickled her, and it was probably because of the alcohol, but still, Naminé laughed, calming down after a minute or so.
"Oh, good..." She smiled dreamily at her drink, swirling what was left of it around before draining the rest. She felt quite light, now. Perhaps she could even fly if she tried, but... why was she here again? Something horrible had happened, but she couldn't quite remember it; and if she was as happy as she was now, then it couldn't have been that bad. She tilted her head as Marluxia said something to her.
"Why, is something going on on Saturday?" She shook her head.
"No." Marluxia then tiled his head, mimicking the young artist.
"Then would you happen to be busy tonight?" He chuckled as the girl stifled a tiny hiccough, taking care to suppress the smirk at her expression of confusion, then shock. At least there wasn't –– oh. Suspicion came up as well.
"No..."
Marluxia handed another shot to her of the same sweet, crisp alcohol-heavy wine. He wanted to make tonight happy for her, and if she was without suspicion, all the better.
"Here, why not have another?"
ѐϰίϻαϗ
After two more drinks, some laughter, and an hours-long conversation later, a considerably happier (though still quiet and somewhat shy) Naminé left the bar with Marluxia, drunk, but not to the point of total disorientation. The rosette man flagged down a taxi for the two of them, and had the driver take them to his penthouse in the richest part of the city. The ride took a mere twenty minutes, and Marluxia tipped the man handsomely for his speed. The two stood in front of the skyscraper, looking up.
"The moon's pretty," Naminé said, staring up at the sky. "You can see it so... clearly."
Marluxia smiled and shrugged. "I suppose. Shall we go in?"
Naminé nodded. She did, after all, have to spend the night someplace, and she had no desire whatsoever to see Vanitas's face for a while; she'd ask Kairi later to tell her unfaithful ex-boyfriend to clear out of her apartment. She only hoped her belongings wouldn't be taken.
Naminé let out a sudden shriek of delighted surprise as Marluxia swiftly scooped her up and carried her through the doors, past the security guard, and into the elevator. Her pale arms clasped behind his neck, even though she knew Marluxia would never let her fall.
He had a nice place –– as was expected, of course, what with all of his money and fame. He set her down on the couch once they entered his penthouse, telling her to feel free to do whatever she liked, that there was food in the kitchen if she was hungry, and that the guest bedroom was empty, if she'd like to spend the night there.
"My bedroom is over on the left, if you need anything," he added, giving her a small grin right before he walked away.
The blonde artist felt quite small once he left, and hugged her knees to her chest as she was left alone; she stayed like that for a few minutes, until her parched throat urged her to drink some water. She stood, leaving her bag on the couch, and wandered over to the kitchen.
It was clean, spacious, and almost looked as though Marluxia never used it, but a few tell-tale signs of scorch marks, organization, and hidden cookbooks revealed that the billionaire did indeed cook. The glasses were easy to find, and the filtered tap water was just the right temperature, neither warm nor icy. She got her drink, and, after quenching her thirst (hoping she wouldn't have a hangover in the morning), set the glass down in the sink.
A glance at the clock told her that it was past ten p.m., and that she should be going to bed soon.
Walking back to the couch and picking up her bag, Naminé entered the guest bedroom and placed her bag on the bedside table. The open closet had an assortment of nightgowns, t-shirts, and shorts, washed and hung, and looked quite inviting; the artist didn't much like sleeping in jeans.
After a quick wash-up and shower in the bathroom, Naminé borrowed a pair of shorts (keeping her black tank top on) and crept into the large, white bed, curling up between the crisp sheets.
It felt lonely.
The warmth didn't quite reach inside, and the dark room, lit only by the soft glow of the pink lava lamp on the floor, only made her feel emptier as the alcohol's hold began to wear off. Naminé gave up, kicked the covers off, and left her bedroom, walking over to and entering Marluxia's.
The handsome man was sitting in an armchair, an open white shirt peeking over the top of a thick book, from which he was reading; the large windows behind him were open, and a soft breeze moved the translucent white curtains.
"Um..."
Marluxia looked up upon hearing Naminé's soft voice, and closed the book, leaving a bookmark to hold the page.
"Yes?" He uncrossed his legs and walked over to her, making her blush lightly and look down.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all... But despite her thoughts, Naminé forced herself to look up into his eyes as she spoke.
"Marluxia..." She took a deep breath. "May I spend the night with you? It's lonely in my room, and after what's happened... I could use the company..."
The rosette smiled. "Of course. I'd be happy to oblige; and nothing has to happen, so rest assured..." His lips quirked a little bit higher as Naminé returned the smile before shyly ducking her head down again, and sat down upon his bed. It was getting late, anyway. He closed the door, turned down the light intensity of the lamps, and slipped into the bed next to the blonde. They remained like that for some time, perhaps ten minutes or so, before Naminé sighed and hugged her knees just a bit closer.
"Marluxia...?"
"Hmm?" Naminé took a deep breath.
"How... how long have you known about... about Vanitas?"
"Kairi told Sora, who told Roxas who told me after I asked why you were upset," he replied smoothly. "You hid your emotions very well, but your eyes couldn't lie to me."
"Oh." All she offered after that was another deep breath and a close of her eyes; she then turned to face Marluxia and locked eyes with them.
"Kiss me?" she asked, quiet but lacking in sadness. Marluxia leaned on his elbow and grinned, tilting her chin closer to his, so that they were but a breath away from a kiss.
"Darling, I thought you'd never ask," he said, before pressing his lips to hers in a simple, chaste, promise-filled kiss; but that same kiss quickly turned less than chaste as Naminé draped her arms over his shoulders, and silently asked him to make her forget the pain she'd hidden since that afternoon.
He obliged, and proceeded to melt her with kisses to sensitive skin, kisses that were only a faint promise of what would come later that night.
ҨίẋύἹᴙҩҦ
The softest feeling of something trailing along the bare skin of her back tempted Naminé away from her cocoon of sleep, though it wasn't enough to fully open her eyes. It was warm, smooth, like velvet but slightly different. A familiar fragrance tickled her nose, but in her state of half-consciousness, she couldn't quite place what it was.
The morning greeted her with a kiss of warm sunlight on her face, and she felt herself slowly, slowly, waking up just a bit more. Minutes passed, but they seemed like hours, and the blonde could not remember when the warmth radiating from behind her disappeared and left her alone in the large bed, nor when the soft something caressing her ceased.
As the sun coaxed her into opening her eyes, Naminé groaned as she was deliberately dragged away from the comfort of sleep and forced (albeit indirectly) to wake up. She yawned and stretched, catlike, and turned to look over at Marluxia –– only he wasn't there, just as the lack of warmth that she had sensed earlier.
The only thing there was a single red rose, and through the slightly opened door came the smell of a delicious breakfast cooking. Naminé smiled to herself.
The one thing that made her morning even better was that she didn't even have a hangover.
A/N: Alright, I have no idea whatsoever about where in hell, heaven, and earth (or Heaven, earth, and hell) this came from; I certainly hope it wasn't my recent break-up that caused this to form, because goddammit that's a little sappy and pathetic ^^; . Aaanyway.
I, er, hope you enjoyed reading...?