Like the Rain

Roxas's POV

I could hear them as clearly as the rain pattering softly against the window panes in distant rooms. Marluxia was playing a game with the unit; one upon reaching the end will change your very fate. I flinch when Demyx cries out painfully like the shot that follows was ripping through him. I know better though.

The traitor had shot Zexion.

The medic laden with more than knowledge. Burden. He had spilled the information like Heaven was crying today. The war was lost along with Demyx's fiancé-to-be's life. Axel was right. I never should have come. All I could do now was helplessly listen to Marluxia's cackling laughter and Demyx's feeble cries for help. Would it be different, if I was no longer here on the battlefield? Would it have changed things?

Probably.

Axel would have been guarding. He would have seen Marluxia trying to shoot him and in turn finish him with a bullet that would fly faster than sound. Zexion and Demyx would be safe and happy in one another's embrace.

With a tug at the chains bounding me, I wince as the metal chaffs my swollen wrists. I twist my head to see the reddening skin hardly hidden by my bindings. Much to my surprise, the simple twist of my head provides me new Intel on the very room I believed myself to be trapped in.

Harmlessly resting on the bedside table was a key. A key that unlocks my escape route, bit by bit. With any luck, it could be a skeleton key. If that's true, I could even unleash the unit to wreak revenge-like havoc on the traitors' domain.

I contort my body with forced ease, causing my side to rest on the covers so I could face the very object my life depends on. My chains could possibly provide enough slack for me to attain the key; that is, if I can distort my body perfectly

I try to create enough traction with my feet to push me closer to the headboard but deem such action impossible when all my feet could do was get lost in the layers of sheets coating the bed like a second skin. I raise my arms instead allowing the slack I need to slide past my elbows and under my arms as I grip the chains. I slither my body up, little at a time, giving me the perfect amount of slack that fate uses against me.

Somehow, yanking one chain by itself causes the slack on the other to disappear so said chain would be pressing against the bottom of my shoulder tenaciously, clamping it hard. The coldness makes me shiver, losing my perfectly balanced position on my side so I fell to my stomach.

The chain, like it was a human hand, pulls my arm clean from its socket.

Despite my parched mouth, I scream, hoarsely, unable to move the arm like it had been amputated. The pain aches, smothering my sense of purpose with powerful layers of anguish.

Even though my dislocated shoulder suffers through bouts of misery, I could reach the key. With a trembling hand, my fingers numbly wrap around the rather warm metal and pull it closer to myself. I release my dislocated arm first, before struggling to liberate the other.

I sigh, relief flooding me as I hear a click and my arm was free. I push my body up so I could get to my feet with more convenience. Wrapping my otherwise limp arm around my stomach with my still working arm, I approach the door.

As stealthy as I could, I insert the key into the ward (a/n that's a lock.) and twist.

Once I hear another deeper, resonating click, I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Tentatively, I push the door open and plunge into the darkness of the traitor's hideout.

Zexion's POV

Seeing his trembling body hovering above mine, holding a ring in my line of vision, and proposing to me in a heartbroken voice was devastating. The scene erases all traces of pain, eliminating the agony like it was nothing. Not even the dryness of my mouth nor the quaking of my thoughts could prevent me from answering. Neither of them could. Only Saix, who was anxious to interrupt, does.

"Does that even matter now?! For God's sake he's dying!" He was speaking as though as someone has thrown a Bible on the ground and proceeded to dance upon its cover, praising Satanism all the while.

"I don't care…" Demyx's trembling is projected in his voice.

"Dem…?" I ask quietly, unable to fend off the blackness pestering my vision and the pain slamming into me

"Yes Zexy? I'm listening." He cups my cheek gently, running a calloused thumb under my eye.

"Ye-yes…y-yes…I say yes…" I whisper before taking a nosedive off a cliff into unconsciousness.

The last thing I could feel is the ring slip onto my finger and Demyx's tears dripping onto my face like the rain in the distance.

-Soul Spirit-