Prologue : Welcome Home

You. It's almost impossible to believe that you've been gone for so damn long.

Sis, the last time I saw you was when I was six. I was almost ready to classify you as a long-lost sibling.

Fuck, it really has been a long time. You seem so different from how I remember you, but it has been 11 years, give or take. You must be – what? 25? 26?

You tell me that these 11 years have been a whirlwind for you. You've been a waitress, a librarian, an environmentalist, a baker, a door-to-door salesgirl, an animal tamer and so much more. You've seen Mount Everest and climbed halfway up K2. You can speak fluent French and some German and when you were 19 you had an American accent. You directed your own shaky-cam horror movie and only ever showed it to the three thirty-something year-old men you met somewhere between Italy and Austria.

I almost didn't recognise you when you came and sat next to me on this bird shit-covered park bench and watched me cry my poor little eyes out, but I recognised your smell (because I'm cool like that). You smell like you've just burnt a pizza in the oven and you've been cleaning the soot off the ceiling for the whole day (It totally beats me why you still smell that way). A tantalizing mixture of carbon and fairy liquid. But it's comforting, like I'm the one who's coming home for the first time in more than a decade.

I've missed you like it's nobody's business. We hug and we laugh and you cry, and I cry a little bit more. 'Why did you leave?' I asked you, and you reply with a sly glance and a sniff. So I guess you're never going to tell me the real reason ('To find myself' is not an acceptable answer). Was it Mum and Dad? I know you were a teenager and you guys weren't the best of friends, but did you really have to leave because of them? Were there too many bad memories here? Was it the bad weather? Whatever it was, I wish you'd at least hung around till I passed my Grade 1 recorder exam with a merit (Boy, was I proud). We would have had a sleepover in your room, and you probably would have told me the story about the monster who lived in the playground and ate little kids' brains for dinner (I wouldn't have been able to sleep, but it would've been well worth it).

As I'm sure you noticed, since you left, the town and the people have had a makeover. On occasion, I like to think that you were the one who started off the trend – not that there were anymore runaways. People just became more...exciting, and truthful about themselves, I guess. Did you know that Mr. Nico who used to live down the street used to be a NASCAR driver? He actually moved away just so he could have a garden with space for a dirt track. We visited him once, me and Axel did.

You say you want to know what's been up with me. And so I'm going to tell you about my own little whirlwind. I'm telling you why I'm on this park bench, alone, crying, hurt, broken. It's a story about trust (and how sometimes even it can't overcome fear). Because of him, I've learnt so many things. So many important life lessons. But I think it might all be over.

And I'm going to hope and pray that you know what the fuck I'm meant to do. Because I don't know anymore.

I just don't know.

Chapter 1 : Floating

I first realised I liked boys at the oh-so-tender age of eleven. Being of the lucky ones, my voice didn't have the indecency to start breaking so early. You see, at that time, I was a key member of the school choir – yeah, I liked to flaunt that high F. The boys to girls ratio in my school was already pretty messed up, so I was one the four treasured male voices. Things fell into place, and most of my closest friends ended up being girls. Being in the company of girls for the majority of my last year of primary school meant that I giggled and gossiped and checked out guys more than the average eleven-year-old boy does.

I guess the very moment that I realised it was a beautiful May afternoon. The boys' changing room. There was this one boy in my class (I forget his name) – he was a total fitness freak, which meant he was nice to look at. He was kind of shy without his usual gang of buddies surrounding him. He was pretty too – long eyelashes, amazing amber eyes. Anyway, everyone else had cleared out of the room for registration, leaving us with only each other for company. I didn't know what I was waiting for. I didn't know what he was waiting for. I don't think he knew what he was waiting for either. Somehow, we ended up kissing for the entirety of five seconds. All we really did was push our lips together. But that was all it took for me to realise that I didn't want to kiss the girls (and make them cry). I wanted to kiss the boys.

I didn't break the news to our parents until I was nearly fifteen, and was afraid that my sexuality was painfully obvious anyway. (It seems a truly impossible feat for a man to hide behind his Barbie dolls for so long in a time such as this). Dad was a little too accepting – it was his pleasure to entertain me with a tale about his gay (third) cousin (once removed) for two or so hours following my rushed confession. It took that same amount of time for my mother to accept that she was never going to have any biological grandkids (at least from me) – "But Demyx you are a planning on adopting, aren't you?" At least Mum believed in the potential of my love life. A stark contrast to my own opinion of it.

Of course there had been fleeting love affairs – stolen kisses in the bushes, lingering touches during science investigations, quick fucks after a party, experimentations in toilet stalls. Still, at the not-so-tender age of seventeen, I had no history of serious boyfriends to speak of. Not one.

"Not even that Leon guy?"

Not even him.

"What about Xemnas?"

That had never really been a relationship. In retrospect, that guy had practically been a cradle snatcher.

"And what about me?"

"Axel," I laughed, "Don't even go there! You know the score."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it memorised, dude. So where're we off to tonight?"

I was with two of my closest friends: Axel and Roxas. Axel's about 6'6" and has some pretty rockin' hair – flaming red. Roxas is one of the shorter members of our generation. If I had to describe him in one word, I'd say...SUNSHINE.

We were doing what I do best. Floating. Floating at the crossroads. I looked to the left and I saw the vast expanse of road that leads to nowhere in particular. I looked to my right and I saw the shadow of the research centre. But that's not what we were there for. We were standing between uptown (Roxas' comfort zone) and downtown (Axel's beat). Polar opposites. Which way are we off to tonight? There's only one way to decide.

I abandoned the relative safety of the pavement, and threw myself out onto the street where the ground was rougher and the air was cooler. Then I spun and spun and spun until I couldn't spin anymore, and I had that feeling of a thousand tiny newts trying to crawl up my oesophagus. When I stopped, I stretched my arm out and pointed like my life depended on it.

"Downtown it is!" Axel started to walk off without us.

As I was still recovering from my ultimate spinning feat, Roxas had a conflict of loyalties. "I...But...Wait up, Axel!" And he sprinted off down the road after the redhead, leaving me clutching my stomach in mock pain. With friends like these, who needs enemies?

"Yeah! You better run! Ugh...Before I puke on you!"

Any wanderer who passed us might've thought we were underage (courtesy of Roxas) and/or drunk, taking to the streets after a long night of partying – but they'd only be partly right (the 'party' was more of a...gathering. And we're all too broke to afford alcohol anyway). Someone who looked a little closer, and maybe squinted a bit, might've seen three teens with some not-so-serious troubles, just trying to escape from reality. Maybe with some X-ray glasses, they'd see us for what we really were: one flamer who needs to be put on a leash; one bisexual pyromaniac who doesn't want the attention, he needs the attention; and one unsure factor whose life got started a little too late. We were the three musketeers – minus the swords, because Axel doesn't believe in the power of violence. (Only the wisdom of flames.)

The three of us carried on floating into downtown. The High Street is lined with grey buildings, spruced up with a flower basket every few steps you take. By day, they stare at the bright colours we wear like we're aliens. By night, they holler from a mile away and high-five when we pass.

There's everyone's favourite hobo, Lex, who we bump fists with when we pass Silverman Street. Next on our tour, we met Vexen: living proof that achieving your dreams isn't everything. Half a mile down, Saïx was chatting with Xigbar outside the co-op. Xigbar waved. I noticed he had a different eye patch on that day – it had a white stripe down the middle. I briefly wondered if there was any significance to it, but quickly forgot about it. Saïx nodded to us in that businessman-like fashion he always has, but he's still looking as lost as ever.

Roxas did something a little out of the ordinary then. Roxas stopped next to Saïx, and said to him, "I hope you find what you're looking for." I was immensely confused, but suddenly I saw Saïx's eyes become more alive than they've ever been. Only for the shortest of moments though, as he whipped his head around.

Roxas has always been a curious one (for as long as I've known him, anyway). When he first arrived in the town he was like a lost puppy. Bless his little ol' heart. His twin brother was there – had always been there for him; but it was me and Axel who gave him a refresher course in Life (and for the record, I think Axel has been crushing on him since the beginning, but keep it a secret, yeah? Pinky promise?). Rox is like the cherry on an ice cream sundae – he looks so sweet, and almost untouched. But he doesn't really get everything. All he can he see the surface. (One day, that ice cream is totally gonna melt for him. And he'll be able to experience all of that vanilla-y goodness for himself. One day).

A little further on and we literally hit the jackpot (Okay! Okay! Figuratively!). We're allowed inside the arcade, but I swore on Axel's life to Luxord that if we won anything big we'd give it back. And that's happened more than once or twice before. The arcade's always going through a hard time moneywise. The weight of responsibility has been placed upon most teens' heads already. (Sincerest apologies responsibility – I didn't get the memo).

So we strolled into FINAL FANTASY XIII like we owned the place and survey the crowd. The usuals are all crowded around their usual spots. But there was an unusual addition, whispering away to Luxord like he's never heard of tomorrow. On any other day I would've...On any other day, I'd sing or dance or exclaim how drop dead gorgeous I thought he was. (But that day, I had a near death experience – I totally almost cracked my head open on the springboard in PE, so I was keeping it cool. Playing it safe).

And so I sauntered over to the slot machines like I hadn't fallen in love at first sight. Or at least I tried to. I've never learnt to saunter, but I do have some serious skills in the art of tripping.

So I'm on the floor. On my face. And my so-called friends were laughing their asses off behind me, and so was Luxord behind his desk. But I heard these footsteps coming towards me. And I wondered if my heart was still beating.

"Would you...like some help?"

But I knew it was still going because the thump thump thump was the only thing I could hear.

"Excuse me? Are you okay?"

And my heart was in my mouth and I just couldn't find the strength to move and look away from those heavy-looking black boots of his, so I said, "Your shoes are awesome," and spiralled the rest of the way into my own personal abyss.

Smooth Demyx. Smooth.

If we back up a bit; after I fell in love (Exaggeration FTW!), but before I ruined my chances, we would find Axel with his eyes glinting and his brain on overdrive. If I was concentrating, I might've seen the smoke pouring out of his ears and the alarms going off. There was a reason (apart from the pyromania) that kids ran when they saw him in the hallways. He is omniscient. All-seeing. All-knowing.

Logic is his game. Your body language gives you away. A scratch and a glance outside a classroom means you just cheated on a mega-important test. Blackmail worth 2 packs of cigarettes or a week of being his personal slave.

Walking into school smelling like Lynx: Dark Temptation means one of three things.

1 – You're dying to impress.

2 – You've been out all night, obviously doing something relatively dodgy and you nipped round to a friend's house this morning after you woke up on the roof of the drugstore.

Or 3 – Sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll and Marluxia.

He can tell which one by the way you walk. Black mail worth 1- 4 packs of cigarettes or a relatively embarrassing dare. (Me, Mars and Rox really need to have an intervention about his smoking).

So obviously, when he saw me hesitate and blink a little too slowly, he knew something had to be done. Maybe he did it for me (Axel: Pioneer of the Campaign for Human Happiness). Maybe he did it for himself (Axel: the Devil's Apprentice). Whichever way, Axel stuck his foot out in front of me before I even got the swing in my hips.

Back to the pseudo present, and I'd graciously decided to take my one true love's hand. And I realised that this was probably the only chance I'd get to touch him. Ever. So I savoured the moment, and let go when we were far far into the awkward zone.

He's had this tremendous blue fringe which covers most of his face, and the most gorgeous deep blue eyes I've ever seen. The half of his face I could see (although handsome) unsettled me slightly. Even Axel couldn't read this one.

He had these red skinny jeans on, and boy, were they tight. How can he even walk? He's so skinny. So skinny-I-can-wrap-a-hand-around-your-wrist-easily. Maybe he's too skinny. Or maybe he's perfect.

"Are you...alright?"

Perfect.

"Don't mind him. It's probably just brain damage or something."

"Do you...think we should take him to the hospital?"

"Oh no! He'll be fine! Anyway, haven't seen you around here before. You from outside of town?"

"Yes, I recently moved in with my cousin."

"Really? Cool. What's your cousin's name? We might know 'em."

"Marluxia. Marluxia De-"

"Marluxia! He's like our best friend! Isn't he, Rox?"

"He always shares his lunch with me."

"Yep, that's our Mars. Always a giver."

So I snapped out of it by the time he said Marluxia, but it's always interesting to listen to a conversation you haven't had express permission to listen to. And I might be wanting to hear his voice again.

"Yes. I'm going to start going to Hollow High School when term starts. Maybe I'll see you there."

"We walk to school with Mars every day, don't we Rox?"

"Sometimes he lets me share his muffin."

"So, what's your name?" Axel asks him.

"I'm Zexion."

"This is Roxas. And I'm Axel, nice to me-"

And I don't listen anymore because I've heard his name and it's just too beautiful. It sounds exotic. Zexion. Zexion...and Demyx. I silently pray to the God I want to believe in that I will hear someone say that one day.

"DEMYX!"

"WHA?" Why did he have to wake me up from my daydream? I was thoroughly enjoying imagining the colour scheme for our first apartment together.

"Meet Zexion. Our new best bud. He's in our class and everything!"

"He said he thinks you're weird."

I could tell this was the start of something beautiful.

"He said he thinks you're hair's cool too."

Maybe it really is.

Hiya...

So... 'Experimentation' isn't a word...but it sounds more exciting that 'experiment'! That alone gives me the right to use it.

Review? Constructive criticism? Please? :)