Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. The plot for this piece of fiction is a cross between my own work and a true story. The characters used are property of SquareEnix and Disney. The locations are very real places.

WARNINGS: Mild profanity, drug references, teen pregnancy, STDs, hard drug references, mild references to stoner culture, trespassing, teen sexuality, under-age sex, breaking and entering, theft, the disregard of several Constitutional Amendments, under-age drinking, abusive relationships, teen violence, needles, character death, under-age smoking, heterosexual relationships, homosexual relationships, and implied statutory rape.

A/N: No flames for this chapter! Look! Warnings!

-Visual-Boy-

After Demyx had been born, it had never occurred to Wisteria to marry. Nor did she entertain thoughts of having another child. No – the woman was very aware of the population problem, and had vowed earlier in life to never have children. Then why, you may be asking, did she have Demyx in the first place? Well, the answer is actually very simple.

Demyx was the result of a broken condom. One she liked to describe as, "The best and most enlightening mistake I ever made."

This was way, way back in 1978 – a year of glassy-eyed decisions and not-so-glassy-eyed consequences. Consequences, one might note, that usually came full circle nine months later, tearing apart a vagina and roaring a great battle cry. All the while covered in another person's blood.

And that, dear readers, is childbirth from a Spartan's point of view.

Back on topic, in a show of genius to rival Thomas Edison, Wisteria was not on morphine when she had Demyx. Instead she had a meeting with Mary Jane (1) the moment she dilated five centimeters. And in an attempt to be a reasonable, responsible adult afterward, she never touched the brownies again.

And if the reader has not discovered this, let it be known that things concerning Demyx are usually very strange.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Twelve: Best Friends

-Visual-Boy-

"So, you're moving." Stretching his legs across the mattress, Demyx tried not to heave a heavy, desperate sigh. "Did you see that coming?"

Zexion shrugged. "Kind of," he admitted. "If this were a novel I'd say we had proper foreshadowing."

"Foreshadowing?" The blond scoffed, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Please – do tell."

With a blink the shorter boy looked up at his friend from the floor, then shifted his gaze back to the ceiling, which had been stripped of its posters, drawings, charts, and bumper stickers. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, his room – once so graphic and full of life – resembled a hospital. And Zexion, being the nerd that he was, found it to be a depressingly appropriate metaphor for his life. "Well, first off there was your whole 'funny lips' thing-"

"Hey, I didn't come up with that name."

"But it was hauntingly appropriate. Moving on, you were popular. That right there is a recipe for disaster. You were friends with the best gossips in the school. Would you like me to go on?"

Demyx rolled his eyes. "Please, do," he waxed sarcastic.

Zexion didn't get the hint. "Then you got Laryngitis and we started hanging out. Another contradiction to society that is an aforementioned recipe for disaster. After that you invited Kairi in who, while being the sweetest person I have ever met, has a tendency to mouth-spew bits of information at the most inconvenient times." The blond could only nod along with this, though he momentarily mulled over the word, "mouth-spew," and decided that he would use it at the soonest possible convenience.

Please note, ladies and gentleman, that he would forget it before the end of the conversation.

"There was the whole 'plan' thing, too. We 'invisible' kids, as some like to call us, have a tendency to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, and for a good reason – with the exception of Vanitas, of course. The plan would have made us look like normal people, if only for a week. After that was Lexaeus, which was a terrible–"

"That's your boyfriend you're talking about."

"– idea. And I know that, you little shit, I'm just saying that him joining the ASL club was one of the turning points." Glancing over to his friend, who had remained half-collapsed over the side of the bed and was fixing him with one of the strangest looks of contempt he'd ever had the misfortune of receiving, the pewter-haired boy squashed the sudden urge to throw his hands up in exasperation. "And while it was a very... pleasant turning point, it was still a turning point and is thus vulnerable to scrutiny. Moving on, we have the plan again. Our predicament now could be Karma."

Silence.

"Karma?"

"Yes."

"That's the best you can come up with?"

"Were you not listening? There was foreshadowing and everything."

"This isn't some novel!"

"Who's to say it isn't?" Zexion retorted. "For all you know someone out there is playing God, and we're figments of their vastly inadequate imagination."

Demyx's face screwed up. "Inadequate?" he questioned, not enjoying the concept that he was even smaller insignificant speck on the face of the proportionately tiny M-class planet than he already was.

"We're in High School, Demyx, and everyone around us has a clusterfuck of problems. It doesn't take much imagination to think up a story in that setting." Giving into the urge to sigh, the boy ran a nervous hand through his hair, brushing his fringe behind his ear where it wouldn't tickle his cheek. "My point is that... I don't know any more. I lost track. Something along the lines of living creatively without adding strangers to the mix. They can fuck things over quick."

They took the following few minutes to bask in the usual lapse in noise they had between topics.

In a fit of his usual spontaneity, Demyx inquired, "So who's the main character?"

Zexion giggled. "What?" All of a sudden, the pewter-haired boy felt just a touch high.

"Who's the main character of this story you're convinced we live in?" This was received with laughter and a grin. "No, I'm interested."

"You are ridiculous. We are not having this conversation." The shorter boy giggled again.

"Is it Vanitas? Or maybe Xion? Maybe Lexaeus, since he got laid-"

Blush staining his cheeks, Zexion shot into a seated position. "Demyx," he squeaked, more than a little embarrassed.

"Or maybe it's you-"

"Demyx."

"Hear me out here. You're the gay kid in school, and have never found a kindred spirit. However, when you make friends with a dashing boy on the swim team, who introduces you to a gay guy on the football team, your life is irrevocably changed-"

"Demyx."

" – and from there your budding relationship flowers in the shadow of the secrets you keep. Eventually the two of you are revealed, and you have to move because of the looming dangers of your peers, which brings us to present day. In this reality, instead of abandoning each other you decide to exchange letters. For years you write each other, until you finally meet again in college, during which you both take a weekend trip to Canada, say your nuptials, and continue your lives as blissful newlyweds. Eventually you'll start to fight, but your marriage will be Canadian so you won't know how to get a divorce, making it automatically awesome, and – why are you looking at me like that?"

Zexion sighed. "You have no clue what you're saying, do you?"

"Most of the time? Yes, a clue usually comes with the territory. What I just said? Not so much."

It was a long time before Zexion said, "I think you're the main character." At this the blond shot up to stare at the shorter boy, not quite believing what was coming out of his mouth. "I just – I don't know why. You seem like main character material, is all."

Not quite sure how to reply, Demyx settled with, "Thanks." And then, after another few hours of laying on their respective bits of floor and mattress, sulking and staring at the blank, blank, oh so blank ceiling that managed to just sit there and display the metaphor of their lives before them like a blank canvas, he asked the fateful question. "What do you recon was the exact moment we were doomed to fail?"

The pewter-haired boy scoffed. "'Spoon Language' comes to mind."

Despite himself, Demyx smiled. "Sounds about right." Stealing a glance at his friend's blank face – an expression he saw far too often for his liking – he resisted the urge to jump from the bed and bundle the teen in his arms. But guys just didn't do that. And while the blond had thrown out every major social convention on his journey to nowhere in particular, he couldn't bring himself to toss out his gender-restrictions. They were one of the few things he was sure of at that point. "It was worth it, though." He paused. "You're worth it." Much to the blond's joy, pale lips quirked into a small, almost indiscernible smile. And, much to his surprise, Zexion replied.

"You are, too."

"Speaking of which, that book-"

"We are not going to keep talking about this."

"I'm thinking it would be a bit of a cross between Schindler's List, War of the Worlds, and Little House on the Prairie. Thoughts?"

"None."

"It would dominate the New York Times Bestsellers List, easy. The true story of a boy who got fucked by life! Literally! And there'd be a running gag about a personification of Life shoving his fingers up his ass or something whenever something went horribly wrong. You know – like Life is fucking him over."

"That's morbid."

"Oh! Oh! And then there would be a happy ending epilogue about the main character's sidekick – you – because that would be absolutely necessary. And they'd call it, 'A Half-Decent Love Story,' and it would be about your relationship with Lexaeus."

"You can shut up, now."

"Then it would receive all sorts of awards, and the title would be up on billboards everywhere with the cover art tastefully angled behind it."

"Yeah – and they'd call it, 'Hitler's Guide to the Galaxy.' Now go to sleep!"

Demyx hummed at this. "Nah – you strike me more as a 'Visual Boy' type of guy."

Zexion rolled his eyes at this. "So I'm the main character, now?"

"There's no way I'm gonna start calling myself Hitler so get used to it, Visual Boy."

"Go the fuck to sleep."

"Sweet dreams, Zexion."

-Visual-Boy-

The day had started like any other day. Specifically with a sunrise and people waking up to their ungodly alarms, only to roll over, break the alarm, and wake up ten minutes later to realize that they would, in fact, have to buy another alarm clock. Again. (Though this was, admittedly, a very small population concentrated in Japan, which has little to nothing to do with this story.) And like any other day the interactions of these people, once they were properly conscious, changed to something a bit more pleasant. It was then that the usual things occurred: school, work, daycare, house work, and the like. The mundane detritus of life culminated on the dashboard of society without so much as a twitch.

Moving on, it was bright, sunny, and the birds were chirping when Demyx and Zexion walked in through the front doors on Zexion's last day. There was the usual bustle of the morning; of teenagers trying to get through. People were pushing, pulling, and altogether forcing others out of their way in an attempt to reach where they were going. Voices were raised; elbows were shoved. On their left was a shout, and suddenly a cup of something was flying their way. The two were splattered with the stuff, not having gotten out of the way in time.

Demyx tried to laugh it off at first, but was surprised to find his throat closing up and his vision blurring with tears.

He was on his floor; he didn't know how he got there, but he was. Grasping desperately for the straps of his backpack, the boy became aware that somehow it had fallen off. His fingers started to shake horribly, and for a moment he was lost, but then someone's hands brushed against his. No – not hands, they were too hard to be hands. Too thin. But they guided him to his bag, so he didn't think long on it as he tore into one of the side pockets. Then, in a motion his mother had made him practice thousands of times, he pulled out his Epipen, jammed it into his left arm, and hoped to God that someone had thought to call a teacher.

The blond's vision slowly faded to black, as did the world. But before everything was lost, he managed to make out the invasive scent of peanut oil, and a dark figure in the corner, seemingly made from bones, looking on in curiosity.

-Visual-Boy-

It was hours before the blond awoke, and by then he was faced with white walls and a white ceiling. Staring at the clock, which told him that school was long over, he sighed.

Well, I guess I don't have to worry about that Math test, he thought to himself.

The boy sat in silence for a long time, waiting for someone to come into the room. Someone who wasn't the skeleton in the corner. Its presence surprised the blond. One would expect a little less morbid humor from a hospital. And the eyes had not been a nice touch, no matter what anyone might think. He would have preferred to be staring into empty sockets.

Rising from its crouch, its bones clanking against each other with every other movement beneath its cloak, the figure of Life made its way to the door. Shocked, Demyx didn't speak as it passed right through the wall. He made to call out to the creature, convinced that it was nothing more than a very good costume, but found his mouth limp. His tongue refused to work.

He tried again, but nothing happened.

Turning to his side, he jammed his finger into the only familiar thing in the room; a nurse assist button. Before long a woman entered, all smiles, and when he attempted to speak, jaw flapping uselessly, her grin dropped.

Not an hour later his mother was there. Along with Lexaeus, much to the blond's relief, who his mother had apparently promised to bring along. A Doctor stood beside them, all professionalism and perfect posture. "This happens in some cases," the man drawled in an even tone. "The lack of oxygen to the brain causes the cells in the brain to die. Sometimes the victim can remain comatose, or lose control of a part of their body. In this case, the part of his brain that controlled his speech were starved." Holding up a few X-rays for demonstration, he circled the boy's skull with his pencil – which Demyx felt was entirely unnecessary.

Meanwhile, the world around Demyx seemed to fall apart.

His mother went to his side, taking him into her arms. "Honey, are you okay?"

Then, in a show of habit, he signed, "I don't know."

"He said he doesn't know." The deep voice caught them all off guard, and everyone – the nurse, Wisteria, and the doctor – turned to stare at the boy who had remained silent until that moment.

And all of a sudden Demyx didn't feel so alone.

Never before had he been so grateful for having met Zexion.

-Visual-Boy-

The next day Demyx found himself shocked awake by very tiny hands taking hold of his nose. Startling awake, he fought the urge to smile as big blue eyes stared him down.

"Sorry about that!" a feminine voice cried from his side. "He's a little uppity today."

Demyx, taking stock of the toddler on his chest, didn't bother hiding his grin, then. He flapped his mouth a few times, throat working, forgetting momentarily that he couldn't speak.

"Wow – you really can't talk! Deja-vu, huh?" the girl continued.

Looking up from the baby, who was shortly snatched from his stomach, the boy locked eyes with Xion as he sat up. She was flanked by none other than Luxord, who wiggled a finger at the toddler. "I take it that's Sora," Demyx signed. She grinned.

"One and the same," the girl agreed before looking down and cooing at the child. It sputtered a laugh in reply.

"Are you feeling alright?" Vanitas, who sat on the blond's left, shuffled when the bedridden teen's gaze turned on him. The rebel's blond roots had been hidden under a Trail Blazers cap. Kairi sat at his side, appearing a bit distraught, but not too bad. In the corner, Lexaeus stood as if he were keeping guard: back ramrod straight, feet apart, face stoney.

"I guess. Although whoever allowed a truck to run over my body while I was asleep is going to get an eyeful." There were two short laughs at this, from Vanitas and Xion. (It was becoming increasingly obvious that Luxord didn't know sign language.) "But enough about me – why are you all here? Shouldn't someone be with Zexion?" Silence met his comment.

Then no one would meet his eyes.

He waited.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the one to speak was Lexaeus. "Zexion didn't make it."

-Visual-Boy-

After the assembly, the one they had whenever a student or faculty member died, Demyx expected a wide berth. It wasn't because he was instantly famous – he needed no help with that. It wasn't because he was suddenly untouchable – that couldn't be more wrong. It was because he was on the war path. And nothing would stand in the way of him and his third class.

So when Seifer came up to him, took hold of his shoulder and said, "We need to talk," it was a miracle he didn't punch the guy right then and there. Instead, he calmly turned to the boy and bit back what emotion he could.

Turning, he glared at the boy sharply, hoping the shorter blond would get the message to back off.

"Not here," Seifer hissed, glancing around them at the students passed by without a care. "Somewhere else. Private."

Again, the blond was silent.

"What? I really can't."

Demyx swatted the hand away.

Seifer flinched at this, though he looked reasonably confused. "Look – I know this isn't the time, but Zexion deserved what he got."

The shorter boy didn't have the time to react to the fist aimed his way.

-Visual-Boy-

(1) Mary-Jane: Nickname for Marijuana.

End Notes: Before any of you resolve to hunt down and kill me, I must impress upon you that this is based on a true story.

Yeah, I cried writing this. But it's not over yet. Thanks to Chaotic Dawn, Elizabeth, Roanam, Conigliomanarro, Princely, and Zenelly, as usual, and everyone who reviewed.

Tearfully,

Besieged Infection

P.S. You know who you are. This is for you.