Come Home

Description: Inspired by the Ashika Sakura story of the same name. A single night's mistake separated them for six years. When chance throws them back together, it will take more than love to heal the wounds and bring them home. Cleon, Soriku, AkuRoku, Zemyx, and Yuffietine.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square-Enix. This should be nothing new to anyone.

A/N: A big thank you to my reviewers. I'm glad you're all happy to see the story continuing. Here's another chapter for you, and I should have one more done in the next couple of days before I go back to DN.

3. Demyx

His guitar case bangs against his lower back with each step, pounding a rhythm into his body as he walks. His eyes search along the shop fronts for a suitable place. The owner of the last store kicked him out far too quickly. He needs to choose more carefully this time.

Eventually, he stops in front of a quaint-looking bookstore. One flip-flop taps a beat into the sidewalk as he considers it, head tipped to one side. Larger chains have a varied clientele, but small ones like this tend to be patronized by people in his target group. Coming to a decision, he nods and slings the guitar off of his back. A moment later he has settled himself in front of the store, tuned instrument resting on crossed legs, empty case lying open with a few coins from his own pocket thrown in to seed it. Shutting his eyes, he lets the music take over.

He is in the middle of his third song when he first notices the brunet leaning against the store's doorframe. The man is watching him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow of interest. However, he makes no move to boot the musician away from the store, so the singer ignores him. He instead continues to send his suffering to Adia, trying to convince her of their eternal innocence using only his gentle tenor voice as argument.

Thirty minutes after he began, he has sung half a dozen songs and acquired a little less than twenty dollars in singles and assorted change. He stops and reaches for the bottle of water that he brought with him, needing a break to rehydrate his vocal chords. The man in the doorway stirs. He pauses mid-swallow to lock gazes with him. Lowering the bottle, he grins and asks, "Have any requests?"

The stranger shakes his head. "No."

"Gonna throw me out?"

The other man smiles a little. "I was," he admits, "but then I changed my mind. As long as you don't scare my customers away, you can stay."

He tips his head back and takes a look at the name of the store, something he hadn't bothered to do before. Lionhearted Books. Grinning again, he inquires, "Are you King Richard, then?"

His question produces an actual chuckle from the stoic owner. He seems to appreciate the musician's knowledge of history and quick thinking. "That's right," he answers. He shifts his weight to the other foot and nods at the guitar. "I'm a little surprised at your choice of music, although I have to admit you have a fine voice."

"Thanks," he smiles. Then, in response to the other remark, he shrugs and comments, "The music is nice and the chicks like it."

King Richard snorts. "You're a well-groomed young man in flip-flops singing Sarah McLachlan in front of a bookstore. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you're interested in chicks."

He throws back his head and laughs. "That's true! However …" He taps the case with one foot. "There's nothing wrong with their money."

"Point well taken."

He takes another drink before screwing the cap back on the bottle. Readjusting the guitar a bit, he starts checking its tuning in preparation for another performance. The brunet watches him for a moment in contemplative silence. Then, he asks, "How does Sarah treat you? Do you like working for her?"

Surprised by the question, he looks up at the other man. After a moment of thought, he shrugs and says, "She treats me well enough. The hours are good and the work is enjoyable." He smiles and adds, "She doesn't have healthcare though."

"I bet she doesn't," the reply comes. "But I do."

Now thoroughly shocked, he stares at the other for several heartbeats. The gray eyes in that angular face are completely serious. Finally, he finds enough of his voice to ask, "Are you offering me a job, my liege?"

"Perhaps," he answers with a small smirk. "Are you interested?"

He considers. Calloused fingers run over the curves of his instrument. He loves doing this, but the sidewalk is rather hard on the backside and the pay … . Blue-green eyes roam over the inside of the case. Today he has made a fair amount, but yesterday he made almost nothing and tomorrow … ?

He stands. "I'm interested enough to hear more."

The king nods and stands up from the doorframe. "All right," he smiles. "Come on in, and we'll talk."

As the other disappears into the store, he quickly packs up his guitar, lifts the case onto his shoulder, and follows him inside.

xXx

"Good job, Dem! Nice set."

Breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline, Demyx grinned at Axel and tried not to stagger too much when the red-head slapped him on the back. Out on stage, the emcee was encouraging the audience to "give it up" for the blond performer, and they complied readily. Demyx's entire body tingled. It felt so good to be known and appreciated, even if it was only by the Friday night crowd at Luxord's bar.

As Demyx carefully placed his guitar back in its case, Axel cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. "My turn," he announced with a wild gleam in his eye. Turning to the blond, he ordered, "Pay attention tonight, Dem. I've got a few new tricks up my sleeve."

Demyx nodded at him before knocking back half a bottle of water. "Knock 'em dead, Ax," he croaked once his throat was moist enough to function.

"I always do, my friend," Axel replied smoothly. "I always do." He flashed the other man a quick victory sign before strutting confidently onto the stage, creating a mild frenzy in the audience at his appearance.

Feeling much calmer now, Demyx rose to his feet and walked over to a spot still hidden within the wings but from which he could easily watch his friend. Axel's act was always memorable. The red-head's routine was mostly stand-up comedy with a dose of magic thrown in. What made it completely one of a kind was the fact that all of the tricks involved Axel burning something. If Tim Allen's signature line was "So I rewired it," Axel's was "So I set it on fire." In just a few performances, he had acquired a huge following, but this particular bar was still the only one who would book him. Only Luxord, a friend of the two since childhood, trusted Axel enough to allow the highly flammable act into his establishment.

As Axel told jokes and burned things on stage, Demyx nursed his water bottle and watched from the wings. During an unusual moment of quiet in the performance, he thought he heard a soft click from somewhere behind him, but when he turned around, he saw nothing. Shrugging it off as a trick of his ears, he turned back to the stage.

Shortly before the finale of Axel's act, Luxord appeared, carrying a Long Island Iced Tea in one hand and a Bloody Mary in the other. Demyx nodded to him but did not move to take his drink until Axel had bowed himself off of the stage, chased by waves of cheers. Once the blond bar owner had given his entertainers their customary drinks, he pulled a beer out of his pocket and lifted it in a toast.

"Congratulations, gentlemen, on another fine performance."

"Thank you, thank you," Axel replied with a flourish. "So glad to be of service."

"Thanks for the stage time, Luxord," Demyx added with a smile.

"You're welcome," he replied. Running a shrewd eye over both of them, he asked, "Care to do a repeat of this evening next week?"

"So soon?" Demyx asked hopefully in return.

"Both of us?" Axel chimed in before taking a swig of his drink.

"Yes." Luxord tapped the bottle against his teeth a bit before explaining, "Axel brings in the guys with their love of explosions, Demyx brings in their doe-eyed girlfriends, and I get them all drunk off their arses. Sounds like a winning situation to me."

The two performers laughingly agreed, and they spent the next few minutes working out details for the following week. Once everything had been settled, Axel and Luxord continued to chat while Demyx knelt down beside his case, intending to buckle everything up in preparation for the trip home. Before he could close the lid, however, something glossy caught his eye. Confused, he leaned down a bit more and discovered it was a picture that had been slipped below the instrument's strings just above the bridge. A picture of him performing during an open mike night at another bar in town.

Someone had slipped backstage and placed a picture of him on his guitar while he was busy watching Axel.

"Holy fuck!" he yelped.

His two friends looked down on him in surprise. "What?" the red-head asked.

Demyx snatched the picture out of his guitar and held it up to them with trembling fingers. "I'm being stalked!"

"Is that so?" Luxord asked calmly. He plucked the picture out of Demyx's hand and examined it. After a moment, he said, "Apparently it is. Congratulations, Dem."

Axel laughed, grabbing the picture so he could take a closer look at it. "Yeah, congrats, man. You're well on your way to becoming a star now."

Demyx pouted fiercely. "It's not funny!" he yelled at them. "I was right here and I didn't notice anyone! I could have been attacked!" He swallowed hard as the words he had just said sank in. Sitting back on his heels, he wrapped his arms around himself and mumbled, "Oh god, I'm being stalked. What am I going to do? Oh god …"

"Demyx," Luxord sighed, leaning down to clap him on the shoulder, "calm yourself. It's just a picture. More than likely some autograph seeker snuck backstage, chickened out when she saw you, and left you the picture as a kind of tribute. You're getting all worked up over nothing."

"Seriously, Dem," Axel added. "Chill. No one's going to rape you." He flicked his wrist and expertly sent the picture fluttering into Demyx's case. "It's a good photo, you know," he commented. "Whoever took it has a good eye."

Smirking, Luxord straightened up and added, "Perhaps you could hire her to do some publicity photos for you."

Ignoring Luxord's comment and Axel's subsequent laughter, Demyx grumbled to himself and slammed the case's lid shut, sealing the picture inside with his instrument. He truly doubted this would be a one-time incident. After all, now that he thought about it, that soft click that he had heard earlier in the evening had sounded an awful lot like a camera taking a picture from somewhere in the darkness.

xXx

It was a quarter after midnight when Axel finally dropped Demyx off at the apartment he shared with Leon. Tired and irritated, the blond musician pulled himself from his friend's car and headed towards the back entrance. When the red-head yelled to him out the window, something about making sure to check under his bed for big bad stalkers, he didn't bother to turn around. Just flipped the asshole off while still plodding forward.

The lights in the main room were still on when he opened the door. Leon was nowhere to be seen, however, and after a quick glance down the hall to see darkness under the other man's bedroom door, Demyx concluded that he had gone to bed. Sighing happily at the prospect of a warm shower and sleep, the blond dropped his keys on the table next to Leon's, set his guitar down by the door, and began moving towards his own room.

A flashing red light stopped him.

Demyx tipped his head a bit as he considered the answering machine. Common sense suggested that he leave it for the morning, but his curiosity had always been the stronger of the two. The battle lasted only a few seconds, and soon Demyx had plopped himself down in a chair and was pushing the button to play back the recordings.

"You have … nine … new messages."

His jaw dropped. Nine messages? How early had Leon gone to bed? The surprise he had felt at the number, however, quadrupled when the first voice he heard was Yuffie's. She sounded absolutely livid.

"Leon! What the fuck! You left us, you bastard! I swear, you better have a good explanation for this or I'm going ninja on your ass the next time I see you." She ranted a little bit longer before demanding that he call her back and hanging up.

The next message was also Yuffie. As was the next. And the next. Demyx sat there, stunned, as the messages played out. At some point she mentioned taking a taxi back to her apartment and informed Leon that he would be paying her back for the fare. More threats followed that statement, some of them to rather intimate parts of Leon's anatomy. Thankfully, Demyx's brain was too shocked and confused to construct the images in his head; otherwise, he might have been doubled over in sympathetic pain.

Somewhere around the fifth message, Yuffie's tone changed. She still sounded angry, but she seemed to have calmed down. The threats stopped, and the messages mostly consisted of reprimands and orders for him to call her. In her final message, she just sounded tired.

"Look, Leon, Cloud told me, okay? That you two used to be together. I guess it must have been a real shock to you to see him again. I still think you're a dick for leaving us like that, but ... I kind of understand, you know? I get it. I think. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I mean, how could I? Neither of you brooding bastards ever tell me anything. But anyway … whatever. I'm tired and I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow at work, alright? And then you'd better apologize or I'll kick your ass anyway. Night, Leon."

"End of messages."

A slow, soft breath slid through Demyx's dry lips. He could barely believe it. Leon had pitched a fit in the middle of the airport and run off. Surely not. Not their Leon. Not his regal employer who approached everything from overstock to power outages with the same calm demeanor. The lionhearted king would never do such a thing.

Would he?

Demyx turned his head to the hallway, examining once again that closed door. Slowly, as if in a dream, he rose from his chair and advanced on it. His hand rose without input from his brain and knocked gently on the wood.

"Leon?" he called. "Are you awake?" When he received no answer, his hand dropped to the knob and turned. It was unlocked. "Leon, I'm coming in," he warned before pushing the door open.

As soon as the light from the hallway spilled over the form on the bed, Demyx knew that Leon was not asleep. His entire body was rigid, and it positively radiated pain. The musician paused in the doorway for a heartbeat, trying to catch his breath from the shock of it. Now he believed what Yuffie had said or implied. This man before him was completely unlike the one he knew. The man on the bed held a heart that had shattered into pieces; he could feel it from where he stood.

Demyx swallowed, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him, shutting out the light once again. With soft steps, he crossed the room to the bed and sat down at the foot of it. Leon did not move. For a moment, Demyx said nothing. He simply stared at his employer and friend, wondering how he could not have known about the other man's pain. It must have been haunting him for years. Demyx had known him for two and Yuffie for more, and yet neither of them had had any idea that Leon carried a broken heart in his proud chest. He had hidden it so well for so long, and yet it obviously had not healed even a bit in all that time.

"Leon," he said, finally breaking the silence, "I know you're awake. I can feel your tension from here." When Leon still refused to respond, he sighed and continued, "There are nine messages on the machine, all of them from Yuffie. Did you really abandon her at the airport?" He waited for a heartbeat just in case before telling him, "She caught a cab and is home okay. Her friends are at their hotel. She demanded you pay her for the cab fare, but considering the amount of free food she's gotten, I think you're even." He chuckled a little at his joke, but the amusement quickly left him in the face of the other man's continued silence. After another pause, he said, "In her last message, she said that Cloud had told her about the two of you."

Finally, Leon moved: a small wince. Demyx waited for some other reaction, any indication that the other might speak, but after several minutes of nothing, he gave up. In a gentle voice, he tried one final time. "If you want to talk about it, I'll be here. Good night."

He rose from the bed and began to walk to the door, but a sudden movement behind him and a low voice interrupted his exit.

"Demyx?"

Demyx turned hopefully back to the bed and the man who had rolled over to face him. "Yeah?"

Leon's dark eyes somehow managed to shine at him even in the low lighting. "Call Yuffie and tell her she's fired." Not waiting for a response, he rolled over again and slammed a pillow over his head like a petulant child.

Demyx stood there for a moment in dismay, but he quickly recovered. He left Leon's room, closing the door behind him, and began wandering through the apartment, turning off lights as he went. When he had finished, he retreated to his own room and began stripping off his clothing which, thanks to the bar, stank of smoke and booze. He had done what he could. He didn't know what else he could do. And considering Leon's current mood, he figured he should leave it at that. He certainly didn't want to get fired as well.

Before climbing into bed, he called Yuffie's cell and left a message, afterwards thanking God that she had turned it off. The last thing he wanted on this evening of stalkers, pissed-off bosses, and broken hearts was Yuffie threatening to go ninja on his ass.