II.
The clothing Ansem had lent him was simple and suited the still-warm fall weather. Jeans. A faded blue t-shirt, a sweater. It must have once been worn by someone else; one of the knees had been darned. Putting on civilian clothes for the first time in years was an odd experience, to say the least. In a way he felt naked. But this was what everyone else did. This was part of moving on, whatever that meant.
What did it mean?
He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Yesterday's rain subsided, he figured he would go into town, just to get some fresh air. It was dank and damp enough inside this castle.
He hadn't gotten more than a few steps down the hallway before Ansem's voice stopped him. "Oh, good. Everything fit. We had to guess at your size."
Ansem the Wise, too, looked odd without the frame of the black coat. He was dressed in white, nearly identical to Ienzo aside from the red sash draped across his shoulder. His faze was wizened and a little peaked, like he was coming off a bout of extreme illness.
"Thanks for doing that," Demyx said. He didn't really mean it, but he didn't know what else to say.
"I admit it was partially for selfish reasons. I can't bear to look at those coats anymore. Not after all that has happened."
"Yeah, I get you." Even though he didn't.
A few beats of silence. He couldn't really get a feel for Ansem. When he'd retrieved him initially, it had been entirely perfunctory. "We must return to the castle," and all that. And Demyx had been too caught up in patting himself on the back for doing something worthwhile for once.
"I must say that, now that this is all said and done, it's good to have you here," Ansem said. "At least we have the comfort of familiar faces as we try to piece our lives back together."
Some comfort, Demyx thought. "Sure. That."
"Know that you are welcome here," Ansem continued. "You've helped immensely, though I doubt you realize it. I'd be happy to help make this your home."
"It's not exactly like I have other options." His attempt at joking fell flat, came out sounding rude instead. "I'm stuck here. You know."
Ansem smiled stiffly. "Yes. Quite."
From one of the nearby doorways, Demyx heard Ienzo's voice. "I'm all set, Master. I seem to have misplaced some of my papers." He came out with a text crammed full of pages of notes. He caught sight of Demyx and his smile faltered somewhat. "Shall we get started?"
"What are you guys up to?" he asked slowly.
Ansem and Ienzo exchanged a glance. "Tying up some loose ends," Ansem said.
"Well. Have fun I guess."
They passed by him, trading heavy terms meaningless to Demyx.
I don't belong here. The thought came unbidden, adding to the sourness in his stomach. He set off towards town.
The marketplace had grown since the last time Demyx was in Radiant Garden. The restoration had brought back the town's old beauty. It was one of the liveliest, most colorful places he'd been in a while.
Nobody recognized him. Why would they? Even though he assumed people must have been warned about the Organization, it wasn't like they could connect him to it without the coat. And most of the time he'd kept his face covered. Still, it was… uncomfortable, to say the least, to see the same people he'd seen in recon missions look back at him, even if so just in passing.
The marketplace had just about everything. Weapons, armor, food, clothing, stalls and stalls of the local flowers as cheap as half a munny each, pots and pans, books, any amount of knick-knacks and geegaws. He decided he would spent his time window shopping, though he only had the few hundred munny that had been stuffed in the pocket of his coat.
What he hadn't fully anticipated was the upselling.
Demyx had spent more time in marketplaces across the World than he could care to account for. They were great places to get information and overhear conversations, especially around people who let their guards down in all the noise. He hadn't ever spent much time as a customer. If he wanted something, he either waited until nightfall or had to be sneaky, leaving behind handfuls of money near whatever served as a till.
"Best buns in the city," someone cried from a baker's cart.
"These earrings would look lovely with your eyes." The jeweller.
"We've got swords and daggers for all kindsa folks. Ain't nobody should wander around unprotected." The blacksmith.
"Candy for your sweet tooth?" A chocolatier.
The noise and attention was starting to irritate him, making him dizzy with overstimulation. The colors and items seemed to blend together until he could barely distinguish one from the next. It had never bothered him before. What was different?
He crossed into a quieter part of the market, trying to catch his breath. Even though it was fall, the sunlight was hot and was making him sweat.
"Are you new here?" someone asked. "I haven't seen you in town before."
Demyx looked up. It was one of the ubiquitous flower stalls, but here the arrangements were less haphazard, more graceful. A young woman about his age was potting a bloom he didn't recognize.
"I… guess you could say that," he said. "I was just looking for somebody that sells instruments." Not that he would be able to afford it.
"There's a travelling stall that pops up once every few weeks. I don't think they're in the rotation yet," she said. Her face was familiar for some reason, the brown braid and green eyes. Then again half of these people looked familiar. "Are you a musician?"
"Yeah. I'm… uh… I play sitar. I don't know if you've ever heard of it. It's not that common."
She looked up at him and peered at him more closely. Her hands had stopped moving. Did she know? Demyx had no idea how much the townspeople knew about the Organization, old or "true". For all he knew there might have been "wanted" posters of them up.
"Like in Agrabah," she said. "I know that's part of their culture."
Demyx relaxed slightly. "Yeah, sort of. My old one was different than their models, it had fewer strings, but I liked theirs too. I found the sound could get a little chaotic. Hard to carry a good melody line. Nice drone effect, though. I haven't heard anything like it since." Great, now he was rambling.
She brushed the dirt off her hands. "So you're a traveler?"
He tensed. "Uh… used to be." Of course. People here knew about other worlds and didn't hesitate to talk all about them. That was what happened when your world came back after falling to darkness. You either died, became a Heartless and Nobody, or got cast away to some other world.
"Used to be? So you aren't passing through?"
"No, it looks like I might be here awhile." He laughed awkwardly.
"Well, I hope you enjoy your stay." She watered the freshly potted purple and blue flowers. "Here. This is for you. Think of it as a welcome gift."
He reached for his money, but she shook her head.
"It's alright. There will be more flowers." She passed the pot over the table and Demyx took it. It wasn't heavy, but he fought the weight of it grounding.
"Thanks. That's really sweet of you."
"Any time. I mean, Radiant Garden is all put back together, so I guess we're more of a welcome committee than anything else now." She smiled.
"...Welcome committee?"
She wiped her hands off on a cloth. "Oh, that's right. I'm Aerith. I'm part of the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand. He took it with his free one, a cold feeling seeping over his body.
Of course. That's why she looked familiar. This was that pocket of resistance that the Organization had tried to squash in this world. "...You too," he said numbly.
"I didn't get your name," Aerith said.
Because if I gave it you'd probably smash this pot over my head. "It's… uh…" but before he had to make up an alias, a short-haired teenage girl pushed past him talking at Aerith at a hundred miles an hour.
"Scrooge brought us cake!" The girl said cheerfully, hefting a pastry box. "From Little Chef's Bistro! I've been nagging that bastard about it for weeks!"
"Yuffie, he did us a favor."
"Favor, my ass. Who rebuilt this town?"
Demyx chose the moment of chaos to try and slip away.
"Who's that?"
"A customer. New in town."
"He looks familiar."
"I thought so too."
He half expected the women to come after him, so he quickened his pace.
"...You got a fork in that bag?"
After all that nonsense, the castle was a welcome sight. He mounted the dozens of stairs, cursing his lack of power all the more. He brought the little plant into his makeshift bedroom and set it on the windowsill. It looked rather pretty in the light. He found he was feeling more tired than usual and lay down to take a nap.
"...Demyx?" Ienzo shook him gently.
He sat up from an aqueous sleep, thin dreams of Keyblades and too many flowers vanishing before he could remember he needed to write them down. Daylight was dying, leaving a bright pink sunset.
"I'm sorry to wake you. We're all having dinner and Ansem was wondering if you might like to join us." He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot with bruise-colored bags.
To think of it, he was absolutely starving. He'd barely eaten all day. "Yeah. Thanks." He sighed. "I'm sorry if what I said bothered you."
Ienzo cocked his head slightly. "That's alright," he said. His tone was unreadable. "You meant what you said. You just don't understand." Simple, matter of fact.
Ouch. But not uncalled for. "No. I guess I don't."
Together they went down the labyrinthine hallways, past the kitchen where Demyx had normally been eating the past few days, to a part of the castle that was much brighter than the rest. They crossed a closed-in bridge, the rich lace curtains on its windows billowing slightly in the rosy light.
"Swanky place," Demyx said.
"Master Ansem's quarters," Ienzo said. "He likes the northernmost light."
"Why do you call him "Master"?" Demyx asked. The word had sent a slimy sensation down his spine. He couldn't help but think of Master Xehanort.
"Because I am his apprentice, and he deserves respect."
"Are you, though? I mean, you've been doing this all on your own. Feels kinda like he just slipped back into place and took all the credit for the work you did getting Roxas and Naminé new bodies."
Ienzo turned slightly. "Not to be rude, Demyx, but if I sought your opinion on the matter, I would ask for it."
Whoa! "Sorry," he said.
"That's quite all right."
Ienzo pushed open a set of heavy mahogany double doors. Ansem's quarters were large, borderline kingly; it had once been a gorgeous place but had fallen into serious disrepair. The pale green damask wallpaper was torn and curling, and the simple crystal lighting and chandeliers were broken or hanging by wires. The rich Oriental rug, once bright, was sun bleached and had water damage. A ladder and a set of tools sat nearby. He must be working on it in his spare time.
A large round table was set for them all, the same mahogany as the built-in bookcases and the double doors. Aeleus, Dilan, Even, and Ansem were already there. Demyx took the last remaining spot between Dilan and Aeleus, feeling a little cluttered by their collective bulk. Ienzo slipped at Ansem's right hand side. A finely cooked roast, scalloped potatoes, and roast green beans were set out. It all looked amazing.
"Sorry. I didn't know I was holding you all up," Demyx said.
"No harm, no foul," Ansem said. "Please, everyone. Help yourselves."
The each took what they wanted. Demyx couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real, full, cooked dinner. He wanted nothing more than to stuff his face, but their air in the room was so stiff and formal. He tried to straighten his posture and pulled his elbows off the table. Nobody touched their food, and Demyx wondered if Ansem was religious, and if they were waiting for some sort of prayer. But as soon as Ansem started eating, everyone else did too. Soft chatter broke out across the table. Ienzo, Even, and Ansem deep in talk of research; Dilan and Aeleus discussing matters outside the castle, practically over him.
I don't care, Demyx told himself, but something like pain was making the otherwise delicious meal taste like paste. "Who made this?" he asked. "Everything's really good."
Ienzo looked away Ansem. "That would be me. Thank you, Demyx." And back into the conversation he went.
Plate empty, Demyx wondered how long to wait before he excused himself. At least if he were alone in his room it wouldn't be so painful. But then Arpeggio's absence would be all the more noticeable. He drew thin patterns of gravy on the plate with his fork.
"Wine, Demyx?" Dilan asked, startling him. He passed a half-full decanter of red wine. He poured a small glass, tracing the fine edges of crystal. The wine was sweeter than expected for a red, and went down easily. He took a second one; nobody was watching him.
The chatter continued. Ienzo stood to collect the empty plates, but Demyx stopped him. "I got it. You're busy. Where can I take them?"
"Kind of you," Ienzo said. He looked genuinely caught off guard. "The kitchen is through that door there."
Ansem's kitchen was much nicer than theirs, or at least it had once been. The pale gray tile badly needed a scrub and half of the burners were rusty. A covered cake-plate sat on the counter, presumably for later. At least here, elbow-deep in soapy water, he could pretend he was just doing a favor instead of sitting at the table feeling miserable.
He didn't belong here.
They all knew each other. They all liked each other. They had years of memories, their bonds strengthened and then weakened and then strengthened again by their new humanity and the defeat of Xehanort. He was a stranger. The only reason they probably kept him was their new hearts' morality whispering that kicking him out would be wrong.
He didn't belong here.
The water was uncomfortably cold and his breathing had hitched. Demyx reached into the murky water to pull the drain's plug. Something cut into his palm; an absurdly sharp carving knife hiding at the bottom of the sink. The blood welled and began to drip, turning the water pink. He stared at it, completely unable to move, his chest aching, each breath harder than the last. He couldn't even heal it if he tried.
Grab a towel, you fuckwit. You're getting blood everywhere.
His bleeding hand trembled. He tried to move with the other. Were there no fucking dishtowels in here? He had to wrap this in something. It didn't seem to want to stop bleeding, and he was feeling dizzy now. He couldn't have possibly lost that much to make a real difference.
Footsteps in the kitchen. Ienzo had come for the cake.
"What on earth-" he began.
"Knife in the sink," Demyx hissed. "There's no towel or anything-"
"That must've been my mistake. I am so sorry." He untied his cravat and held it out towards Demyx, who couldn't take it. Ienzo's eyes widened. He took Demyx's bloody hand and guided it under the tap, rinsed it and tied the purple cloth around it. "I think you're having a panic attack," he said gently.
No shit.
"Try and take a deep breath for me, okay? It'll be over soon."
Breathing hurt. He felt weak. Ienzo helped him sit on the floor. Demyx started counting to ten, silently. Just ten more breaths and it would be fine.
Once he was calm enough to be embarrassed, Ienzo asked, "Was that the first time it happened?"
He shook his head. "I had one yesterday."
Ienzo's brow furrowed. "Do you have a history of this happening?"
Demyx shook his head again. "I don't think so. But a lot of that time is hard to remember."
"What time? When you were human?"
He nodded.
"Do you know what it is that triggered you?"
Of course he did. Years of being ignored and belittled slapped him all at once, and it didn't seem like it would change any time soon. "No," he lied.
"That's alright. None of this readjustment is easy. It's most likely stress you're not used to feeling. I don't think this sort of thing is permanent."
"I'm sorry." Despite the nap, he was even more tired than before.
"You've nothing to apologize for."
Demyx stood up slowly. His hand, now that the shock and panic had worn off, was throbbing. "I'm going to go lay down."
He nodded. "You must be exhausted."
Demyx went back into the dining room and tried to come up with an excuse; as it was it seemed like nobody had even noticed he was gone.