~.~
Author's Notes: Seven down, forty-three more to go. I made a slight numerical error in the last chapter. No matter. In light of recent events that have occurred in my personal life, I cannot even guarantee the certainty of being able to produce on the weekends as I've stated earlier. I apologize to all of the loyal readers; I'll try to manage the hand life has dealt me. Until then, enjoy this chapter.
~.~
::Drown::
Demyx despises two things: broken sitar strings and hard labor.
Saïx pays no heed to his repetitive whining or his exaggerated frowns—the missions are non-negotiable.
How it bores him!
Suffocating in the silence, he curls up with his sitar. Bare fingers glide over the tight strings with a tenderness that contradicts the very foundation of his existence. Like a starving lover, he strums her until she wails the right notes. Her screams bounce off of the walls; the shrill riffs bleed through his ears and excite his eager fingers.
He'd gladly drown in the electrifying melody of the strings.