All The Right Moves
Written for, inspired by, and dedicated to Rhys.
It had been one of those idle Sunday afternoons spent with a good book and a cup of tea out in the (albeit artificial) sunlight of the Castle gardens when they'd met, properly. Luxord quite liked Sunday afternoons: so much so, in fact, that he enjoyed them on average around three times a week. A fast worker, on his designated Sundays he would make sure to finish his assignments by noon at the chime of the clock, then set up shop under the pergola and while away the time until the false sun began to sink below the trees.
As far as he was aware, the Castle gardens were a lucrative but rarely utilised asset of the World that Never Was. Although the limp flowers and weed-littered lawns needed a great deal of care and attention, Luxord preferred not to get his hands dirty, so he made do with the overgrown roses spreading their thorns through all corners of the hedges, and dandelions pushing up through cracks in the paving. There wasn't another Nobody willing to devote their time and effort to maintaining the gardens, which was a shame, really. In some ways, however, the gardens' deserted nature was also its greatest advantage: since none of the Elder members ever visited its tangled orchards and iron benches, it provided a safe haven from their constant and irritating request of favours. No, Luxord would not speed up a set of reactions for scientific experimentation. He was a dignified gentleman, not a slave, and preferred to remain as such. So when he wasn't working or sleeping, his favourite pastime was, by far, Sunday afternoons.
This particular Sunday afternoon had been unusual only in that Luxord, instead of a book, had chosen an offworld newspaper for some light and entertaining reading – and that, somewhere between the second and third cups of tea, he realised that in the distance he could hear the soft tinkling of an unfamiliar instrument. Although he occasionally saw small birds flitting through the trees of an afternoon, Luxord was fairly certain that no sentient beings inhabited the gardens, which left either a curious new brand of musical Heartless, or rather another Nobody.
Luxord folded his newspaper, finished his tea, and followed the patterns of song out into a wide, sweeping lawn where a lone young man perched on the grass, playing with deft fingers something that looked not dissimilar to a guitar. He was still sporting his Organisation coat, but he had pulled it open at the neck to reveal the standard white button-up shirt underneath. Luxord recognised his face as one of the Neophytes, and remembered that his rank was IX, but could not assign a name.
"And here I thought that I was the only one making use of the gardens."
The music stopped abruptly as the boy dropped his curious instrument, focus snapping up in the manner of a startled deer.
"Oh," He said after a moment, dropping his guarded pose. "Every time someone startles me I think I'm in trouble." And then, after a pause and a hopeful look, "I'm not, am I?"
Luxord shook his head and thought it the right moment to approach.
"Not at all. I simply happened to overhear your music."
"Oh, yeah," The boy said, picking up his instrument once more and holding it tenderly. "Yeah, I like to play here sometimes. Acoustics are good, I guess. Better than all the echo-y halls and stuff."
"You're good," Luxord said encouragingly, wondering whether it would be appropriate to leave the boy to his strings and pour another cup of tea. This comment made the strange boy grin quite uncharacteristically from the sombre faces of the other Nobodies.
"Yeah, everyone says that. Which… makes a change from what they say about everything else. Heh."
"So why, exactly, are you sitting on the floor?"
"Well," The boy said, promptly standing, "I could have sworn there were some benches or something around here, but every time I'm looking for something in this place I can't find it."
Luxord, who knew by habit his way around most of the sprawling gardens, gestured back the way he had come.
"Why don't you join me under the pergola?"
The boy nodded and followed Luxord through an avenue of beeches and across an enclosure of low-lying hedges back to the garden table where his Sunday afternoon spread was laid as though he had never left it.
"You're Luxord, aren't you," The boy said, helping himself to a chair. "Number Ten."
Luxord nodded, wondering if perhaps he should call a Dusk to bring in another tea cup for the other Nobody, but he didn't seem to interested in drink, at least when the strange instrument was resting heavily in his lap.
"That's a very curious guitar you've got there."
"Sitar, actually," The boy said with something like an air of resignation. "Big difference. Anyway."
"My apologies."
The boy began playing again, something gentle and sweeping. Luxord unfolded his newspaper, and settled down into an easy companionship. He'd just turned the page when-
"What's that?"
"It's a newspaper from a world known as London."
"Not got anything to do with you, though, is it?" The boy asked. "Or did you come from Lun-dun, or something?"
Luxord shook his head, letting the crisp pages fall down to study the other Nobody.
"I still like to take an interest in international affairs."
"Huh," The boy said, and turned back to his sitar. "Actually, the Hall of Empty Melodies' not too bad. Sound-wise. But Saϊx knows where to find me there."
"Do you have any particular reason for hiding from him, then?"
The boy scowled, suddenly.
"Yeah, well, maybe I don't wanna spend the afternoon killing Heartless." He said, plucking at strings so they twanged. "I mean, come on, what's ten more gonna do to a world? Besides, it was freezing where he sent me. Land of Dragons. Dunno if you've ever been there. Why couldn't they send Vexen? He's only, you know, an ice mage. Me, I get cold easily. They should send me to Atlantica. Also because there's no Heartless there. Heh." And he said all of this, and more, without even seemingly pausing for breath. "But no, he's all like, oh, eye-ex, you have to pull your weight around here. Doesn't even call me Demyx. Well, I'm skinny, so there."
"I see," Luxord said evenly, since Demyx – that was it - seemed perfectly happy to ramble on his own tangents without external input.
"Why are you here, then?"
"It doesn't take me long to complete my assignments."
Demyx considered this for a moment, but apparently thought nothing of the comment.
"They're always sending the wrong guy. Namely, me."
"Don't you like to travel?" Luxord asked, flipping through the classifieds without a second glance. To this, Demyx shook his head so violently that his notes trembled momentarily.
"Just don't like fighting. I mean, come on, I'm a musician. Not an assassin. The worlds are interesting though."
"Quite," Luxord said as Demyx took a break to stretch out his limbs. "Sometimes it pays to visit other worlds simply as a matter of personal curiosity."
"Hear, hear," Demyx said , and played another song that he hummed along to. Luxord, from some far-reaches of his childhood that he only half-remembered, recognised the tune.
"This is pleasant," He said once the song was done and Demyx was plucking his strings aimlessly once again.
"Most people think's annoying," Demyx replied, rolling a chord. "But, I dunno. All the worlds, they're all so different, but they all still have music, you know? It's not just something from one place or another. Music just happens, everywhere. Universal singularity, or whatever. Vexen talks about them sometimes, not that I listen to him or anything."
"You're surprisingly perceptive."
Demyx grinned.
"Surprisingly? What'd you take me for, an idiot?"
Luxord glanced out over the wilting roses and overgrown bushes, and smiled, raising his tea cup.
"To acquaintanceship."
Sunday afternoons became more than a habit: they became tradition. Luxord could always be certain to find Demyx strumming on his sitar in the Castle gardens when he arrived with his books and tea, and after some weeks his cup became two, became plates of sandwiches with the crusts cut off and creamy cakes, which Demyx was happy to provide.
"You're not like the others," Demyx had a habit of saying occasionally, when they ran out of otherworldly affairs to discuss or songs to play. "Everyone else gives me one look and thinks I'm just a moron. You gave me a chance."
"All it takes is a little time," Luxord would reply, and chuckle a little. Their silences were companionable, their conversations diverse: it was almost as though, sometimes, Luxord simply forgot that he had long since lost his heart.
"So did you hear about the new member?" Demyx asked one pleasant afternoon just as the sun was slouching low in the artificial sky. Luxord, reading a book that he'd picked up from a dusty stall offworld, glanced up.
"I hadn't. Did you meet him yet?"
"Yeah. His name's Mar-loo-shar, or something. Anyway, point is, he's all into flowers and stuff and he was interested in sorting the gardens out." Demyx said, looking out over the overgrown plants as he shifted the weight of his sitar on his lap. "It needs the attention."
"That's certainly true," Luxord agreed; even the sturdy oak trees in the far distance seemed to be wilting now, in dire need of care. Demyx had, admittedly, done his part in keeping the plants watered when he remembered, but neither he nor Luxord were the gardeners that the flora required.
"It'll be nice when it's all tidied up, don't you think?" Demyx said. "I wonder what he'll do with it…"
"As long as I have somewhere to drink my tea and read my book, I'm not bothered."
"Sunday afternoons, huh," Demyx laughed, and reached down to sing another song.
And it was a few months after that that, in a surprisingly well kept corner of the Castle gardens, that Demyx turned around and said,
"Hey, Luxord."
Luxord, flicking through another newspaper (he hardly ever read books now; it was simply easier to concentrate on short headlines with Demyx' idle banter a constant distraction), glanced up.
"Yes?"
"So I was thinking, we always spend Sunday afternoons in the gardens. And, you know, can't we go somewhere else for a change? I found a world I think you'd really like."
Luxord stretched; he could hear from around the corner the sound of Marluxia, the eleventh member of the Organisation, tending to his beloved gardens. While it was true that he'd done wonders for the plants – they were now perfect specimens, strong and healthy, straining for the artificial sun – it couldn't be helped that his presence was somewhat… intrusive to Demyx and Luxord's Sunday afternoons. Maybe it was time, at least until Marluxia had finished renovating, for them to move on.
"Perhaps," He said at length, testing the weight of his tea pot. "But let me finish my tea, first."
"Oh, sure," Demyx replied lazily, flopping down onto the grass, "It's not like we're short of time." And he chuckled a little at his joke as Luxord finished off the last dredges in his tea cup.
"Ready?"
Luxord offered an arm to Demyx, who laughed openly and sweetly, standing and accepting the arm with a chipper grin.
"When you are, darling."
Darkness flowered around them in coils and threads, and they were enveloped into the corridor before Demyx opened another portal into a small round room with warm décor and paintings lining the walls. Luxord couldn't help it: he laughed out loud.
"What's so funny?" Demyx asked, clearly put out.
"Demyx, this is Wonderland."
"… Yeah?"
"Wonderland is my home world."
Demyx, who'd been inspecting the fireplace on the ceiling, span round to inspect Luxord anew.
"Well," He said eventually, "That explains a lot. The accent. And the tea."
"I haven't been here in a long time," Luxord says with something like nostalgia in his voice if not in his empty ribcage. "It's just as I remember it; bar the Heartless, of course."
Demyx, obviously surprised by this turn of events but by no means put out, let Luxord lead him down the corridor and into an open room with a brick fireplace and a table in the centre.
"So you grew up here?"
"That's right," Luxord said, handing Demyx a labelled bottle, which made the world spin and shrink, and leading him again down another winding corridor. "If my childhood taught me anything, it was to be open minded."
"High, more like," Demyx muttered without malice. "Have you ever met the Caterpillar?"
"Met?" Luxord chuckled. "He was a good family friend of ours. I would often spend afternoons talking to him."
Demyx, just pulling out into a neatly trimmed garden, stretched in the sunlight and laughed again.
"Sunday afternoons?"
"Naturally."
They walked on for some time in silence, Demyx yelping and leaping away from any passing Heartless and Luxord caught up in his own thoughts. He had hardly expected to find himself in his homeland so soon, but as familiar as every path and tree was his chest stayed disappointingly untouched. In the Castle gardens, it was easy to forget how empty he was in truth – here, with memories of his muddy-kneed childhood, Luxord was uncomfortably cold.
"'S up?"
Demyx had reached an empty bench, and was already testing out the strings of his beloved Sitar. Luxord shook his head and approached casually.
"My apologies. I was merely thinking."
"About your past, huh."
"It seems as though such an innocent life were an eon ago."
Demyx shrugged, music soon harmonising with the twittering of birds in the trees.
"It's not like it's going to last forever, though. I mean, once we get Kingdom Hearts and all, and get or own hearts back."
"Perhaps," Luxord said. He pulled out his own deck of cards, flicking through them until he found the nine and Jack of Hearts. "Perhaps."
"Whassat supposed to mean?"
"I'm not so sure that reclaiming our hearts is Xemnas' true intention in reviving Kingdom Hearts."
Demyx considered this, his ever twitching fingers for once still.
"I guess," He said at length, which was his response to most of Luxord's comments. "But it's the best bet we've got. Anyway, if you don't think the Superior wants his heart back, why are you still with the Organisation?"
"It was only a speculation," Luxord replied. "As for the Organisation, I'm not so sure… perhaps without a heart, a sense of belonging at the very least is the next best thing."
"Yeah, maybe," Demyx agreed. "'Splains a lot of things. You know, like the way we all still have friends, even if we can't care about them. Maybe it's still important to feel like we're part of something. Maybe that's why we all wear the uniform."
Demyx, for all his lazy, boisterous ways, could be surprisingly thoughtful, if one could but tempt the perception out of him. And maybe he was right: maybe even as heartless beings, they still craved the emotional contact that they could never truly experience.
"I guess that's also why we still act like we're humans, even if we're not any more," Demyx continued after a moment, strumming chords and arpeggios. "Well, except Saïx. But you know what I mean. I guess we do our best to remember what it was like." And he sighed. "I miss having a heart."
"We all do."
Demyx plucked a sad melody in minor keys, eyes closed to the sun as his fingers danced across the strings.
"What will you do when you have a heart?"
Looking out across the lawn, Luxord recalled fond childhood memories and the hollowness of the World That Never Was.
"Go home, I suppose."
"Huh," Demyx said and did not elaborate. He hit a wrong note, and it grated unpleasantly against Luxord's ears. "Sorry."
"Which world did you come from?"
Demyx shifted. The music fell flat.
"Doesn't matter."
"Alright." Luxord didn't push it.
"Maybe we should get back," Demyx said after a while. And Luxord nodded, leading him through a swirling portal back to the castle's vacant halls.
It was a few weeks before Luxord saw Demyx again. He still spent his afternoons in the gardens, sipping tea, but alone and with a book. He'd conversed with Marluxia a few times, on subjects mostly pertaining to horticulture, but found that the Nobody rather lacked the flair and innocent charm of the Melodious Nocturne.
"So where's your boyfriend?" the Assassin asked one afternoon as Luxord idly perused a newspaper.
"I assume you're referring to Demyx, whom I assure you is merely an acquaintance-"
"Of course he is, darling."
"I don't keep tabs on him, you know."
Marluxia did not make further comment for a while, busy with raising great white roses from freshly laid soil. They curled at his command around the wire obelisks he had set up around noon, making home in the folds of metal. They were familiar. Almost too familiar.
"Oh, but the Queen wanted the roses to be red," Luxord found himself murmuring.
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing."
"I find scarlet to be rather too gaudy a colour," Marluxia said after a moment, affectionately stroking one of the newborn roses. "Perhaps in the right circumstance… but not here."
Luxord shrugged. He had no particular opinion. From then on, Marluxia worked quietly, revitalising an old apple tree here until its boughs hung heavy with rich, ripe fruit, weeding out the unwanted plants from the flowerbeds there. Occasionally he spoke, mostly idle gossip from the Castle halls, which Luxord found mildly interesting at best and distracting at worst.
"I hear that they have found a new Nobody to join our ranks. A woman."
"That should make a pleasant change,"
To this Marluxia hummed.
"Perhaps. Rumours suggest that she's hardly docile."
"I'm surprised that there aren't more Nobodies of the Organisation's calibre," Luxord mused. "The first eight members all came from the world now known as Hollow Bastion… yet just a handful of Nobodies have been located across all the other worlds."
"Can you blame Xemnas for being selective?" Marluxia asked idly, removing with a twitch of his gloved hand an ugly bramble from a hedge. "Some of the Elder Nobodies… do leave something to be desired."
Luxord declined to respond.
"Well, I must be going," Marluxia said eventually, an hour or so later. "I have an appointment tonight with a certain Chilly Academic… one who does not take kindly to tardiness."
Luxord, glancing over the classifieds, nodded distractedly.
"Very well. Marluxia?"
The Nobody, at the garden gate, turned.
"Hm?"
"So from which world did you originate?"
Marluxia laughed.
"Let's just say that I have learned to take good care of my roses, Wonder boy."
And he had disappeared, leaving Luxord but a riddle to solve. He idly pondered this until, just as the sun was resting heavily on the short horizon a certain Nobody flopped in through the gate, looking both damp and decidedly exhausted.
"Oh, hey, Luxord. Hoping I'd find you here."
"What happened to you?"
Demyx straightened up, and walked with something of a limp over to Luxord's table, pulling a potion out of his pocket as he dropped gracelessly into a chair, downing it in one gulp.
"Let's just say that Xemnas wasn't best pleased at my… 'failure to complete missions to the highest standard'. Heh. I think I've got him off my back now, though."
"I'm glad to hear it," Luxord said blankly, wondering exactly how Demyx had managed to acquire a fish in his hair. Demyx, apparently, was wondering this too – as he plucked it out and let it flop into a bubble of water, which he left floating above the table. The fish, confused, settled into the routine of swimming aimlessly in circles.
"Atlantica."
"Don't I distinctly remembering you requesting missions to Atlantica on the premise that there were no Heartless there?"
"Recon." Demyx retorted.
"I didn't think you minded recon?"
"With Vexen."
Luxord did not think that this required further explanation; however, it appeared that Demyx had other ideas, as he spent a happy five minutes extolling the exact difficulties his last mission had given him, from the bitter temperature of the water surrounding Vexen to the ridiculously petty and specific tasks the Elder Nobody had forced upon him.
"So," He said finally once he finished the fishy tale of how he'd nearly ended up in a mermaid musical, "How about you?"
Luxord shrugged, feeling the world settle down into its usual routine as Demyx leaned back on his chair until it tipped back on two legs.
"The usual."
This, for whatever reason, made Demyx laugh a little, humming something illegible.
"So did you hear about Larxene? I just had the distinct displeasure of meeting her on the way here from Atlantica. I dunno what is up with her, but she wouldn't stop laughing. What a jerk. I wanted to punch her, but you know, can't hit girls."
"To be fair, you did have a fish in your hair."
Demyx looked down at the little creature. It eyed him beadily.
"Might keep it as a pet." He said, and poked it, sending it swimming into a frenzy. "Marluxia around?"
"He left some time ago."
"Good," Demyx said with conviction. "I mean, no offence, but he kinda gets in the way sometimes."
"Yes," Luxord agreed, pouring out two fresh cups of tea, one of which was gratefully accepted by his companion. They conversed amiably, about their everyday lives and time they had spent apart: for all that Luxord could fathom, Demyx had simply been busy with the extra missions the Superior had set him as punishment for slacking off previously.
"So have you been to Olympus Coliseum lately? I heard they had some tournaments going on. Axel was gonna have a go, if he had the time. Apparently the prizes are pretty hefty."
"I might be a gambler, but I'm not one for the games," Luxord replied, surprised that Demyx, lazy to the point of incompetence and strictly adverse to fighting, had even brought the subject up.
"Yeah, me either." Demyx said, and lapsed into silence. And after a few minutes: "Could do with the munny though."
With food and board taken care of by the Castle's ever-stocked kitchens and extensive private quarters, capital earned through the fighting of Heartless and interaction with locals was almost purely for frivolities; unusual, then, that Demyx would desperately need more change.
"How so?"
Demyx sighed a little, fiddling with his fingers. It was odd, Luxord thought, that he wasn't strumming on his sitar already – although in all fairness he looked too exhausted to even move.
"Yeah, well, so I got into a bit of trouble at Halloween Town…"
"Go on,"
With a flick of his wrist, Demyx had summoned his sitar; it fell heavily into his lap, twisted. Its neck had snapped almost completely in two, held together only by the strings. There were other signs of damage – chipped paint and cracked wood, a broken wire and dented body.
"So she broke," He said glumly. "I mean, I told them they were sending the wrong guy for the job."
Luxord looked at the broken instrument, and tried to imagine how he would feel if his cards were to crumple and scatter.
"Can you repair her?"
"Dunno," Demyx mumbled, pulling away a cracked splinter. "Not without munny, anyway. But I just spent the last of it on an elixir. Thought it'd be useful."
Well, Luxord had a fair enough amount of munny stored up from his rather more successful missions – but by what virtue did Demyx deserve a loan? He had brought his dear sitar's demise down upon himself, and was quite clearly irresponsible both with money and tasks set to him. His music was incessant, unproductive, futile in a world of nothingness.
"I'll lend you some."
And so, a few Sunday afternoons after that, Demyx came prancing into the garden, sitar in hand, and had barely settled himself on the bench next to Luxord before he was strumming out a cheerful melody with practiced fingers.
"Good as new," He announced, pausing momentarily to help himself to a Custard Cream. "Even beat my record for water clones this morning. Forty seven on the go at once! Forty seven! That takes skills, man."
"Congratulations," Luxord said accordingly. He'd been playing Solitaire before Demyx arrived, but now he scooped them back into the deck, shuffling idly, pulling out cards here and there. Eight of Spades. Four of Diamonds. Jack of Hearts. Nine of Hearts. They were comforting in their familiarity. "I take it you spent every last penny?"
Demyx started a little, then sheepishly pulled a handful of munny out of his pockets and passing it over.
"Sorry," He said, "Forgot. I'll, uh, pay you the rest back some time."
Somehow, Luxord doubted that, but whether for the pleasure of hearing Demyx play again or more his heartless nature, he could not bring himself to care.
"Try not to forget," He told Demyx anyway. Demyx hummed affirmatively if distractedly, playing another childhood rhyme that Luxord dimly recognised.
"So I was thinking," He said eventually, as his fingers came to rest lightly on the strings. "We should go visit another world again. You know like we went to Wonderland…"
Luxord nodded, glancing around the gardens. Marluxia visited less often these days; with the flora in perfect order there was less work to be done, and besides, rumours had it that he'd been rather busy as of late with the newest Nobody, number twelve. But while the wrought iron tea-tables and pergolas hanging heavy with flowers were attractive and welcoming, Luxord felt perhaps the stirrings of an urge to do something other than watch the artificial sun float lazily in the sky and drink cups of fine tea.
"So where exactly where you thinking of?"
Demyx stretched languidly, yawning.
"Back to Wonderland, maybe? Or there's this place called Port Royal, 's pretty interesting."
Luxord suppressed a shiver, which Demyx didn't catch.
"Wonderland."
Sure thing."
Demyx opened up a portal and, stowing his sitar away in the darkness, followed Luxord through.
Sunday afternoons in the World that Never Was became Tuesday mornings in Wonderland, where time moved in strange and subtle ways, whiling away the passing hours with idle songs, games of cards and musing over recollections of past lives. Demyx stayed stubbornly mute pertaining to matters of his own past, but revelled in Luxord's accounts of the colourful characters that he had grown up alongside.
"-And so, if ever I'm asked who I am, of course I invariably reply with a rather attractive shade of turquoise."
Demyx, who had been watching Luxord with rapt attention, sat back and laughed without restraint.
"Oh, Lux," He spluttered, "That is just the best." And he laughed a little bit more. "So hue am I?"
Luxord considered this for a moment.
"Aquamarine," He said at length. Demyx laughed again.
"'S a lot like turquoise, isn't it?"
For all their differences, they were kindred spirits, the two of them; drifting in a sea of emptiness in between light an darkness, making the most of a hollow half-existence.
"Yes," He said thoughtfully, "Yes, it is."
Demyx smiled gently, gazing up into the sky, which with the setting sun was turning a luxurious shade of maroon.
"Wouldn't have thought a colour could say so much about us, huh?" He mused as his ever-wandering attentions turned back to his dear sitar. Luxord shrugged amiably.
"We're more simple than perhaps we'd like to admit. Living in Wonderland has taught me that."
"Word," Demyx said, which nicely summarised his philosophy on most existential conversation. And he strummed a pensive arpeggio in a minor key. Luxord watched him play – or rather, his expression of muted bliss, face tipped up to the twinkling sky. "One sky, one destiny," He murmured after a moment, his voice sounding a little distant. Luxord allowed himself to glance upwards, where the stars were just beginning to shine.
"No sky – we make our own bargains with Lady Luck."
Demyx chuckled, an attractive sound.
"Yeah," He said, stretching out on the freshly mown grass. "Yeah, that's us. Cutting the fine line. Dealing with the devil."
"The devil indeed."
The air had taken on a certain chill now; Demyx played one last sleepy lullaby and then they returned home. Demyx, yawning, retired to his quarters, leaving Luxord to wander idly through the Castle. He considered leaving, to explore the abandoned districts of the World that Never Was, but it seemed to be perpetually raining - so he confided himself to within the Castle's walls, letting his feet carry him this way and that. Heartless nipped at his ankles, but he left them be; his thoughts were not of the monsters that plagued the worlds but of rather more prosaic matters, of life in the Organisation and idle Sunday afternoons. He had not quite realised how much time had passed since the Demyx had first appeared in the Castle gardens; and how being alone in amongst Marluxia's perfect flora was nothing more than a source of perpetual boredom.
"We do not like to think that we have changed," He found himself saying aloud, studying the sharp geometric patterns lining the corridor walls, "Never more than as Nobodies, beings of nothingness with no anchors to the worlds."
He paced again, thinking. He was a different person now than he had been at the beginning of his heartless life. He had not expected that another being could so dramatically – and permanently - alter his perceptions. Not without a heart, without emotions.
"Curiouser and curiouser."
He chuckled a little to himself, and wandered on.
On account of the newest – and most celebrated – member of the Organisation's induction, it was some time before another Sunday afternoon rolled around, by which point Xemnas' plans were falling into place, the initiation of Project Castle Oblivion and collection of hearts the most important tasks. Even those aside from the designated six Nobodies were busy, running around chasing up endless missions doled out in the Grey Room. Luxord, who as a general rule had all the time in the world, still found hardly a spare second to relax, checking over transfers and architecture, plans, mapping the Keyblade bearer's every movement through the worlds, collecting the girl Naminé from the grips of the Darkness and educating her as to her mission – there was much to be done. But finally, some days after the population of The World That Never Was had approximately halved, Luxord made his way to the gardens to hear that familiar tinkling music drift over the trees.
"Ah, Demyx. It's good to see you again."
Demyx didn't pause in his playing, as he knew Luxord preferred; but he still glanced up to the older Nobody, grinning.
"Hey, Turquoise."
He looked a little tired, Luxord noted as he sat down on the grass next to the Nocturne. His eyelids were heavy, his movements just a little slower than usual.
"Been busy, I take it?"
"Working me like a slave," was Demyx's verdict on the increase in workload. "And it's gonna be even worse now Project C-O's underway."
"At least you shan't have to conduct recon with IV?"
"That, darling, is certainly one advantage."
Luxord sighed at Demyx's terrible parody of his accent, almost automatically pulling out his cards and shuffling through them. Nine of Hearts. Jack of Hearts. Time and time again.
"They'll be back soon enough."
"Yeah," Demyx murmured, "And then we'll have Sora, too. Not long now, huh? I can almost feel my heart beating in my chest again."
Luxord could too, but he wasn't convinced that it had much to do with the close proximity of the Organisation's final goals.
Work continued to get in the way of Luxord and his Sunday afternoons – and more importantly, his chances of spending time with Demyx – so it was several days before he saw the Melodious Nocturne again. What was different, however, was the location: rather than catching each other in the Castle gardens, Demyx had taken it upon himself to find Luxord's quarters in the maze that was the Castle That Never Was.
"Hey, Lux?"
"How good of you to drop by, Aquamarine."
They'd been using their respective hues intermittently ever since their trip to Wonderland; Luxord doubted that he would ever accept "Turquoise" as a legitimate nickname, but since it brought a laugh to Demyx's lips every time the boy said it, he was willing enough to play along with the joke.
"Thought I'd come visit," Demyx said, inviting himself in. "Hey, nice set up you've got here."
Luxord, like the others, had been assigned the standard fare when it came to quarters – the usual stark grey walls and angular architecture: but he'd found a carpet of innocent enough design somewhere and ordered the dusks to crudely fashion it onto the floor, collected vintage cupboards and writing desks from antique shops offworld, replaced the bed with one a little larger and more comfortable, with a thick patchwork quilt lying a little askew above the blankets. It was homely, and Luxord might not have had a heart but he liked that.
Demyx made a bee-line for the bed, bouncing down onto it and laughing when the springs threw him back into the air.
"I couldn't stand my room at first either. But I think I have enough posters now."
"It's not the most inspiring of interior design, is it?"
"You know, I think it's just Roxas who hasn't even done anything yet. I snuck into his room the other day but it's totally bare except these shells on his bedside table. Shells. Weird, huh? I never thought he'd be much of a beachy type."
"We all have our private habits, I suppose," Luxord, taking a seat by the writing desk, said. It was true: Luxord with his Sunday Afternoons, Demyx with his music, which, unless he was otherwise occupied, could be heard at any hour of the day. Perhaps, Luxord mused, the Nobodies needed it. The old habits, the passions of previous lives. Curious.
"Yeah," Demyx was saying. He'd crawled over Luxord's bed, royally messing up the covers, and was watching the rain drizzle outside with his hands to the window glass. "Funny how it's always raining here, huh?"
Luxord hadn't put much thought into the world's weather – but now that Demyx mentioned it he found himself leaning forwards in unwitting curiosity.
"C'mover here," Demyx said, beckoning with one condensation-soaked hand, eyes still trained on the rain. Luxord, thinking nothing of this command, stood from his post and, carefully climbed onto the bed. Sure enough, the rain was dripping as though a hundred taps in the sky just hadn't quite been turned off properly, like always.
"The same as usual," He said, peering up at the bitter sky and the hollow moon that hung like a gaudy Christmas decoration above them.
Demyx gave him one of those quirky grins.
And then he kissed him.
Although he had hardly anticipated the advance, Luxord wasn't surprised to feel Demyx's lips against his own; they had, after all, been so close for so long, so what more was another few inches? And the boy's skin was soft against his (exactly how he expected), the scent of his body something sweet and fresh, the taste of his mouth clean, and salty. His hands were closing in on Luxord's cheeks, warm in the cool air of the room. But then, quite suddenly, he was pulling his face away, laughing.
"What is it?"
"Your beard," Demyx giggled. "It tickles."
But this didn't seem to discourage him in the slightest, as he leaned in again and again, pecking Luxord's lips with a sweetness and a passion that had seemed long forgotten. Time itself faded away into some dusty corner. The spitting rain became a downpour.
Eventually it was Demyx who broke their mouths with a pop, his heavy breaths barely audible above the roar of water against the window pane.
"I should go," He said loudly, throwing Luxord out of balance as he shifted his weight against the bed's springs. But Luxord saw his eyes sparkling in a way he had never quite seen before, and caught the Nocturne's wrist tight to his palm, pulled him back again. The bitter sea-salty flavour. Infinite droplets of water striking the glass, drowning out all inhibitions. Something like emotion, so close and so familiar: it was in that moment that Luxord decided that he should never let the carefree young man out of his sight again, unless to sleep with such a proximity that in the witching hours Luxord could pretend to feel Demyx's heartbeat reverberating in his own hollow ribcage. And indeed, Demyx seemed to agree, as he made no further attempt to leave, moving only to pull Luxord into the pillows, kiss him more luxuriously. They had all the time in the world.
In some spare moment between tugging at earlobes and nipping at necks, Luxord found himself glancing at one of the many calendars hanging on the far wall by his collection of clocks. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, laughing to himself: Sunday. An afternoon, perhaps? With the sky so black and the rain like an ocean, it was impossible to know.
But Luxord paid no further thought to the notion of time and date; more interesting, immediate things were at present, requiring much further attention.
For so long, every afternoon was a Sunday afternoon. Kingdom Hearts ceased to matter to Luxord, some secondary goal to feeling Demyx's skin against his every night. He only half listened in meetings, too busy catching the Nocturne's eye with a sly wink or conducting new ways to catch him out in the corridors during the day. When all but Axel, the fox-faced redhead, failed to return from Castle Oblivion, Luxord hadn't the heart to care. The Organisation, a more exclusive society now, regrouped and planned again. They needed Sora; that much was obvious, but aside from passing remarks of offworld travel and subject engagement, Luxord paid little attention to Xemnas' schemes and ulterior motives. He completed his missions to the required standard, and spent his afternoons in the empty gardens exploring the tender curves of Demyx's body. The plants were growing wild and unruly now, without Marluxia's care; but while Demyx made the occasional attempt to trim the meadowing lawns, it was half-hearted, and soon wildflowers were growing in amongst the grass. They moved all of the furniture onto the patios, where the stone paving shielded them from all but the hardiest weeds. Roses withered and died in thorny cages. Trees bore fruit, which Demyx collected if only to throw them in some forgotten corner of the garden where they could rot in peace. The garden's great collapse had some fine poetry to it, but exactly what Luxord couldn't say even as he mused over the overgrown hedges and pretty flowers choked by weeds in the flowerbeds with Demyx strumming idle summer tunes on his sitar.
"Kinda nice, isn't it?" Demyx said, yawning, one afternoon, gesturing out to the garden. "Like ruins. Have you ever been to those, by the way? The Ancient Ruins. They'd be really nice if it wasn't for the heat."
"I can't say I remember," Luxord mused. He was reading, some erudite book picked up from a stall offworld, as was customary: later they would retire either to his or Demyx's quarters for the night, but now they indulged in idle activity and easy banter.
"I'll take you there some time," Demyx mumbled, sleepily. He yawned again, settling more comfortably against Luxord's shoulder. "'S too hot here."
Luxord squinted up at the sky, where the sun was blazing relentlessly on the overrun gardens.
"Perhaps it might be time to relocate?"
"Read my mind," Demyx laughed, hauling himself to his feet and helping Luxord up. He'd long since shed his heavy leather garments, but his hands were still a little slick with sweat from missions earlier that day.
"You need to wash."
"Yeah, sure, Mom."
Too lazy to use the corridors of Darkness, they wandered through the castle, commenting on the sparse décor until they reached Luxord's room, slipped inside. Demyx was laughing as he affectionately pulled Luxord down onto the bed by the lapels of his coat, almost kissing his lips, giggling as he narrowly missed every time. He was so good at faking emotion, Luxord found himself wondering as their mouths finally met, open and intimate; it was almost as though the hollowness of half-existence were nothing more than a dream when Demyx's hot hands were trailing over the tendons of his neck. He was tugging impatiently at Luxord's clothes, which he was all too happy to remove, tumbling skin on skin in some kind of desperate desire for release from emotionlessness. It was hardly even sexual, the way that Luxord grazed his teeth over Demyx's collarbone, trapping the boy beneath his palms as cotton and leather was shed. When Demyx caught his eyes – it wasn't as though he had a heart, but… it was the closest he could hope to get.
"You're looking at me like that again."
"I'm sorry?"
Demyx smiled a little, and it might have just been Luxord's imagination, but it looked in this light as though a slight blush had risen to his cheeks.
"Like you love me."
"Perhaps I do," Luxord replied without thinking; this elicited only a laugh from the Nocturne. But Demyx's eyes were still warm as he looped his arms around Luxord's neck, pulling him down just so he could brush his cheek against Luxord's beard.
"Don't be silly," He said, and then added quietly, after a moment of silence, "Perhaps one day, though."
"Only perhaps?" Luxord asked, half joking. But this seemed to upset Demyx a little – he frowned, tapered eyebrows tapering adorably.
"Hopefully," He murmured, glancing out at the rain pattering soothingly on the window – and at Kingdom Hearts, towering overhead. "Definitely."
"Promise?"
Demyx smiled, that subdued smile that meant perhaps he was forgetting that he had lost his heart to the Darkness, the one that even Luxord rarely had the opportunity to see.
"Promise."
They kissed on it.
Days passed, faster now that the legendary Keyblade Bearer Sora had begun again to extend his influence across the worlds, now that hearts poured day and night into Kingdom Hearts. Luxord himself was guilty, he couldn't deny, of edging time a little closer to that perfect day when he would have a heart of his own – to love and to be loved by Demyx. And he knew that the musician felt it too; in the way that he eagerly fought Heartless where before he would hang at the fringes of battle, letting others do the dirty work. He still preferred to keep his hands clean, of course – that would never change – but even though the difference was subtle, it was there to Luxord's observant eyes.
"So Xemnas thinks it's time to reintroduce Sora to the Organisation," Demyx said one afternoon, lounging out on the blessedly clipped grass of Wonderland's lawns (the Castle gardens had long since become too overrun to stray from the paths, full of weeds and wildflowers warring for the heat of the artificial sun).
"Better sooner rather than later," Luxord said languidly. "Before the child eliminates all of the Heartless."
"Efficient, isn't he," Demyx agreed, sounding half jealous and half pitiful. He seemed to feel sorry for anybody who worked hard for anything, like they were missing out in life. Perhaps there was some merit to this perspective (as Luxord had oft mused) – but lazy people like Demyx also tended to firstly get nothing done, and secondly get into a lot of trouble for it.
"Indeed."
"I love the way you say that, by the way. Indeed. You're so quaint."
"Circumstances of upbringing," Luxord had joked, which only pleased Demyx more.
"You need a top hat," He said. "I'm so getting you a top hat."
Somehow Luxord doubted that – Demyx hadn't even paid back the money Luxord had lent him to repair his sitar all those months ago (except, perhaps, in music) – but he thanked the Nocturne anyway.
"And perhaps a cane?"
"Definitely a cane. And, like, shiny shoes. And a waistcoat. How about you just go live in that world where they all dress like that?"
"I'd miss you, darling."
Demyx grinned, and with those kinds of grins, Luxord had learned, came kisses, sweet and hungry.
"We can move together, dar-lin. Once all of this hearts business is done. 'Cus, no offence, as much as I love Wonderland it's too Goddamn weird to live here all of the time."
But sure enough, three days later, Luxord found on his bed a decently sized box wrapped in brown paper and string (for authenticity, Demyx had written in pencil, getting his spellings all muddled), and inside a very suave top hat which fitted nicely on his head. He wondered vaguely where Demyx had found the money – but given his sudden enthusiasm for Heartless disposal, he must have had some loose change hanging around to pay for the gift. What surprised Luxord, however, that Demyx was not there to see him try on the hat. In fact, he didn't turn up until a good half hour later, even then just a shadow of his usual cheery self.
"Sora's being introduced to the Organisation," He said glumly. "By me."
"Xemnas' orders?"
Demyx headed straight for the bed – standard procedure – and flopped down onto the quilt, rolling over to sniff at it as though it would provide him some small comfort from the horror of being first in line to witness first-hand Sora's Keyblade.
"I'm s'posed to incite him, or something," He mumbled vaguely at the bedding. "Like, make him remember Roxas and all. Liberate his true disposition. I miss Roxas. He was fun, in a boring sort of way. Really boring. But cool."
Luxord hummed a little.
"You don't have to fight him, though, surely?"
"I guess," Demyx agreed. "I'm more use to Xemnas alive than dead, I guess he's realised at least that much." And he laughed humourlessly. "Unless he's just using me as fodder."
"You're more use to him alive than dead," Luxord assured him, although whether or not he actually believed this he couldn't say. "Besides, you're not actively engaging him. Just provoking him."
Demyx considered this thoroughly – indeed, it was no laughing matter, if Sora's track record was anything to go by. Although nobody was quite sure what had happened at Castle Oblivion, word was that he'd taken out the five eliminated members of the Organisation without so much as breaking a sweat. Lexaeus, Zexion, Larxene, Marluxia… Luxord had his doubts about the ice mage Vexen, but all four of them were highly competent combatants. He himself had lost his fair share of training battles against each one of them – often it was only his wit and cunning that had saved him. If Sora could destroy them so easily, what chance did Demyx stand if engaged in combat?
"Yeah," Demyx was muttering. "Gave me note cards. Note cards, what does he think I am, a four year old?"
"A joke, perhaps?"
"Ha ha ha. I don't have a sense of humour any more."
In each other's presence, they barely spoke of their true heartless nature: it was too easy to forget how silent their chests were when music and games filled the air, Demyx's tinkling sitar and tinkling laughter – bar mentioning occasionally mentioning the shining future of completion and wholesomeness, it was a subject rarely breached. Not with such unsubtlety; Luxord found himself quite taken aback.
"Demyx-"
"Yeah, I know, I can make water clones to confuse him and then run away, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared."
Luxord removed his swish new top hat, and made his way over to the bed, pulling Demyx up to embrace him, a hollow gesture – but one that, he hoped, still meant the world.
"I believe in you. We promised, remember?"
Demyx – for all his lack of humour – laughed a little.
"Yeah. We promised."
They shared a moment, one quite unlike any other, both solemn and peaceful, before Demyx finally pulled away, clapping his hands on his knees to stand.
"I gotta go. Missions, missions, missions. Can't a guy get a break already."
"When do you meet Sora?"
"Oh, not 'till he gets to Olympus Coliseum."
He waved a cheery goodbye, left the room. But it struck Luxord, not for the first time nor for the last, that it was all just an act, all of it. Their relationship was nothing more than a mutual lie; and that was all it ever could be, so long as they cowered here in the darkness with barely their existence to cling to.
He stepped outside, as though to call for Demyx – but the boy was already gone, either around some corner or through a portal to some other location. He let the Nocturne go; it wouldn't be the last time they'd see each other, not considering how they'd been having more Sunday afternoons than any other day of the week for some time.
After the first meeting, Demyx came back frazzled and shaken, a ploy he only used on Luxord – and probably then only for the kisses and cuddles. Luxord was happy to oblige; it meant finding some corner of the gardens that wasn't overrun with brambles, and pulling away the heavy folds of his cloak to reveal stark, pale skin beneath, to kiss it with every shadow of affection he could muster, to memorise every blemish and freckle, each careless bruise or old scar inherited from another life.
"I'm going to try one more time," Demyx said in between throaty murmurs, each time Luxord stopped to check that they were truly alone in the wilderness that the gardens had become. "Sora, I mean. One more shot, and I'll call it quits. Otherwise Xemnas will probably have my guts for dinner. I do still have guts, right?"
"M-hm," was all Luxord had to say on that matter, which made Demyx laugh.
"Yeah, I thought so. I mean, I still eat and all of that stuff."
Luxord did not deem there anything more to say on this; so they shared each other's company in silence that afternoon, eyes closed to the ruined garden and their shallow world, each perhaps imagining the same thing – a new life in the light, so close now to their grasp, full of hope and emotions and the shining promise of a future in love. Where would they go? It didn't matter, so long as they were together. They would become travellers, perhaps, leave the grim Organisation far behind with their footsteps, seeing the worlds from a new perspective. Maybe they would settle down in Hollow Bastion, or Traverse Town – one of the hubs, with people gathering and colliding from all different corners of the universe; or a backwater world like London, where the residents hadn't the faintest idea of the darkness that cowered in the shadows beyond streetlamps – the darkness that had come so close to swallowing them whole.
It was hunger that stirred them; they took to the corridors and dined with fine wine the price of which they would disappear before seeing, in luxury wholly earned and barely deserved. It was late when, a little tipsy, they returned to the Castle, to the bed, and curled up in each other's arms to sleep.
"Y'know," Demyx said, yawning, once the lamps had been extinguished, "The Superior says all these things about not being able to feel emotions, but there is one we can feel. Otherwise we'd never want our hearts back, would we? We wouldn't go to all of this effort, if we couldn't care."
Luxord pulled the boy closer to his chest to feel Demyx's bare skin against his.
"Pray tell, dearest."
"Well," Demyx murmured, his muscles clenching and relaxing as he shifted, lethargically, "Don't laugh – it's hope."
"Hope," Luxord repeated under his breath. Hope.
In the morning, Demyx was gone, to give his mission against Sora one more shot – and then he'd call it quits.
It had been a long day, certainly, even for Luxord; there was much work to be done in anticipation of the Keyblade Bearer's arrival in Port Royal – and then when he returned there were administrative errands to run for Xemnas, and clearing of old reports in his office to be completed, a tedious and time consuming if not mentally taxing job. So it wasn't until late in the evening that he found a moment to catch up with Demyx, hear tales of the Keyblade Bearer's ignorance and confusion – and the power of the key, and the gentle hum of the sitar, a pleasant melody that he had come to take for granted whenever the Nocturne wasn't around.
As was customary, he checked the Castle gardens first, but there was no sound of Demyx's voice across the long grass or ringing from the low hedge mazes. Luxord left the artificial sun to beat down on the battleground of weeds and moved on, guessing that now even they couldn't be bothered to clear the orchards of their rotting fruit Demyx would not spend time alone there. The Hall of Empty Melodies echoed with his voice as though mocking him, and Demyx's room seemed lonelier still. The Nocturne couldn't have still been at Olympus Coliseum – Luxord of all people was acutely aware of the time, the long hours since the young man's departure.
Eventually, trawling the corridors at random, he happened across Xigbar and Xaldin, who appeared with nothing else to amuse them to be reminiscing about 'old times'.
"Have either of you seen Demyx?"
They paused only momentarily.
"Demyx? Oh, he's been eliminated," Xaldin said idly, with a wave of his hand, and returned to reliving his good memories of putting frogs in the bed of a man called Even, all those years ago.
"What do you mean, eliminated?" Luxord, who had suddenly felt a horrible and horribly real curl of fear form in the pit of his stomach, asked in choked voice.
"Well, he's hardly a match for Sora – what do you expect?"
"So he's-"
Xigbar laughed.
"Never existed, as it were. Tough luck, kiddo. I know you liked him."
They turned to walk on, as though oblivious to the sound of Luxord's world collapsing echoing against the hollow corridor walls.
"You're sure?"
"Bummer, huh."
Initial disbelief was replaced by anger. Luxord remembered this feeling, of denial and rejection, of rage, of reaching out to blame the world, the boy, the Superior, the Organisation, the messengers, Demyx…
"How can you be so blasé about this?"
Xigbar glanced around, and for a moment Luxord thought he saw the fleeting glimmer of sympathy in the Freeshooter's eyes – but it might have been the light, or a figment of his imagination, because a moment later he let out a laugh that was neither cruel nor amused.
"S'not that much of a loss," He said. "The kid was a slacker. Now, Zexion, on the other hand – could do with his silver tongue in a tricky situation, eh?"
They might have been mere memories, but Luxord had lost the will to care, as they nudged each other's elbows and turned to walk on. Words flashed through his mind, words of hatred and fear and grief and loss – but they didn't quite slip off his tongue fast enough, his eloquence for once failing him. And then they were gone, their cheerful chatter just vague recollections bouncing around corners and disappearing from earshot.
For once, time would not slow for the Gambler of Fate. For once, the air was thick and heavy, glass to his fingertips, each nanosecond an hour waiting, waiting for the clock to move, for time to pass and nothingness to return.
The walk to the Proof of Existence was long. The seconds to see Demyx's portal, cracked and dull, were even longer. The minutes checking the glass for a mistake, an anomaly, any sign of sabotage; but the glass had not shattered on impact. It was broken because Demyx was dead.
Never had the gaping chasm between light and shadow been so hollow, never the darkness so absolute.
"You promised me," Luxord murmured to the grave, numbly. "You promised me!"
But no tinkle of the sitar addressed his words, no light laughter ringing out to calm him.
"You promised me!"
The emptiness, complete. It was minutes, hours, before he could even find the strength of character to move. The other broken portals – six in total now – were falling into disrepair, shards of glass lost in dusty corners and cobwebs forming in cracks and caves. Luxord had shrugged then, when Axel returned alone; it set the Organisation back a little, perhaps – but he had not given a care to their agony, their final moments; he'd even laughed about the mysterious disaster that was Castle Oblivion with Demyx that evening. But the Nocturne mattered.
Luxord left the Proof of Existence, retraced his steps as though perhaps seeing again the corridors where he had naively believed that Demyx was merely running a little late would destroy his memories, let him live forever in denial, wandering aimlessly, calling his name. But no such relief was offered to him: by the time he arrived at Demyx's room his body had grown cold, and the garden when he reached its gates was dead. No music to guide the flowers to the sun; only the most barbaric thorns thrived in the wilderness now.
Luxord closed his eyes and remembered the garden as it was, in a time gone by, with trimmed hedgerows and blooming flowers and ripe fruit, and a young man lounging in trousers and shoes, a sitar on his lap and a smile on his lips and in his eyes.
The smile had been fake, but the promise was not.
"You promised," Luxord said again, loathing his voice with all the emotion he could muster for being so smooth, so calm, so emotionless now that the initial insanity had faded to clear logical thought. "You promised that you would love me."
But the memories and illusions provided no answer. Luxord, lost, returned to his quarters.
Hope, Demyx had said. Even Nobodies could hope, he had said.
No.
There had never been hope. There was only the darkness.