A/N: Demyx and Zexion's almost-date, how exciting! 9 w 9 Chapter 4 chapter 4 please enjoy chapter 4

Zexion's classes might as well have not even existed because he wasn't paying attention to any of them. He noticed himself staring off at the clock, waiting for the hour to strike and to be let out to lunch. He looked down at his notebook and found he'd written Demyx's name several times instead of actual notes. Shit.

The bell sounded and Zexion stood straight up the very second it went off. He ignored any odd looks he got as he gathered his things and stumbled out of the room. Once in the hall, his excitement took a turn for the worse. His shoulders slumped and he stared down the hall toward the exit. Demyx was out there.

With slow, deliberate steps, Zexion made his way down the hall. He bit his lip as he stared at the shiny linoleum under his feet. Every step seemed permanent, like he couldn't take it back or chicken out of this date. Could it even be called a date? Oh god, what if it was a date?

He pushed open the door and was blinded by the sun for a few brief moments. It was bright as hell outside, and the snow didn't seem to mind reflecting all the light directly into Zexion's eyes. He squinted and just across the quad he spotted Demyx sitting by the fountain, tracing a hand in the water. Zexion looked down at himself, inspecting every fiber of cloth. He wrung his fingers around the strap of his bag. With a sigh, he pushed forward toward the fountain.

"Hi, Demyx," he greeted. The blond looked up and grinned.

"Hey! D'you wanna grab something to eat first? I'm starving!" he said, clutching his tummy.

"Okay," Zexion replied, also rather hungry. Being paranoid about a maybe-date sure built up an appetite.

"Cool, so where do you wanna go?"

"Anywhere's fine, I'm not a picky eater."

"Mickey D's?"

"Except for there."

A frown from Demyx.

"Subway?"

"Any reason you are suggesting the cheapest, most disgusting restaurants possible?"

"Because I like cheap, disgusting restaurants? Why, did you want me to take you to some fancy French restaurant for lunch? Lumiere's, maybe? I thought you said you weren't a picky eater."

"I'm not, but I was thinking we would go somewhere that is not horrendous."

"Quiznos?"

A deep breath from Zexion. He stared at the pavement, weighing the suggestion in his head. If he kept refusing restaurants, would Demyx get the wrong idea about him? Quiznos wasn't so bad.

"...Sure."

"That's the same exact thing as Subway."

"Ah, but you see, Quiznos is toasted."

"Touché."

They walked together to Quiznos. It wasn't a long walk, only a couple blocks. They chit-chatted about random things. Favorite color, birthday, siblings, favorite food, ice cream flavors, silly things they did when they were little. Zexion ignored his heart pounding in his ears. He ignored his hands becoming slick on his bag strap. He ignored how Demyx spoke with such fluidity, each word gliding into the next, so unlike his own pronounced way of speaking.

Quiznos welcomed them with warm air. They continued talking through the line and all the way to their table. Zexion tried very hard to ignore how Demyx was trying to make him laugh. Try as he might, he noticed it, and he was scared. One person shouldn't be able to do this to him. It was unnatural.

"So where do you want to go first?" Demyx asked once they left the restaurant.

"I'm not sure. What places are available?"

"Well, anywhere, I guess. We could go shopping. Anything you wanna buy?"

"I've been thinking lately that it wouldn't hurt to buy some more casual clothes."

"Really? I mean, I think you look fine the way you are. Uhh, got any plans?"

"Thank you, but no. I don't think I could pull off a t-shirt and jeans look, although perhaps I could work with smart casual."

"We can window shop until you find something you like."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine."

Zexion was actually really glad they had decided to walk. There was a lot of traffic out for the smallish city they lived in, but it was lunch hour. Students were going shopping and eating, employees were going on breaks. If they'd taken a bus they would have been stagnant in traffic for half an hour. Somewhere in the sea of cars, someone was playing music, though it was muffled and distorted by whirring engines and honking horns. Demyx looked at him and smiled.

"Hear that? It's the sound of the city."

Well, of course it was, Zexion couldn't help but think. They were in the city after all. He found himself staring up at the blond unintentionally. Demyx was a musician. He probably heard music, some kind of symphony constantly playing. Even jackhammers pounding away in the distance, even pedestrians cursing, even bus tires squeaking to a stop. Demyx noticed his stare and smiled down at him.

As far as Zexion was concerned, none of those sounds mattered. Demyx's voice—Demyx's laugh—was music to him. It was one of those tracks he could listen to on repeat until he got sick of it. But he would never get sick of it. It was at this point Zexion decided he need to stop thinking completely.

Above, smoky, gray clouds engulfed the blue curve of the sky. An ominous shadow hovered behind each puffy cloud, a tell-tale sign it was going to rain soon. In the winter. Oh boy. Zexion felt his flat expression slowly fade into a frown. He didn't really like the sound of that at all. At least it wasn't cold enough to snow, and he sighed, figuring the temperature could plummet with all his luck.

The first shop they stopped at was somewhat small, a bit earthy and hipster. Everything was overpriced, despite looking twenty-some years old. Zexion shot Demyx a wilted look and they decided this store probably wasn't the best place to shop. Onward they marched.

The pair visited several other shops. Stores were littered throughout the street. Some were too fancy, some blasted loud music, and some reeked of cologne. Zexion wearily wondered what he was doing while staring down the polished foux-marble floor of some shop while Demyx weeded through a rack. The shorter of the two was sitting on the ground propped up against the wall with a water bottle. Some Top 40's single was blaring through the store speakers, and Zexion was just about ready to end this failure of a "date." He capped his water and stood.

"Demyx, I surmise it is time we threw in the towel," he announced, brushing himself off.

"What? But you haven't bought anything yet," Demyx replied, still sifting through the rack of shirts. "One last store. I want you to at least get something out of this."

Zexion pressed his lips into a fine line and crossed his arms. With a sigh, he was defeated.

"Alright, but only one more store. I have to get ready for work."

The last shop was somewhere tucked away under some stairs in an alley. This was somewhere Zexion would never have thought to look, but Demyx was apparently very familiar with it. He must have saved this small, shady thrift shop for the very end. When they got there, Zexion recognized the cashier as one of Demyx's friends. Xigbar, was it? At least he had a day job.

"Hey, Xiggy," Demyx called out, affirming Zexion's previous thoughts.

"Sup, blondie. Oh, and hello to your emo friend, too," Xigbar greeted, smirking at Zexion. He gave a little wave.

"Not emo," Zexion felt the need to say, tension lacing his words.

"This guy's looking for some casual clothes. Got anything?" Demyx cut in, walking over to a rack, thus starting the process over again.

"Look no further, boys," Xigbar said, reclining behind the counter. "I believe my store can save the day."

Ignoring him, Zexion shuffled over to Demyx, who was holding out a shirt for inspection. He scanned his eyes over it and was surprised.

"I actually," he began, glancing over to Xigbar before returning his gaze to Demyx. "I actually kind of like it."

"Really?" the blond asked, eyebrows raising in surprise. His face broke out into a grin.

"Maybe I should try it on?"

"Hell yeah, take it."

Zexion looked around the store for a dressing room. Xigbar seemed to notice. He pointed a thumb across the store and Zexion followed its path to the dressing rooms. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw he actually looked good in it. When he walked out and made his way back over to Demyx, he cracked a small smile, letting him know it was a keeper. Maybe this store was actually kind of useful. Xigbar was smirking at them from across the store, clunky boots propped up on the counter. By the end of the day, Zexion was the proud new owner of a pair of jeans and two shirts.

"I think you would look good with like, a nose stud," Demyx chimed in as they walked to the bus stop.

"Absolutely not," Zexion replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to mutilate my face like someone I know."

"Pssh, whatever."

When Zexion got home, he dropped his bags on the floor and flopped down on his couch, emitting an audible "oof!" when he landed. His feet ached, his shoulder was tired from carrying his messenger bag all day, and he was hungry. He struggled to slip his phone out of his pocket to glance at the time. Almost time for work, of course.

After prying himself from the couch with a groan, he shuffled around his apartment, getting ready. If he didn't have a dress code at work he might have worn some of his new clothes. Instead he washed his face and changed into his work clothes.

Once he got to work, it started raining. Zexion tried not to look too pleased with himself as he walked to the back room to put his coat away. When he returned to the front, Vexen approached him.

"Um... I'm sorry to be one to point things out, but somehow you look, well, positive for once," he said. Zexion raised and eyebrow at him.

"Positive?" he questioned.

"Did something good happen, Zexion?"

"I merely made it inside before it started to rain," Zexion said, noticing a customer sitting at one of his tables. He reached for a notepad.

"Is that all?"

Zexion froze and eyed Vexen warily.

"Yes," was his hesitant reply.

"Are you certain?"

"What are you getting at, Vexen? No, don't answer that. I've got a table to wait."

As Zexion walked away, completely ignoring anything Vexen said after that, he got to thinking. He almost ran right into another table and tripped. He mentally chastised himself for that. Had Vexen seen him with Demyx? He briefly asked himself why that would matter. Maybe he just didn't want Vexen to point out how different they were, how unlikely the pairing was. That Demyx was cool and charismatic and was probably only paying attention to Zexion because he was a nice guy and felt a little bad for him. Zexion knew who he was. He knew his kind and Demyx's kind didn't usually mix.

So Zexion shook these thoughts from his head and phased into waiter mode.

"Hello, my name is Zexion, I'll be your waiter this evening. Can I start you off with some drinks?"

. • • • .

February 13th

Zexion did not hear from Demyx at all. He didn't call. He didn't text. He wasn't at the fountain at lunch. He didn't randomly appear at home or at work. He was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had never even existed.

He was worried. Zexion wasn't quite sure what to make of this predicament. Perhaps Demyx finally realized how weird Zexion truly was and (wisely) decided to hightail it out of there? That didn't stop Zexion from missing the blond and sighing as he realized he was probably even creepier than before.

When he got home he sprawled on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, but Zexion was really missing those golden-wheat wisps of hair, and the way Demyx's eyes, deep as the sea, pierced him with just a gaze. Zexion wondered what the silvery-cool metal on Demyx's lips would feel like pressed against his own. His thoughts of Demyx sent shivers down his spine, which he immediately regretted. He frowned as he felt a blush spread across his cheeks, even though no one was there to see it.

There was no reason to keep the notebook anymore. So why did he keep it? With his relationship with Demyx growing, it was too much of a risk. Sure, even if Demyx came to his house and looked through his book collection, he had plenty of books, let alone notebooks, and it would take quite some time to find the thing, but there was still a chance. It was a small chance, but Demyx could find that notebook. If he did, Zexion imagined Demyx might just hate him forever. All his hard work would go right down the drain.

Occasionally Zexion entertained the idea of actually going up to Demyx and showing him the journal. He didn't really like what he saw when he imagined it. That was pretty much out of the question. He sighed and got up to get ready for bed.

. • • • .

That same day, Demyx found himself thinking harder than he had ever thought before. Nothing had ever wracked his brain this much. Life was just a confusing jumble sometimes. He never even had to think this much on a math test, and math was probably his worst subject ever.

He was thinking about many things. He thought of his band. He thought of whether Riku and Sora were going to get together. He thought of how old Ansem Wise, one of his professors, might be. He thought of what bacon, chocolate syrup, and cottage cheese might taste like combined. He concluded he would write a new song, that Riku and Sora were so going to get together, that Professor Wise was probably fifty-something, and that bacon, chocolate syrup, and cottage cheese would probably taste awful. He did not feel fulfilled, though. There were still things to think about. After all, he was on a roll.

Demyx thought about Zexion.

Zexion, that little guy with blue hair who was always angry. No, no, that didn't seem quite right. He needed to probably tweak that statement a bit.

Zexion, that guy who was short, but not too short, just right. He was a cute short. Just short enough to lean down and steal a kiss. Zexion, that guy who's hair wasn't so blue as slate-colored, which was more of a gray. He was a little younger than Demyx but he already had gray hair. Did he get really stressed at work? Demyx couldn't help but wonder why Zexion's hair was the color it was.

Zexion, that guy who was stoic on the outside, but you could see in his eyes when he really was happy. Although he would frown, Demyx was always able to look at his eyes and see how he was really feeling. This ability was one Demyx had developed after knowing Zexion for only a few hours, and he was very proud of it, but he'd never let him know. Zexion was a guy who didn't want people to know he had feelings because it just caused trouble. Sometimes Demyx saw a hint of pink color his face, and sometimes he bit his lip and he looked away. His eyes were a little big, and he sure liked to scowl and roll his eyes a lot.

Zexion, that guy who dressed like he was forty and always talked like he knew everything, which, as far as Demyx was concerned, he did. He probably got straight A's in school. He would always be able to give Demyx random, cool tidbits of information, like what the most poisonous kind of octopus was, or why the earth smelled the way it did after rain.

Demyx got out a pencil and paper, and at first reached for his notebook, but then realized it was not there. He frowned. Rubbing the knots out of his neck, he rummaged through his drawers and tables and other things until he finally found a piece of scrap paper. He really wished he hadn't lost that notebook. Someone probably found it and threw it out, anyway. He'd had it for a long time; it was pretty trashed.

Sighing, the blond looked out the window. The sunset sent rays of light through the window, weaving fingers of pinks and blues through the window panes. The light suspended a beam right on Demyx's face, as if placing a warm, chaste kiss on his cheek. It almost felt as if Zexion was placing the kiss himself.

Heaving a sigh, Demyx looked down at the paper, which looked almost menacing. He needed to think a song to write. What would it be about? A song needed a muse, otherwise it might be a big mass of confusion and randomity. He might start singing about the meaning of life and end up singing about how many calories a jar of pickles has. He looked around for inspiration. Suddenly he remembered something, and just like that he was writing.