Hey guys, it's me! I know it's been a looong time since I last posted something, so hopefully this'll tie you over until I grab more time to write.
And yes, Zemyx. I've been going through withdrawal. D: So sad.
Much love. Wanted to thank anyone who's reviewed in the past -- sorry I don't get around to replying to all the reviews, but know that I appreciate them.
Well, onward!
Time never mattered in the World that Never Was, but with every passing second, minute, hour, day, even week, that Zexion had gone, it seemed significant enough.
It was quieter than usual in the castle, its sterile white rooms a little bit more empty than they should have been. Perhaps it was because half the Organization had gone away. The only ones left were those who rarely acknowledged him, with the exception of a grunt or nod in the halls as they passed.
He was looked down upon, being the weakest of the thirteen.
Occasionally, Axel would join him for company; Eight could tolerate his unusual disposition more than the others. However, Axel had left as well. Orders were orders.
The one that left him confused and amazed every time, though, was the sixth member of the Organization. Zexion. The cloaked schemer, they called him.
He had been brought to the castle alongside Luxord. The gambler had easily fit in after setting up bets with the others. Demyx, the musician and Luxord's superior, was not accepted so quickly. Upon his arrival, he caught the eyes of a cold and stoic young man, who glared down at him from his seat.
The ninth member wandered the halls aimlessly during the day, too inexperienced to be sent on an official mission. He had been on the sixth floor when he noticed a door somewhat ajar, a light spilling out onto the white tiles beneath him.
Curious, he pushed it open ever so slightly.
A library. A grand library with a ridiculous number of books, varying in size and color and shape --
"What are you doing here?"
The voice startled him, and he glanced toward the dimly lit circle of chairs and sofas.
There, curled up in a chair with an impossibly thick book in his lap, was the young man who had glowered at him earlier in the week. Demyx stood frozen in the frame of the door, his hand gripping the wood like a lifeline.
"Don't be such an imbecile, answer me! What are you here for?" the slate-haired man snapped.
After a moment of intimidated silence, he sighed and waved his subordinate inside.
"No use standing there like an idiot. Close the door."
Demyx nodded and obediently shut the door before approaching the older man. As he got closer, however, he found it hard to call this superior a man; the boy looked only a few years older than himself.
They spent the rest of the evening in each other's company, Zexion going through book after book while Demyx studied his instrument carefully.
The next day, Zexion didn't say a word when he returned to the library, sitar in hand. He continued to peruse his books when Nine situated himself in a chair and began to play a soft melody.
It became a routine.
Now it was a different.
He summoned a portal to the sixth floor, stepping through the darkness and emerging outside of Zexion's bedroom. He walked to the library automatically. The hall was eerily silent, moreso than when Zexion was present. The sixth member was quiet, yes, but one could always hear his soft footfalls on the tiled floors as he strolled through the corridors.
Demyx pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, shutting it with a flick of his wrist. He looked around. Zexion had left out a pile of texts before leaving; the dusks had not shelved them for some reason.
"Zex? You home yet?"
No reply. Again.
He found his favorite chair and summoned his instrument, grasping the neck as it appeared in his hand.
"When's he coming back?"
Running his fingers over the strings, he sighed.
"Axel always lies. He always does. Why should I believe him now?"
"He's not coming back. None of them are. They're gone. GONE!"
Zexion was going to come back.
He always came back to Demyx.