He loved thunderstorms, ever since he was a child. They were so wild, so untamed, so -
A flash of lightning lit the sky and he turned his face to watch it, eyes (the wild bright blue of a cloudless summer day) wide with joy.
- free.
He hated thunderstorms, ever since he was a child. They were so wild, so untamed, so -
A rumble of thunder rocked the ground and he jumped in his seat, eyes (a perfect match for the sky, roiling as it was in storm clouds) narrowed in repulsion.
- free.
They met in a crash of thunder and their eyes locked, the electricity between them could have scorched lightning. A thought joined them, then, though they didn't find out until years later. 'My favorite color...'
Few words were exchanged as they gathered the scattered books ("My name is -" and "Nice to meet you") before they found themselves in a secluded corner, talking about everything and anything while the lights flickered overhead. And not too long afterward, during the height of the storm, when the lights finally gave up, lips and hands and limbs tangled together with no regard for the surroundings.
Hours later, when they left, disheveled and holding hands, into the dripping aftermath of the storm, they were both smiling.
And Zexion thought, maybe there was something to be said for the wild, for the untamed, for the free.
And Demyx thought, maybe there was something to be said for the calm that follows the storm.