Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, though I do wish I could.
Hello, I haven't written any fanfiction for a couple of years but after my boyfriend bought KH: 358/2 I fell back into the raging, hysterical fangirl I used to be, but this time it's more like I'm on medication to help. I admit my grammar isn't perfect, my spelling can be off as I'm dyslexic and spell check is an elusive button I can't find on word 2007 and so I must go through to find each and every coloured scribble. This plot idea has been raking my brain apart for the better part of a month, and so I've decided to start fresh here on and give in.
The poem at the start is my own, shitty as ever. I'm working on revising it to be more like a song.
On another note, I'm not every music literate so I hope I am using the term "chords" correctly, if not, let me know.
Plot: Demyx's mind is filled with the broken chords of a song but every time he sees him another segment comes together. Demyx x Zexion
Inspiration: This fic was mostly inspired by a fanart by EmixoO, called Demyx: Falling Into Oblivion. There is a link in my profile if anyone would like to see it. Thanks goes to EmixoO.
Warning: This will contain yaoi and while at the moment it is only labelled T the rating will probably go up to M in the future, any and all scenes with an M rating will had a warning before they start and when they finish in case someone wants to read but is uncomfortable with the full meaning of mature.. If you have anything against man x man love then I advise you to leave now.
Don't come near me cause I'm cursed
But please don't leave because it hurts
I don't know what love is, but if you must go
Please understand that I care for you so
Despite all my faults and a heart that is broken
The things I hold dear are the words you have spoken
Should you leave me now, I'll know pain I can't feel
And wonder again if emotions are real.
A melody filtered through the rooms of the house, echoing off halls and bouncing from doors to filter out open windows despite the entering breeze and emerge softly into the world outside. The simple chords had yet to be fleshed out, like a sketch a painter might do softly on their canvas, filling in the details until a masterpiece has been designed. However, the tune suddenly breaks with a misplaced strum that sends a frustrated howl into the air followed quickly by the screech of paper being torn into aggravating, little pieces. In one of the bedrooms a young man sat, hands gripped tightly into his sandy blonde hair as tears spilled over pale lashes and onto the instrument in his lap. One, two, three slipped from his clenched eyes to splash onto polished wood before one eye, a color that could only be described as a Caribbean green, slips open before widening in shock. Sitting up straight he uses the sleeve of his black hoodie to wipe the water away with a scowl.
With the palms of his hands the young man digs them into his eyes, pushing back the tears of irritation and focusing again on the task at hand, song writing. Is it the music that is proving to be the problem or the actual lyrics that are boggling his mind? With another frustrated sigh the young musician packs up his beloved instrument, a blue and white sitar he had custom painted and designed, then rises to his feet. A calloused hand runs through his flaxen tresses before plucking a dancing phone from his bedside table before it hits the floor, again. Hitting a single button his eyes roam over the text before sliding the device open to reveal a hidden keyboard. Writing a quick reply he glances in the mirror sitting on his worn dresser, an ancient piece that used to belong to his grandmother and somehow found its way into his mismatched room. The room its self was a cluster of posters over more posters, a carpet made of laundry and trinkets tossed here or there in a lacking sense of decorating. In one corner a black pair of boxers were bulled over the small shade of a lamp, which when turned on, illuminated the yellow of the smiley faces. Childish, maybe.
The face in the mirror that stares back looks bedraggled, yesterday's hairspray and gel causing blond to look as though it has no sense of direction, sticking out at odd angles and gravity defying styles while blue-green eyes are rimmed with dark smudges showing not enough sleep had been had. Cheek bones are visible under confused orbs, perhaps too visible and the man has to wonder if he should be eating more? But how could he eat! The broken melody of a song constantly whispers to him, even in the deepest slumber, pleading for him to find the misplaced notes and complete it. It sings of pain and love, joy and horror and yet he cannot put it to paper, cannot get those broken, disjointed chords out of his mind! No food, no sleep, no social life, not until the song comes together!
The phone buzzes again, the same person not inclined to listen to his lack of interest in a party. A month before he would have jumped at the chance to toss university homework to the side, slip on his skinny jeans and dash away to a party, losing himself in the music, the press of bodies and a bit too much to drink until he wakes up crashed hell knows where with any multitude of people. The screen flashes again, a reminder that he had been lost in thought and never replied to the second message. Glancing at the screen he reads the words again before realization finally dawns as to their meaning.
Axel:
I dont care about u and that damn song. Ur going, Ill be there in 10 min to pick ur ass up.
Shit!
Thankful that none of his roommates were normally home at this time in the afternoon on a Friday he slips down the hall into the single bathroom and blasts the shower to almost max. After stripping off an old, tattered but comfy as hell pair of sweat pants and faded hoodie he steps into the torrent of the shower, steam curling around him as violent streams of water pound into his pale flesh, leaving rosy patches where ever it beats for a moment too long. Thankfully 10 minutes to Axel was usually closer to an hour, thus giving the blond enough time to clean him whole body rather than the most vital places. Rubbing a good dollop of shampoo between his hands he works it carefully through his hair, making sure to get all the product from the day before rinsing it out and doing the same with the conditioner. Everyone has a vain spot and this was his, not the brand of this cloths or the glimmering chains or stones of jewellery, not the complexion of his face but the hair only he could style with the look only he could pull off.
After applying and rinsing off a fair amount of body wash and making sure that the places that sweat the most are thoroughly cleaned he steps from the shower, turning off the water with a practiced flick of his wrist before groping for a towel with one hand and rubbing the water from his eyes with the other.
"The hell is my towel..." he mutters before cracking one eye open to realize he forgot to grab one in his rush. With a silent curse he peeks his head from the bathroom to make sure no one came home before stretching his lean body across the hall to the linen closet on the other side. He never understood why someone built a house with the towels and other bathroom necessities not in the same damn room. With a growl he flings the door open and grabs a towel well past its prime, noting for the 37th time that they need to get new ones, soon. Retreating back into the steam-filled room the blond dries his slender body off before wrapping the towel round his waist and beginning the process of his hair, combing out all the tangles, applying a particular product before blow drying upside down and so on.
Twenty minutes later he emerges and pads quietly down the hallway and back into his misshapen room, digging around in piles of cloths never put away for particular jeans and a top.
"They got to be there somewhere." He mumbles, shifting through one pile only to have another fall over. One of these days he would put all his cloths away...really...
With an exclamation of joy the instrumentalist slips on a pair of boxers then begins the fight to get into a tight though sexy pair of jeans, a task much easier said than done but eventually accomplished. While slipping on his belt he hears the tell tale sound of the front door being opened without a knock or warning, followed by footsteps making their way towards his room, muffled by the carpet covering the hall but still distinct. With a knock as the door is opened a second young man enters the room, not bothered by the first's half nude state but rather tapping his foot impatiently.
"You coming or what?" he demands, crossing long arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame casually, something he's done a hundred times in the past.
"Yah, yah, let me find a shirt, I can't go out like this." Replied the blond, while rummaging again and ignoring the second. Finding a desired, and clean, band shirt he pulls it over his head while taking extreme caution for his hair then grabs his phone and watch from the bedside table. Other then the time telling device he wears no accessories other than a simple, metal chain half hidden by his shirt where it cannot catch any light to reflect or distract. Straightening and turning the blond finally really notices the other, a tall, wisp thin male with hair red as the pits of hell but similar green eyes. Actually, to simply describe his hair as red would be incorrect. While the majority of the strands were indeed a scorching red, streaks of his natural black were visible through out as well as at the roots while the tips were a bit paler where the dye had begun to fade.
"Where are we going anyway?" asks the blond, slipping his phone into his pocket and grabbing his wallet before following Axel out and into his car, a basic model with a sporty touch to the design and the most amazing stereo he had ever seen. Grabbing the iPod from the center the blond buckles himself in while shuffling around, picks a song then plugs it into the cord.
Buckling himself Axel turns the keys, turning on the car and stereo before putting in into reverse to exit the driveway, not even looking to see if any helpless kid might happen to be crossing at that moment. Hearing no telltale thud or crunch Axel continues drive with a classic smirk blooming onto his face and reminding the other too much of the Cheshire Cat.
"Marluxia's." Comes the simple reply, causing a flood of worry to wash over the passenger, he still hadn't found the pants from the last party hosted by Marluxia.
I do realize it is very short for a first chapter but I'm just testing the waters since it has been so long and I'm afraid to really mess it up. Let me know what you all think. ^^
Grim
EDIT: I revised this a tiny bit, fixing a few errors and such. I need to get me a beta reader. Anywho, chapter 2 is in the works and should be up within the next week.