Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters that I will be using throughout this fanfiction, only the situations in which I place them in.
Warning: Contains yaoi/lemon (BoyXBoy). Also contains self-harm. Don't like, don't read.
'Has it really been two years…?' Demyx sighs heavily as he puts his books down gently on a desk – the back right-hand corner, to be precise, and flops down onto his seat for his first-period Psychology class. He's ten minutes early, as per usual – he enjoys watching people come into the room and take their various seats. He sits anxiously, watching the doorway as his classmates teem in, 'till the final person is seated with a thud. 'He isn't here.' Emerald eyes scan the classroom, examining all the seats 'till he finds the person he was looking for, said boys' slate coloured hair brushed but slightly ruffled. 'You idiot, he was here all along. How did you not see him?' He sighs, opening up his textbook, hoping that the day will go as fast as possible.
-Later that day-
Yet another sigh escapes from between Demyxs' lips, his eyes flitting down then back up again as he locks his lock gently and starts walking down the plain, white school halls. His ears twitch, the fine hearing of a musician picking up noises that people wouldn't normally hear. He turns around slowly, looking out the window on the other end of the corridor. He can barley make out the darkened figure of Zexion against the orange-stained sky, bottle in hand and covered in bruises, staggering along, hand-in-hand with Roxas. Demyxs' eyes widen, the rays of the setting sun bouncing off them, said eyes more blue than green today. He growls slightly, gritting his teeth, his hand wondering up his arm. He winces slightly as he digs his nails into his soft flesh, but remains watching and standing tall all the same, the deserted corridors looming eerily behind him. He watches intently as Roxas scoops Zexion off his feet gently, the aqua-eyed man giggling drunkardly, a smile emerging so wide on their figures that you can see it on their quickly-darkening silhouettes. Demyx twitches madly, digging his nails further into his flesh, breaking the skin. The corners of his mouth turn upwards into a slight smirk as he feels a hot, crimson liquid escape him, engulfing his fingernails and fingers in a matter of minutes.
After what feels like forever, he finally snaps out of his daze, only to realise that the couple had long gone. He trudges home slowly, only to clamber up to his room and perch on the corner of his bed awkwardly as he discards his shirt and cleans himself up. He assesses the wounds quickly as he cleans them. 'They'll be fine.' He slips his deep blue hoodie on as he sits at his computer to begin toiling at his days' homework. Two hours later, he's on Zexions' FaceBook page, looking at everything he's been up to, the aching in his heart growing all the more for the younger boy to come back to him. Scrolling through all of the younger males' posts, he realises that he isn't nearly as positive as he used to be. Always complaining about something or other, whilst everybody else seems to be doing nothing about it. Apart from one person. Roxas. 'He seems to be causing all this, yet he's trying to help him…?' The chestnut-haired man chews absent-mindedly on his lip as he scrolls through the posts on the boys' wall, becoming more and more confused with everything he reads.
"But… Why the hell…?" He groans, rubbing the spot on his forehead between his brows where a headache was forming absent-mindedly. Quickly switching his computer off, he gets into his pyjamas and gently lays in his bed, curling into the foetal position and laying there for some time, staring out into the bleak, lonely darkness.
After laying in the paralyzing darkness for about 2 hours, he picks himself up off his bed, his head cluttered with memories, thought and unsorted emotions. An uncoordinated stumble down the hall is all it takes the boy to reach the stairs, using the handrail to guide himself downwards into the darkness - the darkness darker than dark itself. The brunette walks into the kitchen, opening the top drawer on the left, an array of knives laying at his disposal. He picks up the sharpest one he has, laying it across his pale, porcelain wrist.
"Maybe, just maybe, this can make me feel again…"
-EDIT-
I've fixed up a few spelling mistakes, so there shouldn't be much in the way of grammar, punctuation and spelling. I moved around a few things so I think it makes more sense, but whatever. : 3
Don't we just love it when shit like this happens? Either or, being a self-harmer myself, I find it easier to write, work on and continue writing fanfictions where the characters are either emotionally or physically abused. Or self-harm. There'll be more graphic SH in the next chapter towards the start and possibly a more depressing chapter in general, so don't read it if you don't want to. Can't say I didn't warn you. Either or, please don't hesitate in giving me critisism, I'd love to hear it! 3
-Nimu.