(Umm.. My first slash story? I know, I know. Meg! You never update the stories you have now! Why the hell are you coming out with another one?

And to you, I say-- Shut up. I actually intend to update this one regularly, especially now that I'm on summer vacation.

I dunno. I just… like slash? It's fun. And these pairings are fun. Which is good. Yay? Well, my right shift key is broken on my keyboard, so most non-capitalized words can be blamed on that. x-x

I'm not really sure where I got the inspiration for this story, but I'd like to thank the awesome Dualism and the equally awesome The Writer you fools for being… well… awesome. Your slash-y ways are an inspiration for us all. 8D

Well, this is technically just a pilot, like a sort of introduction. Not actually a chapter. I would make it a full chapter, but I have a splitting headache right now. So introduction is all you get today.

Disclaimer-- I own NOTHING!)

Before I start my story, I would first like to both thank and curse my best friend, Cloud. Actually, more like his younger brother. If Roxas hadn't been going out with the douche now known as Axel, we(meaning Cloud and I) would have never had to go pick him and said douche up at the airport. And if that hadn't happened, then I probably would have never met the most politically incorrect pathetic excuse for a humanoid ever spawned from the pits of Hell.

Demyx. Demyx Nocturne.

But all of this happened before The Accident that ruined my life, before Cloud got drafted into SOILDERS and Riku vanished from all of our lives completely.

suppose I'm getting to ahead of myself. Perhaps I should go back and explain? After all, someone of my intelligence does tend to leave one gasping and floundering in a state of self-imposed stupidity. Which means I talk to fast and use big words and your tiny minds can't comprehend my awesome-ness.

Back to the story.

I'll humor you, you insignificant little trogs, and start a few hours before the true story actually begins. I won't sugar-coat it like Sora would, and I won't hold back. Be sure to stop me if I go to fast for you to comprehend, hmm?

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Cloud and I had been best friends for almost five years when the beginning of the rest of our lives took place. Cloud Strife was an under-achiever. While he didn't fail in school, he didn't exactly make the best grade either. He wasn't emo, he wasn't a prep, a jock, a nerd. He simply was. There were a million other blue-eyed blondes like him, most of whom tried to set themselves apart from the majority by being the best. They wanted to be acknowledged. They wanted mummy and daddy to pat their heads every time they did a good job. Cloud didn't try to make himself known. He didn't try to do anything. He sat back and allowed himself to be part of a big group with no discrimination, and perhaps that is what actually set him apart. A bit hypocritical, am I right? But this is not the Cloud Strife story. Just giving you a background on my best friend.

I was an over-achiever. I made a point to be the best in every thing, save maybe sports. Not because I wanted to be praised, or to please my parents. It's mainly because I enjoy making other people feel stupid, making them belittle themselves. After all, you don't need to push people around to be a bully. Come up to me on the street and call me sadistic, and I'll pat your back and congratulate you on guessing the correct definition of the word. Despite this, I generally hate to be around people. While I adore watching these idiots around me struggle to make a complete sentence, I also hate to be subjected to them. Once again-- Rather hypocritical. Don't try to psychoanalyze me, you'll go even more insane. In simple terms, I hate to be around people.

Which is why I nearly strangled Cloud when he called me in the middle of the night and told me to 'pick your ass up and get over to my house because we have to go pick my little brother up at the airport and I got drunk and totally forgot about it and I need to use you as an excuse. Oh, and we need to drive your four-door car, because his douchebag boyfriend is coming to.'

However, after I had picked him up in said four-door car and drove us both to the airport, his cell phone rang and he spirited off some where to bark into it. When he came back five minutes later, he was sheepishly apologizing for waking me up, explaining that his brother had just called to inform him that the flight was delayed and they'd be an hour late. Then he told me that, no, I could not leave, because I was his ride and he needed me to wait with him.

So, naturally, I whined about it then threw myself down into a chair to pout. Yes. Me, the almighty Zexion, pouting. Well, I was NOT HAPPY. If there's one thing I hate more then being around people, it's being around people in an airport. They're all… happy. Like, take this for example:

In front of the gate where Cloud and I are sitting and waiting for Roxas and The Douche(I had yet to hear his name from Cloud), a plane has just landed. A woman rushes to greet her husband who was probably on a business trip on the other side of the country. He lovingly catches her and pulls her into an embrace, not knowing that while she was away, she cheated on him and slept with his best friend. How do I know this? I just do. Call it a sixth sense.

That's what I hate about airports. Well, that, and the fact that the toilets smell like puke.

So there I was, sitting in one of those under-stuffed plush chairs beside Cloud, who was looking like shit because he was trying to quit smoking without help from the patch or that gum stuff, wishing I had thought to bring my cheap-ass Mp3 player with me. I turned to shoot Cloud another half-hearted glare(because really, the guy was technically my only friend) when I stopped suddenly. Cloud turned to send me a curious glance, but I wasn't paying attention. In fact, I'm pretty sure my jaw is somewhere around the floor.

Because walking out of the gate to pick up his luggage and wait for his ride is the material for the wettest of all wet dreams. In my opinion, anyway.

He had semi-long blonde hair, only more sandy than my best friends, styled in a sort of mullet/mohawk test-tube baby hybrid. Much different then my own simple, multi-layered and carefully frosted naturally swoopy-over-the-eye slate colored hair. He was wearing a large, black hoodie and was baggy pretty much every where, so I could only guess that he was lanky by how long his legs where. He had a carry-on bag slung casually over one shoulder, and after he grabbed his belongings he plopped down in a seat not that far from us while he waited for who ever was going to pick him up. He couldn't have been more then 18, a little younger then me.

I couldn't help but stare as he pulled an iPod out of his pocket and stick the buds into his ears, turning on some loud alternative rock song whose name I can't remember. This guy was fuckin' beautiful. Cloud started paying attention to him, to, as the boy pulled a cigarette box and a lighter out of his pocket. He pulled out a fag and stuck it in his mouth, lit it, and took a few grateful drags. A saw my best friend stare at the cigarette with lust, eyes following the gray smoke that blew out the guys nose.

Cloud wasn't the only one that noticed, because a man in a uniform came over to the guy and started to talk to him. " Sir, we do not permit smoking in our airport. Please take it outside."

The boy seemed to mull over this, the cigarette loosely dangling from his lips before he inhaled sharply, pulled the fag out, and blew smoke into the uniformed mans' face. Then, with a grin, he drawled out, " Sorry, yo." He plucked out the cigarette and stubbed it on the plastic armrest of his chair while the guy reeled back and coughed. He flicked it into a trash can, and, still grinning, turning back to look at the worker who was glaring at him. The boy grinned even wider and said, " Second hand smoke kills, too, ya know. Ta ta." He waved as the man stomped away, mumbling about rebellious teenagers and lung cancer.

Then the boy turned to look at me and Cloud. He had the most beautiful eyes. Sort of a blue mixed with green, but not quiet seafoam green. While I was staring at him, Cloud was pathetically watching the last plumes of smoke drift out of the trash can. The boy gave me a devilish grin as I watched him, slack-jawed.

I could only watch lamely as he got up, walked over to me, and smirked as he sat down in the empty sit next to me. Cloud seemed to noticed that the owner of that wonderful cancer stick was now sitting just two seats down. The boy sent him a smile, then looked back at me.

" Hi!" His voice wasn't as innocent as his face looked. " My name is Demyx, and I think it's only fair that I know your name, seeing as how you've been staring at me since I got off the plane."

I swallow and lick my lips. Even then, I knew that this was the start of something that was either wonderful, or something that would fuck me over and leave me totally screwed up for life. I probably should have just ignored him, probably shouldn't have answered or taken the hand he had offered me. Instead, I actually didn't listen to my gut for once.

" Hey," I said, my throat suddenly dry. " I'm Zexion."

Demyx grinned at me, his eyes closed and his head cocked slightly.

Oh yeah. I was so. Fucked.

(Ta da! I'm gonna go take an Advil and get some sleep. Review?)