A/N: This chapter is giving/gave me trouble. See, I sort of knew where I wanted to take it, but I didn't know how to get there. Bad crap happened while I was typing this chapter. First, I kicked myself outta my Gram's and thus lost most computer time. Then it was the fourth. And then I was tired. And, sheesh, this was just hard to do! But … Hopefully it'll be worth it. And, sorry if things feel a little disconnected. Don't worry, everything will pull together nicely in the next chapter.
Oh, and for those of you who are curious about Zexion's grandpa, well, I can't tell you much. Other than yes, he will become a vital part of the story line. So, no complaining, kay?
Disclaimer: It's chapter seven. Can I stop reminding you people that I don't own Kingdom Hearts or anything else I reference in this thing? Guh. I guess not. Guys, seriously though, I don't own this stuff. I don't even really own the idea. I just write what the muses want me to write.
Started on: June 26, 2007
Finished on: July 5, 2007
Pandora's Box
Chapter Seven: Part One
I don't know what I expected from Zexion. Dating was new to me, in general, and I didn't have a clear picture in mind as to the things we might do. For example, I didn't know if he would try to hold my hand, or walk me to class. I saw other couples do those things, but it seemed like we were the only gay couple in school. So I really had no one to look at for inspiration and expectation.
Only, I wasn't gay. I was still firmly latched onto the idea of my own heterosexuality. Granted, that view was slipping away into the murky waters of bisexuality.
Point is, we were the only 'homosexual' couple that I knew. Of course, there was Riku and Sora, whom Zexion assured me were dating (I pretty much believed him, too, even though they wouldn't admit it). And then there was also Axel and Roxas.
Roxas was being more moody and standoffish than usual, though. Ever since Zexion had so boldly declared Roxas gay, he wouldn't really come around us. Or Axel. Poor guy. He spent all his time chasing after the elusive blonde in a love-sick puppy like way that was actually pretty pathetic.
Maybe that's what he was, love-struck I mean. (I'm sure of it now.)
Anyway. Zexion and I never did anything to betray our growing closeness when we were around other people (even our friends). Those friends, in turn, did the same. So while they must have had their fair share of assumptions, nothing was ever said, in private or otherwise.
When we were alone it was a completely different story, however. We'd go to my apartment and watch movies in a ball on the couch. Or we'd listen to music or read manga together.
Our hands were almost always locked together when we were in the safety of an empty apartment. And a wholly different side of Zexion came out at those times. One that was playfully romantic and cute.
I tried to make him dinner one night, a few weeks after we got together. It wasn't to be anything spectacular, just macaroni and cheese. He must have gotten jealous of the food because not all of my attention was on him and he came up behind me and tugged me out of the kitchen and towards the couch.
"I want to take you out to eat for your birthday," he said as he pulled me down onto the couch.
I shook my head. "No … Someone might see …"
"They don't have to see a date. They can just see two friends going out to celebrate. That happens all the time, Demyx."
His arms were locked around my waist and I just sort of let myself melt against him. "No …"
"Why not?"
"I already told you why. Someone might see."
"Yes, and I told you why that doesn't matter," he lifted my face up to look at him. "Are you ashamed of this?"
I felt my face redden, not really out of embarrassment, though. I think it was more out of shame. Shame because he thought I was ashamed of our relationship. Because I wasn't. "It isn't that, Zexion. It's just … I don't know. It's kind of scary."
"What's scary about it? I want to hold your hand," he took my hand in his. "I want to kiss you," he leaned towards me and kissed my cheek lightly. "I'll even give you money before we go and let you pretend to pay for yourself. If that makes you feel any better."
My cheek burned a little more where he'd kissed me. There was a tingling sensation there that I've never been able to accurately describe. It was blissful though. To say the least.
"I don't feel comfortable with it …"
He sighed and leaned his forehead against mine. "Will you ever let me take you out?"
"Not this soon … It's too soon. Okay?"
"No, not okay," he smiled, not the same soft smile either. This smile was full of mischievousness. "And I'm not going to give up on taking you out."
"I sort of figured …"
"I have about a week to get you to change your mind, right?"
"Yeah. But I'm not gunna."
"Don't say that," he said, the smile slipping from his face. "Because you never know what you might want to do tomorrow when you wake up."
I was in the process of coming up with a witty-ish retort when I heard the sizzling sound of water bowling out of the pot of macaroni. As soon as the noise reached me I was off the couch and in the kitchen trying to fix things.
Granted, it wasn't really that big of a deal. It was, after all, just water, nothing more. But it bothered me that I hadn't been paying close enough attention. I could have ruined it that way (okay, so it takes a lot to ruin macaroni, but, it's possible that I could have, given enough time).
Zexion thought it was funny, though. And while I scrambled around the cramped kitchen, searching for paper towels, he stood in the doorway and laughed.
It's always good to hear that laugh, even when it's directed at you. It has always had something of a calming effect on me. Something about the gentle timbre of his voice and the rarity of his song-like laughter is just beautiful, so far as I'm concerned.
"It isn't funny," I shrieked, lifting the pot from the burner and moving it to a different one. "It's cool that I cook for myself, but my mom would know something was up if she could see this mess."
"Your attention never strays?"
"Not when I'm cooking … And do you have any idea what she would say if she knew I was feeding you?"
"Demyx, you're making it sound like I'm some little stray cat or something."
I sighed and began mopping up the water with a paper towel, never mind that it was boiling hot.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. But my mom is really uptight about that sort of thing."
"I understand. And, as for uptight mum's, you've met mine."
"Yeah … She seems kinda looney …"
The laughter in his voice faded away and was replaced by his gentle smile. "She's a little nutters, yeah. But she wouldn't care if I fed you."
I looked down and tossed the sopping paper towel into the trash can. "You guys have more money than we do. I mean … Some of my family is rich. They live in Chicago and they're steel tycoons or something. But they hate my mom …"
"You're not that bad off Demyx," he crossed the kitchen and put an arm around me. "You have a roof over your head, and you have food to eat. So what if it isn't in the Garden District? And so what if you don't have a lot?" I smiled. "You also have something no one could ever take away from you, regardless of how rich or poor they or you are."
"I do?"
He nodded. "You have me."
I looked up at him, tears welling in my eyes. He was too much for me sometimes, especially during the first few weeks. He was too romantic and too wonderful and I rarely knew what to say to him.
So I didn't say anything. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him. It was the first time I'd initiated something physical between us. And I think we both felt the same electricity between us. Gods know I felt it. And it was so strong I don't know how he couldn't have.
"Thank you …" I whispered. "You may make me uncomfortable sometimes … But, thank you."
He ruffled my hair. "When do I make you uncomfortable?"
"Most of the time."
"Really?"
I thought about it for a second. How often was I uncomfortable? Around our moms. Around other people. But he never pushed that envelope. When we were alone and close I wasn't uncomfortable. I was many things, but never uncomfortable.
"No. Not really."
"Good. Now, tend to your macaroni. Before it boils over again."
I squeaked and ran back over to the stove with the macaroni. I didn't leave its side for the rest of the time it cooked. And when it was done I scavenged for two clean plates, bread, silverware, and butter.
We didn't have a table, strictly speaking. There wasn't really any room for one. But I had a card table in my room and I pulled it into the middle of the living room. Once I had it set up I brought the food and stuff to it and set up the chairs.
"Dinner is served, monsieur," I put on my best French accent and loved the slight way his lip turned up at the corner.
"Do you actually speak French?" He asked as he took his seat.
"Oui, Je parle Français."
He looked up at me and blinked a few times before smiling. I'll have to learn it for you, won't I?"
I laughed then, couldn't help it, really. The idea of French spoken with an English accent was just silly.
"Have you ever tried to speak it before?"
He shook his head and picked up my plate and began to put food onto it. "Never really wanted to," he said. "Why?"
I shrugged and watched him set my plate down and then take his seat (which I did as well). "I just think it would sound funny. I mean, it sounds funny when I do it because I didn't grow up speaking it. And you already have a funny accent."
"Give me something to say."
"Uhm …Je m'apple Zexion."
He shook his head and scooped food onto his plate. "Never mind. I can't make those noises."
I laughed again and started eating. We ate in silence for a while. It wasn't because the food was amazing or anything. It was more likely because neither of us really had anything to say.
"You know," he said once his plate was mostly clean. "You're not a hald-bad cook. Do you make anything else?"
I shrugged. "No, not really. I mean … I can make random noodle-ie type foods. But nothing cool or anything."
He nodded. "I like to cook. Always have. Only problem is that mum doesn't think it's very 'manly' so I never really get to."
"You can cook over here," I stood and snatched his empty plate from him. "Gods know no one else is gonna use the oven or anything."
"You want me to cook something for you tomorrow?"
"I guess."
"Does that mean 'yes?'" He followed me into the kitchen, holding the bread and butter.
"Yeah, it means yes," I tossed the plates and silverware in the sink and took the bread and butter from him. "What are you going to make?"
"Have you ever had scones?"
"What the hell're scones? They sound weird …"
He laughed quietly and opened the refrigerator for me while I put the butter away. "They're sort of like muffins. Only … Better."
"Well, I'm still confused about them …"
"I'll make you some tomorrow. Even though they're technically a breakfast food."
"My mom shouldn't be home in the morning. I think she's working a double tonight …"
He smiled. "Alright, what time do you get up?"
I shrugged. "Six-ish. Sometimes."
He nodded. "I'll be here then, okay?"
"Not like I have a choice, right?"
He made a little mocking face and pulled me against him. My arms went around his waist instinctively and my cheek rested against his chest. "I probably ought to go," he whispered, running a hand through my hair.
"Yeah, my mom will probably be home in a little while to do the nap thing before her next shift."
"Want help cleaning up?"
I shook my head and wanted to say that all I wanted was for him to stay right where he was, with his arms around me. But I barely finished the thought before I was cutting myself off. "I think I can manage."
"Okay," he pulled back a little and kissed my forehead lightly. "Let me take you ought for your birthday."
"No," I said with a laugh and shoved at him. "The answer is and always will be no. Now go on, get. Go home."
He shrugged and I think he tried to pout; it didn't work very well if he did.
"I'll see you in the morning, Demyx."
"Night."
"G'night."
He left and I watched him go down the stairs from behind a peeled-back curtain. I loved the way he carried himself. The way his hands would burrow deep inside his pockets. And the way his feet seemed to never touch the ground when he walked.
I don't know how he moves the way he does, with that odd, almost supernatural gait. But when he moves I'm hypnotized by the gentle motion of his body.
Gods, why, exactly, was I denying that I was gay?
Well, okay, that's probably not a great question. I know exactly why I was denying it. I didn't want to be true.
I was having fun with Zexion. Well, those first few weeks were an education in bliss. But to fully admit what that meant could have destroyed my sanity.
So I was still denying it. When I was alone, I wouldn't admit it, even to myself. And people around me at school must have thought I'd come off the press just as homophobic as the rest of them.
It bothered me, them thinking like that about me. I didn't want people to think I hated or feared gay people. Not because I was gay, but because I always felt, on some level, that everyone had been created equally.
And after all, doesn't it say that somewhere in the United State's Constitution?
When I went to bed that night, after cleaning up, I was thinking about homosexuality and bisexuality and all the things bothering me. I couldn't help it, really. I'm prone to thinking late into the night, especially when I'm on the verge of a spiritual upheaval (not that I've really had many of those).
I don't know when I fell asleep that night. My mother had come and gone. And I was alone in the quiet apartment, with nothing but the soft hum of the city around me to give my solace.
I woke up early the next morning. Something wonderful was wafting into my room from the kitchen. It smelled like a warm bakery, but also fruit.
It was sweet smelling enough to drive me away from my dream and towards its heavenly aroma. What I found was Zexion standing in the kitchen, wearing a white apron, and looking down a the oven with a clear expression of impatience.
"What time is it?" I asked, covering a yawn.
"Not quite six."
"Didn't I say six is when I get up?"
He nodded. "You did. And these things were supposed to be ready by the time you got up. But they're giving me some trouble."
"Ah." I nodded and leaned against the wall. "How long until they're done?"
"About fifteen minutes. Go ahead and get ready. They'll be done when you are."
I nodded and went back into my room. It seemed natural that he was there to greet me when I woke up. It seemed right that he was the first person I saw and talked to. But as this thought sunk in I realized what it meant.
It meant I was starting to like him more. And that terrified me because as the feeling grew so did my acceptance of it. And in the few minutes it took me to get dressed I was feeling a weird mixture of bubbling fear and warmth.
By the time I was dressed, however, I'd found my stoic switch and managed to shut off the torrent of emotions. It was too much to think about in the morning. Best to just leave it for after school.
"Scones're done."
I trotted into the kitchen and stared at the tray he was sitting on a cleared-off counter-top. The things did look something like muffins. Only the fruity smell coming from them was definitely more palatable than any muffin I'd ever smelled.
"They're pear scones, and here, I brought up some pear butter and juice as well."
"Pear juice?"
He shook his head. "Orange juice, Demyx. Pear juice would just be weird."
I rolled my eyes and drifted towards the tray covered with 'scones.' I was a little apprehensive about the things, as I often am when strange new food is being dealt with.
But, damn, they smelt good!
"Give them a moment to cool," Zexion was behind me, smiling down at his effort and holding a small thing of what I assumed was pear butter.
"Do you eat them like a muffin?"
He sat the pear butter on the cabinet by the tray. "It's pretty easy, really." He looked around the kitchen for a moment, went to a drawer, and got out a knife. "We can eat on paper towels, we'll make less of a mess that way."
I nodded and snatched a few paper towels off the roll. I handed one to him and kept one for myself.
"I want one."
He shrugged. "They're probably still really hot, but go ahead."
I smiled and picked one from the half-dozen or so he'd made. The one I grabbed was hot (not that they all weren't), but it wasn't too hot to hold and handle. I smeared the pear butter on it (it was actually butter with pears in it.)
The apprehension settled back in as I went to take my first bite. I glanced up at Zexion and he nudged my arm towards my mouth and that was all the encouragement I needed to try it.
Like many time in my life, the first bite got me hooked. As soon as I tasted the sweetly soft bread with the squishy pairs inside it, it was all I wanted.
"Zexion … this is … amazing …"
"Why, thank you," something about he glint in his eye unnerved me.
"What?"
"Can I take you out for your birthday?"
I groaned, grabbed another scone and the pear butter, and went into the living room to plop onto the couch.
"You forgot the knife."
I sat everything on the other cushion and stormed back into the kitchen to snatch the knife away from him. When I reached for it he dropped it, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me close to him.
"Let me take you, Demyx," he whispered, his lips mere inches away from my ears.
"No …" I tried to push him away but he was holding me too firmly. "Zexion …"
"Stop telling me no, Demyx."
"I don't want to …"
"You're lying to yourself."
"So?"
He sighed and for a moment it seemed like I could feel his body shudder against me. "You can't be happy this way, Demyx. Lying to yourself will just ultimately hurt you …"
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest. "Okay … So I want you to be able to take me. But it's too risky. Why can't you see that? Do you want us to get caught?"
"I hate it when you talk like that. It makes me think that you think there's something wrong with us."
I wrenched myself away from him and looked up at him. "There isn't anything wrong with us. Or with this. I get that, I acknowledge that. Doesn't mean I'm gay, and it doesn't mean I want to flaunt that I'm with you. But every time I say anything you automatically assume the worst. Why do you do that?"
"Because you still say you aren't gay. Demyx, you're in a relationship with another guy. That means you're not straight."
"Yeah, I know that!" I tried to shove him away but he held me closer. I didn't want to be so close to him. It was too confusing when I was that close to him. "I don't know what I am but I'm notgay."
There were tears in my eyes when I looked up at him. Something in him softened, his anger seemed to melt away and his grip relaxed and became soft and comforting again.
"Demyx, don't cry," he ran a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry. I'll not confront you about it anymore."
Thing was, though, I wanted him to whittle me down until I said yes, because it was the only way I could say yes. I couldn't just let myself give in to him because that meant I would have to admit things I didn't think I was ready to face.
And the more I thought about him giving up on what he wanted the more I wanted to cry. Part of me was said because I couldn't bring myself to give him what he wanted. But another part of me was upset because I was sad.
I didn't want him to see me cry. It was too much emotion to show around another guy. And yeah, I know, that's just the stupid male, testosterone-filled ego-thing that the media enforces. I know that now and I knew that then. But I still held on to that belief. Because it was familiar to me. And I desperately needed something familiar.
"Demyx, it's okay …"
I nodded and looked up at him. "Can we make a compromise?"
"What sort?"
"Instead of us going out for my birthday, will you cook for me?"
He smiled then, and all my tears dried instantly. "Of course I will."
"Okay. And … One other thing?"
"Hmm?"
"You're kinda … squishing me …"
I've been avoiding the topic of school because I didn't want to bore any of you. But something happened that day that I feel needs to be addressed.
It happened in English class. Sora and I were passing notes about Roxas and Axel (not them as a couple, mind you). The teacher had his back to us, and was scribbling something on the board, and thus not really paying much attention to what we did so long as we were quiet.
Anyway, Sora held the folded piece of paper out to me just as the door opened. My mouth hung open as Zexion strolled, casually, into the room. He didn't look at any of us, but instead kept his eyes locked firmly on his grandfather.
They engaged in a whispered conversation. I don't think anyone in the class could hear, and even if they could they might not have understood (I was still under the impression that English people would sometimes talk in nothing but their strange slang to confuse foreigners; think Austin Powers in Goldmember.)
The conversation didn't last long, one minute, maybe two. And whether Zexion said left his grandfather beaming. However, as soon as Zexion left the room (he still didn't look at me) it seemed like everything went back to normal.
I looked down at my desk and read the note Sora put there.
What was that about?
I looked at him and shrugged, but I didn't respond to that or any other notes he passed me for the rest of the class. There were other things on my mind. Things involving Zexion, his grandfather, and their muted conversation.
I had a few theories as to why Zexion would interrupt the class. Most of them involved something with their family. But still, one thing stuck me as far odder than him coming in; he hadn't looked at me, not even once.
Although I didn't like to admit that I enjoyed being with him, another guy, I did enjoy it. And I didn't like to think that maybe he'd been ignoring me for any reason.
There wasn't anything I could do about it, however, seeing as how class was still going on. And so I sat back and tried my best to pay attention to the lesson.
As I've said, I have a very small attention span. I can't remember if I've said that before, probably have. On a good day it was fairly difficult for me to pay attention to an entire lesson without zoning out or writing some thing. And when I had something else on my mind it was more or less impossible.
It was especially difficult for me to take in a lesson with Sora sitting next to me. Something about him makes everyone want to talk to him, even when you know you ought to be doing something else, something productive. I don't know if he's aware of the pull he has on people, but he is aware of how easily he will seek people's attention.
He started reaching over and poking me in the side. After about five minutes of his sneaky pokes I scrawled a quick note out to him:
Stop that! I'm trying to pay attention!
After about thirty seconds the paper was back on my desk. Fine. Be that way.
He didn't bother me after that, and it was nice to be able to try to pay attention without the added burden of Sora. Unfortunately, the lesson that day was really boring. Because of that, I'm going to skip right to the end of class. That's where the cool thing happened. Everything that led up to it was just foreplay.
I gathered my things at the end of class quicker than I usually did. I wanted to go find Zexion and ask about his chat with his grandfather. Before I left the classroom, however, Mr. Michaels called me up to his desk.
He didn't say anything while the class was emptying, but when every student was gone he sat behind his desk and looked at me.
"I know more about you than you probably thing," he said, hands folded in front of him. "Zexion tells me things, little anecdotes and what not. I'm sure you saw him come in this morning and do just that.
"Do you have any idea what he wanted to tell me?"
I wasn't sure what game he was playing, but I shook my head. "No sir, I don't."
He smiled. "He came to tell me you're an aspiring writer."
"But I didn't tell him that …"
"Is it true?"
"Yes, but …"
"No buts, he has his ways of gathering information.
"The point is, he told me because I am part of an international group of English Lit. teachers who hold an annual writing competition. He wants you to join, and I think it would be wonderful."
"You've never seen my writing …"
"I've seen your papers and I know your technical writing skills are well up to par."
I smiled, it was nice to be complemented like that. Especially by a teacher I was quickly starting to idolize.
"When is the competition?"
"Two months from now. Can you have a short story written in that time?"
I nodded, though I wasn't sure. I wrote, yes, but only in my spare time and it was usually fairly random and incoherent. "I can have something by then."
His smile widened and he waved me off. "Better get to your next class then. I'll bring you some more details tomorrow."
I nodded and went to the door. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me, lad. Thank Zexion."
"Right. I will."
I ran out of the classroom with the intent of going to find Zexion and ran into him. Apparently he had been waiting for me.
"I assume Granddad told you?"
I nodded and smiled. "But how did you know I write?"
He fished a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and dangled it in front of my face. "You left your window open the other night and this blew out. It's rather good, albeit a tick naughty."
I snatched the paper from him and shoved it into my pocket. I had a feeling as to what it was and what was written on it. And I didn't like the idea of him having read it.
"You know," he said with a small laugh. "I never knew or thought your neck would be your sensitive spot. Or was that part fiction?"
I blushed, deeply enough that I thought my face would melt. "Shut up!"
He laughed again and slid an arm around my waist to pull me into a hug. I stiffened against the touch but didn't bat him away.
"I'm surprised," he whispered. "You aren't squawking."
I tugged away from him and shot him something like a glare. "Shut up. I don't squawk."
He smiled and shrugged. "Whatever you say," he glanced down at his watch. "Better get going, not long now until the bell rings."
I nodded and waved before running to my next class.
My already crappy attention span suffered for the rest of the day. I was too preoccupied with the upcoming contest. It was exciting, to be wanted in something. In an international writing contest.
I talked about it all through lunch, brainstorming ideas I might or might not use. No one really had any helpful ideas; though, honestly only Zexion even offered any.
"I think you should write about a gay teenage dealing with his sexual orientation in an uptight city."
I stared at him blankly for a moment before saying, "I wouldn't know how to write a gay kid."
Everyone's eyes locked onto us, but Zexion didn't say anything. That was hard for him, I could tell. But I was happy that he was finally choosing to employ some of his cliché English manners (that I was starting to think he didn't possess.)
Riku and Sora were sitting off to one side of the group, talking about something in hushed tones. I was curious about that, especially because Sora wasn't grinning the way he usually did. He looked … Nervous.
They turned towards us an Riku was smiling, granted he looked nervous as well. "Hey, guys, can we bug you for a sec?"
We all stopped our random chattering and looked at them. Riku slung an arm around Sora's shoulder. "There's a rumor rippling through us about Sora and I being a couple." Everyone nodded. "And … We're fairly sure you all believe it and would believe it even if we kept ignoring it."
"We're not gonna though," Sora said. "We're, uh, actually going to confirm it."
I think my mouth dropped open. Like I've already said, I had my assumptions, but they were unjustified before that point. And to hear them so plainly say that they were a couple …
"So … You guys're gay?"
Sora blushed and nodded. Riku did the same, sans the blush.
I blushed then, and looked to Zexion who was eyeing them with what looked like jealousy. At the time I didn't think anything of it, but I should have realized he wanted me to jump up with the same proclamation.
I couldn't do that though. I just couldn't.
"Did you hear about Demyx entering a writing contest?" It was Axel, and I hadn't even known he was there (whether he spoke then to avert the uncomfortable silence or because he didn't care, I'm not sure).
Riku and Sora shook their heads in unison and we were off to talking about my future career as a writer (not that I thought I had much of one, mind you).
The rest of the day is a blur, however. Everything except Zexion walking me home, anyway.
"So, what do you think about Sora and Riku coming out?"
I shrugged. "It's not like we didn't already know."
"You didn't believe me though."
"I didn't want to believe you."
"Are you trying to pick a fight? Because it sounds like it."
He laughed. "No, lovely, not a fight. I was just curious. The accent makes me sound snappish sometimes, I assume."
"Normally I like your accent."
"I like hearing you say you like things about me."
I rolled my eyes. "That's just because you think I'm only half-assing everything."
"Well, you are, aren't you?"
"That isn't the point."
"What is?"
"I don't know …" I laughed, quietly, hesitantly. I'm not sure what about the situation struck me as funny, but something hit that chord in me.
"You're silly, Demyx."
"Eh. Maybe."
He took hold of my hand when our building came into sight and I didn't try to pull my hand away. His hand felt too good, too warm, too comforting.
"This is risky …"
"Then take your hand away from mine."
"I don't want to."
"Then don't."
"Is it really that simple?"
"I wish, Demyx. I wish."
A/N: The plot bunnies did not want it to end there, believe me. They wanted it to keep going and going all through his birthday party and whatever's gonna happen with the Zexion thing but I just had to put my foot down! Sadly, some of the bunnies were injured in the altercation, but they're still at my side and I'll be back soon for another update! (I refuse to say how soon, because every time I make a promise I end up having to break it ...)
.:Next Time:.
This is only part one of what occurs for Demyx's birthday. The party happens next time, and everyone will be there, including some people you haven't been formally introduced to. We're talking the organization, people. Not all of them, mind you. But some are getting ready to make their grand debut. And really, what could possibly go wrong?
