003 - World

World hopping.

It was insane, Vexen thought, as he felt strong fingers tug against the thick fabric of his glove and bang, light exploded into his face and the darkness was peeling away for another world to be revealed. Then, with the hot flush of laughter, darkness would envelope them again and they would be running through the snapping jaws of the Heartless that dwelled in the corridors, and bang, they'd be a million miles away in another world, gulping a breath of new air before moving on again, to glimpse a new horizon, a new cityscape, a new sunrise unfolding in another macrocosm of the vast, swirling, ever changing universe.
It was more than insane.

It was stupid.

But even more stupid, Vexen had come to realise as month after laborious month would pass in the World that Never Was, was trying to stay sane when one was clearly lacking in the most basic of elements that made one human. He'd tried to be as Even had been, but work had enveloped him with heartlessness, slowly losing the ability to recall the correct technique of social situations as memories of his heart faded. Insanity had climbed into the empty space inside his chest, melted friendships away, driven him to spend sleepless nights in the laboratory, searching, searching, searching, counter-intuitively, for the one thing that would stop him going utterly, utterly mad.

But he'd realised eventually that being mad and thinking that one was still sane was no fun at all. The real fun only started once one recognised that one was completely mad, and began to explore the unique and wonderful benefits of being insane.

So, yes, Vexen thought as they stopped for a kiss, wind whipping their hair, and jumped into the swirling vortex of darkness once again, he was mad. He'd lost his marbles, so to speak. He was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He had a screw loose, he was around the bend, he was as mad as a hatter, and yes, he really was rather enjoying it.

Twenty worlds in, the two of them had to pause, hands on their knees, to gasp for breath, then fall backwards into nondescript bracken and laugh. Vexen hadn't felt so carefree in his life, not even in his other life before he'd lost his mind. Who cared, he thought as his fingers curled all by themselves around a familiar palm. Who the hell gives a toss about whether you're mad. Mad is fun.

Marluxia had helped push the madness out of Vexen, or maybe into Vexen, depending on which way one approached the situation. Not, of course, that he'd ever admit it, but Vexen was secretly glad. He pitied the others, slaving away as the last shreds of their minds slipped away in search of the elusive heart. He was having fun, using the darkness to his full advantage to spring across a continent of planets in an instant. They could frown on him all he liked for being a bit bonkers, but really, in the end he was better off.

Screw all that "no emotions" lark, because Vexen definitely know smug when he felt it.

"So, Vexen," His companion said, and there was a gentle rustle around them as two heads twisted to face each other.

"What is it this time?"

"Tell me where we've been."

Vexen turned back to the stars, and smiled. Hell if he knew. They'd been running too fast to catch enough of each world for characteristics or data or names. But Marluxia would never know. Marluxia never knew anything. Marluxia was a moron.

But Vexen secretly liked that because it made him feel smarter.

Ah, complacency.

He lazily lifted an arm to point out a random star in the sky.

"There." He said. "That's the Pride Lands."

Marluxia nodded, plucking out what was probably a completely different star with his gaze. Vexen moved his finger to rest on another pinprick of light.

"And that," He said all-importantly, "Is the Deep Jungle."

"But we didn't visit the Deep Jungle," Marluxia protested tiredly.

"Yes, we did."

"Did we?"

Vexen sighed, and chose that moment to pick himself up onto one elbow and roll more through practice than talent onto the other man. The closeness in the night was comforting. Warm, even. Marluxia was always warmer. It stood to reason.

Not that Vexen did terribly much reasoning any more, on nights like this.

"You," He said, half accusingly, picking features from the dark with his eyes, "Marluxia," (He liked that name. It was pretentious. Vexen didn't hold much faith to pretentious things, but he liked that thought that every time anybody said Marluxia's name, the poor man would be reminded again just how pretentious he was. And Vexen found this amusing. So he said Marluxia's name a lot.) "Are mad."

Marluxia didn't seem too dissatisfied by this analysis, and reached up with cold fingers to finger his way around Vexen's body.

Vexen had learned to love those touches. As mad as it was. He, a man, enjoying the pleasure of Marluxia, a man. If he'd been Even, he'd not have dreamed of it. But he wasn't Even any more. He was Vexen.

And Vexen was mad.

So Vexen leaned down with a smile, safe in the knowledge that the whole world was his because he was mad, and brushed lips and tongues with Marluxia, who was not just a man but a madman, and that made the smug little feeling all the more self-content.