Prelude: a short piece of music, the form of which may vary from piece to piece. It generally features a small number of rhythmic and melodic motifs that recur through the piece. Stylistically, the prelude is improvisatory in nature. The prelude can be thought of as a preface. It may stand on its own or introduce another work.
I thought it was a fitting title. This is completely improvised, a short drabble that popped into my head at 1:30 am while studying for finals. So yeah, take it for what it is. Inspired by the fact that "What? That's Xigbar' somebody? He's hot!" And it's cute when Demyx calls Xigbar Xiggy.
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At fourteen years old, Demy considered himself fairly grown up. He already had the most important things figured out, including who he was as a person and what he wanted out of life. While most kids his age were struggling with their identities, Demy knew who he was, and was fine with it. Demy was a cheerful, friendly (voted most friendly by his middle school's graduating class, in fact) and in the immortal words of Freddie Mercury, as gay as a daffodil.
His sexuality was a fact he'd been pretty sure of since he was twelve, and if liking guys was wrong he didn't want to be right. As to what he wanted out of life, that was easy, he wanted to be a musician, more specifically to be the greatest rock superstar Radiant Gardens had seen in decades.
Demy thought it was a sign of maturity that he knew what he wanted. There were lots of kids who had no idea what they wanted out of life. Not that his mom saw it that way, of course. She thought he needed to stop dreaming, quit spending so much time listening to music or playing that damn guitar of his, and focus on school.
"I got a call from your teacher last night," his mother said over breakfast. "Apparently you have a group project with another classmate, but so far he's done all the work."
"He's better at it that I am," Demy said with a shrug. "I'm really not cut out for it, Mom."
"I don't want to hear it, Demy. If you don't do the work you're not going to get any credit and…" Blah, blah, blah.
What did school matter when you were going to be a rock superstar? Besides, currently, he was already grounded for cutting his hair into a Mohawk, so there wasn't much more she could do at that point. The blonde rolled his eyes at her latest lecture, before running to catch the bus to school.
There was going to be an assembly that day. Guests lecturers there to talk about science or whatever. Because of this, afternoon classes had been canceled, which was more than enough to put Demy in a good mood. He had planned to sleep through the assembly, or put his head phones in and zone out.
Demy had absolutely no interest in science, way too much memorization. He could barely remember what he had to do for homework, much less remember complicated symbols and formulas or anatomy. So naturally, he could care less about their important guest speakers there to lecture them about the importance of science, the "exciting" discoveries that were being made, and how they needed to apply themselves because there were so many opportunities awaiting them.
Demy wouldn't have even gone to assembly if attendance hadn't been mandatory. A few of Ansem's, as in the Ansem, ruler of Radiant Garden, regarded as the best mind of his generation, apprentices were going to give the lecture. Apparently that was a big deal. Demy didn't really get it, it's not like Ansem himself was going to come, of course not, he was way too important for that. But still, the people who were coming were considered "very important", and the school was "honored" to have them. Yeah…right. Demy had rolled his eyes at all that, and at being forced to go to the assembly. Fortunately, thanks to his trusty hoody, he could get away with listening to headphones.
Still, as much as he liked getting out of class, he hadn't exactly been looking forward to the assembly, but that was because Demy didn't know that he'd be there, or the affect that he would have on him.
He was named Braig. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man Demy had ever seen. He held himself with an aura of total confidence, which was a total turn on. Besides that, Demy had always been a sucker for dark haired men, and they way Braid's black hair was gelled back neatly just completed the picture of someone who was totally in control. Braig's look screamed "in control": his uniform was immaculate, perfectly neat, except for his scarf, which was frayed. But damn, Demy had never seen anyone make a scarf look so sexy. Then of course, there was his face. His skin was tan, the color of a coffee with a lot of milk, and his golden eyes reminded Demy of caramel. Like a caramel macchiato, Demy thought. Demy wondered what his voice sounded like, if it would fit, and be rich and warm and sweet.
Unfortunately, for the most of the assembly he didn't say anything. He just stood by while his colleague, the long haired blonde dude, Even something or other,in a lab coat, rambled on about whatever. Demy wasn't really listening, he wasn't interested for one, and Even's voice was obnoxious. The blonde teen drummed his fingers on the bleachers as he waited for Braig to have a turn to speak.
When he finally took the microphone, Demy sat forward in attention, slipping his head phones off.
"All right dudes," Braig began. A murmur went through the auditorium. No one had expected him to begin like that.
Demy beamed, laughing slightly in joy. His voice was like a caramel macchiato, and the whip cream on the latte was that he was absolutely cool.
Braig continued his speech. "I know you guys probably want to get out of here, so I'll keep this short. You might think school is for losers, as if. If you want to have a good future, make munny, and be able to do what you want in life, you're going to need an education. So stay in school and don't do drugs." He smiled, which had the affect of turning Demy into a puddle-like state of melted, and then left the podium without saying anything else.
Because his speech was so short, they got out a whole hour early. Demy hung around. He'd catch the city bus at his usual time, and in the meantime have an hour to practice guitar without his mom yelling at him. So the fourteen year old sat on the steps, strumming away, and wishing he could put everything he was feeling right then into a song.
He had seen the man of his dreams. Braig was a god. Braig was amazing, laid back yet powerful. He was also probably way, as in way, too old for Demy. Demy was fourteen, Braig was what? Thirty, at least. It didn't matter. It was just a crush. Lots of people had impossible crushes on movie stars or singers old enough to be their dads, or on fictional characters that didn't even exist, so it didn't hurt to dream.
Oh, and he would dream. Dream, and probably do the thing that his mom said would cause blindness but he knew enough science to know that was B.S.
However, that night, instead of lying under the covers and imaging that caramel macchiato voice saying his name, Demy found himself out on the balcony staring at the stars. "I wish I may, I wish I might." He was way to mature to being doing this. There was no way he'd ever get close to that man. It always just be a dream, but Demy wanted more. Demy wished that someday, when he was older, that their paths would cross. He just wanted a chance. He wished with all his heart, and more, with all the he was. "Please, let me have a chance with him, even if he just smiles at me, and that would be enough."
A shooting start shot across the sky in a brilliant flash of light. Maybe that was a sign. Someday, somehow, they would meet again, someday when Demy's dreams came true.