Chapter Thirteen
Well, Zexion thought to himself as he walked side-by-side with Demyx down the pavement before the rows of expensive, large houses, it could be worse. It could have been a formal, ballroom affair. His arms were stiff by his side as he raised his head, assessing each and every house that they passed. They were all three-storey affairs with fair-sized lawns and gardens and ornate, motorised gates. C.C.T.V. cameras peered eerily out of a number of them. Obviously nothing that most middle-class members of society could afford, especially on the space confinements of the island. Each and every home boasted unique, classy architecture and the promise of wealth; any middle-classer would find their pockets a black hole of negative space and misery should they attempt to own and maintain one of them. Zexion himself was not aching for money, but the mere look of them made him cringe a little.
Silently and abstractly he mused to himself, wondering which house Demyx may have grown up in. He'd not known that the taller man had had such an upper-class upbringing, but he supposed it really should have figured. Demyx's carefree, easygoing ways did not exactly scream of someone who'd suffered poverty and misery, and neither did the sharp, well-formed curves of the man's body and his flawless olive skin and- all right, Zexion, enough of that. Well, little tics on the musician's self did point to a good, albeit probably meticulous upbringing.
His sensitive noise picked up the light musk of wedding perfumes, blended incongruously with the appetising scent of barbecue chicken.
Tentatively redoing a button on his shirt and covering the upper exposed sector of his chest from the chilly breeze, Zexion pried his gaze away from the houses, instead trudging straight ahead until Demyx stopped him. "Thiiss is it," he said, wincing away, before faking a grin and saying, "you sure walk fast!"
Zexion almost mechanically halted, turned, and looked.
The house before him was the most dreary one on the lot, seeming to be weeping beneath the cloak of dark sky, but it was easy enough to recognise that some sort of gathering was occurring. (Although he may have thought it a much more sober event if he didn't know it was a wedding.) It was a two-floor house with an old grey paint job, curtained windows. Wary barbed wire and glass shards lining the columnar walls (which wailed like banshees for a new paint job, peeling and cracked and moulded as they were), and the baleful, open iron gates looked less like iron and more like a brittle little structure iron oxide, ready to turn to dusty, rusting tatters if one only exerted a tiny bit of extra force on them. The lawn plant life was long dead and gone.
Elderly and middle-aged men in suits waddled about with champagne in their hands, and stiff steeples of women with caked-on makeup talked hush-hush with each other behind props like little fans or their own flapping, bony hand. The remaining crowd was a sombre, unspeaking crew in black-and-white suits, fit, standing rigid, and staring about warily- the sort of crew which kept their black glasses on at every hour of the day and had a gun holster hidden beneath their nice suits. Zexion knew this type of crowd well enough- a crowd of upper-class liars who took solace in slander and back-stabbing, attending just another klatch. High figures and all the sycophants to cluster about them. It reminded him vividly of the entertainment industry.
No merry decorations were in sight, though the out-of-place, multicoloured tablecloth over the snack table in the middle of the dead lawn was a good attempt at lightening the mood. A smoking barbecue roasted away, supervised by a tanned, bald man whose face was as stony as Lexaeus's and whose eyes were completely obscured behind black glasses. Like the other half-dozen people of the 'sober secret-agent' crew Zexion was slowly noticing more and more, the man wore an extraneously boring suit, and even seemed to have added a tie as a personal touch.
Disgusting.
The already gloomy, hushed crowd grew silent as the grave when, one by two by twenty they quickly grew to notice the two young men standing just at the gate. Demyx gulped audibly. Zexion masked his own cringe. Certainly he was used to having thousands of pairs of eyes on him at a time, but the wordless, hollow look they gave out then made his blood run cold beneath his skin.
There was a certain different, undesirable way of being the centre of attention, and he was quickly learning of it.
Calmly, he reached out and gripped Demyx's hand very tightly in his own. "Come. We should congratulate the bride and the groom," he said sharply, pulling on the secure grip he held on those dry, long fingers and yanking Demyx along. He practically walked them both down the lawn, past some of the silent, gaping pairs of eyes.
Demyx made a surprised, choking noise, attempting once to slip his hand out of the grip, but only succeeding in getting it objectively squeezed further, until he made a tiny, suppressed rasp of pain in the back of his throat.
"Play along," Zexion hissed into his ear once they stood on the concrete doorsteps, quickly pretending to press a kiss to his temple, "and bring us to the betrothed before all else."
Without a sound, Demyx slowly nodded, eyes fixed downwards. He flinched away from the heated space between them and hastily started into the house, leading them both by their intertwined hands. The dark interior of the house surrounded Zexion around each other, secure like lock and key.
He found them both slow to a stop, following Demyx's gaze and seeing a man, aged and bony, and a woman, tall and stunning in an agreeable, womanly way- both clad in pristine white and with nothing but cloudy, restless flickering behind their glazed-over eyes. Judging from the look in them, it was as if a wedding was some sort of annoying procedure that they'd both rather have over without much ceremony.
Understanding that this strange couple must have been the betrothed, Zexion painted on his most gracious smile with the best of his acting abilities, standing behind Demyx as the musician spouted nervous well-wishes and congratulations. He was aware of it when Demyx's hand slipped out of his to shake with the groom, and how the blond fidgeted when he awkwardly touched the bride's shoulder to greet her. Zexion only had to step in to introduce himself, still smiling, shaking hands with both the bride and groom, inwardly wondering whether there was any real love in this funereal wedding reception, and whose tragic idea was it to have a party for it to begin with. From the looks of it, the brittle, greasy-haired, glasses-wearing groom was not quite the celebratory type- Zexion restrained from wincing when he caught the putrid stench of heavy chemicals clinging to the man.
Zexion was only snapped out of his conveniently blurry procession of events and observations by the sound of Demyx awkwardly complimenting the layout of the party. Good, he'd stuck around for long enough- time to make an escape and leave Demyx to feel around the party for himself for a while. "Should I get us some champagne?" he softly suggested.
The look Demyx flashed him was almost panicked, like he was crying out into the air between them, What are you doing!
Smiling widely and flipping his hair out of his face momentarily, Zexion reached his hands to the wide, sharp shoulders of the musician, firmly massaging his fingers against the supple curves of that body. It took a mountain of self-control not to be more tender with his touch, or to let the gesture turn out as erotic. "You're all wound up from the long drive... dear," he said saccharinely, laying on the loving tone like sticky, heavy and excessive volumes of honey. Flashing a meaningful smile at the silent bride and the groom, Zexion made good use of Demyx's shocked silence and quickly carried out his personal escape from the area.
Back into the masses of gawkers with little old me.
Making his way outside towards the out-of-place snack table, he fanned himself lightly with his black collar, thankful. The table was stocked well enough, making good use of un-expressive stainless steel bowls to contain numbers of finger food and some candies, a dozen empty and clean wineglasses and drink dispensers at the ready. Decent enough, though the entire thing looks terribly slapped-together, Zexion mused critically. He found a half-full bottle of white wine, not champagne, sitting among the amphigorous ensemble.
Lifting two tall glasses from the stock, Zexion set to very carefully pouring out two glass-fills into the respective ups, face blank and eyes fixed firmly on the clear, non-effervescent drinks. To look anywhere else was to make eye contact with someone- his stomach churned a little. For a while he pretended to examine the year and company of the wine- just cheap table make- more or less just wasting time, casually maintaining a tiny façade of protection from the burning looks he felt fixed on him.
Certainly, gape at the actor... Like pigeons...
Zexion did not even move when a heavy, gruff voice obtruded into the bubble he was so carefully maintaining, rudely throwing the referral his way: "You."
Could be someone else being addressed, he thought placidly, turning the bottle in his hands skilfully. In fact, he really did hope it was someone else being addressed, even though it'd been fairly evident that the unpleasant voice had been calling his way.
"Ienzo Ishida."
Slowly he halted turning the bottle, and very carefully forced away the quaver that overcame his nerves as he placed it down.
Who-?
Something sour burned in the base of his eye sockets. No one had had the gall to address him by that name in years. No one.
Looking up and turning, he trembled a little as he plastered on his smile again, eyes unseeing as he forced out the salutation, "Hello, sir. I'm afraid I don't go by that name anymore."
The man standing before him was huge, his muscular frame outline sharply by his dark suit. Bushy brows and a familiar curve of the nose, and a shade of deep brown hair that Zexion had long engraved into his memory- the actor took in all these features as he watched the man chuckle darkly, voice coming out like a low rumble of earth. "I wouldn't think so, after that wonderful poisoning incident, would you?" he said mirthfully, like there was something amusing about a mass-murder, contempt flickering like a plague in his eyes.
Zexion vaguely wondered who this man was and why he was so hateful- and then slowly, taking in each feature one by one and de-constructing it quickly in his capable mind, he realised.
"Do you know, once we read about it in the news, my wife and I sighed with relief? We thought, we'd never have to put up with your family making any more of those disgusting films- no, not just that, we'd never have to put up with your family's existence. We thought you died, and that made us infinitely happy. We were not very pleased with your sullying ways, young Mr. Ishida."
Zexion felt something like a thick string in the core of his chest stretch at the sound of those words, and the heavy baritone (that echoed familiarity) which spoke them.
The man continued, grinning, even as the slivers of something Zexion recognised and loved flashed in that cold grin. It's like watching a slew of coarseness with tiny shards of something wonderful pouring out of a dark tunnel drain, the actor thought to himself weakly, trying to maintain his frozen smile even as pain and anger flitted like buzzing insects in the deep of his brain. The man opened his mouth again, confirming Zexion's sickest fear, "I saw you came in here with my son."
Of course. Your son. Your beautiful son. Your beautiful son, who, as long as I live, I will never comprehend how or why you cast out.
He did not tremble, did not dare himself to move should his quivering self-control snap like violin strings on the spot. He politely awaited anything else the man looked very ready to say.
The words never arrived, however, as a smiling, wondrously tall, woman with blonde, white-streaked hair glided towards the man, touching his shoulder. Every movement with her was a fluid, natural gesture, and her draping soft grey dress moved with her- the sort of woman whose beauty shone through even years after she had long passed her peak in life. "Dear, Mr. Hojo would very much like you to..." and trailed off, her vibrant, familiar again green eyes slowly fixing on Zexion and that open look of recognition dawning over her.
"You," she murmured, slowly raising a finger to point at him.
"Mom, Dad?"
Like a play with an excessive amount of actors, Zexion mentally groused as he turned. He looked down and his eyes found the brown ones of a teenage girl, wearing an almost lurid orange dress and peering between him and the couple (her parents, didn't that make her...?) curiously. "Hey, who's this?" she asked, oblivious to the way they were looking at him- like he was some sort of whore selling his services to anyone who so much as looked.
"Selphie- Zexion-"
Zexion turned again, seeing Demyx racing out from the front door to the small gathering that was forming in the centre of the lawn. He must have only just made his getaway.
Wide-eyed, the brown-haired adolescent exclaimed, "Myde! You really did come!"
He father's massive hand clapped over her shoulder in the next moment, though, and the girl froze in the middle of reaching her arms out in a stance ready for an embrace. "Selphie," the father growled dissuadingly. And she reluctantly complied, something frightened flashing momentarily in her eyes as she gave both the actor and musician conclusive, blinking looks before slowly backing away, sheltering herself away behind the massive man, blending in to become nothing but an incongruous orange spot hidden behind the dark mass.
There was a terrible, metallic silence cast over the group of five- Zexion took a wary glance between the opposing parties, seeing how the three of the family were staring unwaveringly at Demyx. The musician, in turn, looked ready to shatter, throw up, or just make a very rapid run right out of there.
Suddenly, Demyx's father's huge shoulders dropped, and the stony look on his face softened. "Myde," he murmured, "let's all go to talk together somewhere more private," he gestured with one arm, seeming to sweep the entire group with the motion, and led them all out through the gates. Zexion hesitated, trailing behind everyone, watching the trudging gait of Demyx as he followed just in front of him. He'd left the two glasses of wine forgotten on the snack table.
The group relocated away from the needle-like, prying eyes and stood just beneath a palm tree, the wide view of the tempestuous sea visible beyond the beach and verde. Zexion shook his head, bringing a hand to his head to control his straying locks of hair, and reverted his attention to the reunited family. His tongue rolled in his mouth, tempting him to speak, to bring one fell, fatal verbal swoop and finish this entire thing for all time- but no, this was Demyx's battle. He was only here to... to...
Here to what?
He stared at the gravel ground, uncertain of the clenching of his chest- was he ashamed?
"Myde," Demyx's father was saying, rocky voice growing strangely gentle, "you've lost a lot of weight. Have you been eating regularly?" His shiny black suede shoes shifted about, gaining an efficient, steadfast stance, and Zexion's eyes followed them determinedly.
The young man at his side fidgeted. "Yeah... I have, don't worry."
"You're short on money, aren't you?"
Zexion then looked, to find Demyx frowning, puzzled, aquamarine eyes pooled with uncertainty. He didn't look quite like he believed what he was hearing. "Well- yes, to be honest," he sighed, "but I... That's not what I came here for."
"You've lost weight, you're short on money, and your phone service has been cut off. Your mother and I have been worrying, you know," he smiled warmly, reaching out and jabbing a finger gently at Demyx's forehead, making the young man go cross-eyed following it. "We've been wanting to tell you."
"T-tell me what?" the musician flinched back, warily side-glancing at Zexion, who helplessly stood by. The scheming actor had to admit, this certainly wasn't playing out the way he'd been seeing it in his head. He bit into his lip and nodded to Demyx faintly, a motion barely caught between the two of them before the musician's attention was back on his father.
His father has his arms outstretched, and a gravelly chuckle rocked the air. Even as his wife and daughter peered on at his side, smiling nervously, he himself seemed completely at ease with the chilling pre-rain air that heaved and pulsed around them. "Well, that we forgive you, of course. Sometimes a kid just has a lapse in judgement, and fights arise... But we forgive you because we love you, Myde. We never disowned you- you are still entitled to the family estate."
Demyx blinked, cautious stance dropping at the words 'we love you'. "I... really?" he grinned, "I... you know, I came here just to make peace. You don't have to take me back or anything- I'm happy. I just... I didn't want us to hate each other any more, so this is... great." He chuckled.
"But first," the mother spoke up abruptly, concernedly gesturing to Zexion, causing the young man in question to stare, taken aback a little at the meticulously manicured finger pointing his way, "how much was that? A rip-off, I reckon, seeing how you couldn't even pay your phone bill after getting it."
"Wh-what?" his cool guise was betrayed by the leaping, unpredictable lapse his strong voice took on, still watching the irreverent gesturing hand directing the attention onto him.
Demyx's father shook his head, like he was lamenting a tragedy of the world. "Well, that he was male and none other than that Ienzo Ishida-that surprised me, son, but... What an investment!" he roared with a short, shocking burst of laughter, before sobering swiftly and continuing- "He's been nothing but bad for you. From the very beginning. I'm saying this as your father. First it was those silly movies, and once that blessed incident came about, I thought we were running home free and we could get all that childish nonsense out of your head before it was too late. Then your little lapse in judgement, and those fantasies, but I'm sure you're mature enough to know that they were meaningless now that you're back.
"But now, here's this whore again," he shrugged, "you've got to lose the gigolo, for your own sake, Myde. Nothing good ever comes out of them. You need that good money for something better, like phone bills and new suits, you know," he joked, brush-like eyebrows quirking provokingly. "Now, of course, this is just another lapse in judgement. I'll forgive you as soon as you-"
Zexion couldn't even believe what he was hearing. Wide-eyed, he blinked to the beat of the abuse firing his way, calmness falling away as his arms trembled at his sides, words blanking out in his head. Wet, softened, torn paper- the words of his mind gone with it... And Demyx-
Demyx looked increasingly hurt, his teeth biting viciously into his lip and his cheeks reddening, lifting, eyes growing glassy with restrained emotion. Raising his head weakly, he tried, "He's not a prostitute, he's an actor-"
"He's the whole core of everything that's dirtied my poor son from the very beginning. All this queer business, performing arts... Really, Myde, it's just like a dirt that you can wash off if you just let us. Come back to us."
Demyx blew it. Those formerly pacific, aquamarine eyes blazed with absolute rage. "Shut up," the young man cried, shaking, raising his hand and spontaneously raising an invisible barrier between his father and himself and Zexion. "Shut up, he's not a whore, we're not - you! You, just, you... I can't call you... I don't know. I can't- I came here... hoping that we could just- just patch things up, you know?" he hissed, running hands through his hair like he wanted to tear it out in frustration. "But... you. You've got... hehe- you've got the wrong guy, sir- totally. I don't know who your son is, but a straight marine biology student, some... I dunno, some sycophant who's just going to deny that he's gay or that he wants to be a musician just because you want him to... that's just wrong!"
He took a breath, eyes widening like he was surprised at the words that had left his own mouth. The crisp zephyrs from the sea blew in through them, sending the palm trees above rustling inappropriately as soon as he finished speaking. Giving Zexion an uncertain look, one that begged for assistance and said Don't you dare speak right now both at the same time, he seemed to muster up some form of unpredictable resolution in himself and turned back to the front he'd erected with his family.
Zexion hated to see families as sundered as this one- and knowing that it was partially their own fault for tearing themselves up from the insides. Demyx's father and mother's cheerful, accepting demeanour had frozen and shattered, melted, and bled into the air, leaving them to stand, nodding, faces sober. Unbearably sober, in fact, like they were just running through their minds, Oh, he's hopeless now, dear. What a pity. What a loss. What an investment gone bad.
Zexion couldn't stand it. His hands clenched into fists by his side, turning white just from squeezing as hard as he was, digging his nails ferociously into his palms.
"I just... I just came here to make peace," he heard Demyx stammer clumsily after a moment, pitifully. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm Demyx, I am your son, I... I like guys. I work as a musician in a play... And I'm sorry for that just now- I'm sorry. No matter what it sounds like sometimes, and what happened, I never hated you- I can't. Just... please," he murmured softly, subdued, "please. Just take me as I am, Mom, Dad. That's all I want. P-please don't... hate me."
His voice oscillated, sounding like an accumulation of tears welling up in his eyes. The last words were barely audible. Certainly sounding less assured and strong as the brief blinks of lightning that illuminated the sea in passing flashes.
His parents still hadn't moved, rooted to the spot like stubborn trees. Finally, his mother stepped forward, crossing her arms and letting her makeup-caked face fall into a remorseful grimace. "Our doors are always opened for our son, because we love him. Our son is in his early twenties, blond-brunette, a dashing heterosexual young man interested in majoring in marine biology at Hollow Bastion College," she said steadily, "...if you've ever seen him around, before, perhaps? We never disowned Myde, and we still love him. But you... You're filth. Do you understand? Filth."
The oncoming storm stopped for one moment, and the breeze fell limply from the air, letting it fill with the stale aftertaste of her words. Demyx's hopeful expression dropped altogether at the sound of the grinding word... filth. The young man nodded slowly, accepting the words, not seeming desirous to return them with any sort of his own. He took the blow and crumbled.
And after he'd lingered for as long as he seemed to want to absorb the moment, he nodded again and turned on his heel, slowly plodding away down the sidewalk area of the neighbourhood. With the cool breeze sweeping in over them and leaving the teenage daughter of the family to shiver and hug herself, Demyx's had disappeared, presence as solid as an apparition that had just slipped away from reality.
Crushing reality that left Zexion with the three members of a family he didn't know. The actor looked steadily over the three of them, pretending that he was the appraising one in charge, though innately he was fair certain that they all would have liked nothing better than to lay their fair share of abuse on him. As he looked at those watchful, scathing faces, and they looked right back, he thought, What the hell am I standing here for? He could turn away and follow Demyx and run away from those eyes, or at least he should have been able to- but he couldn't. Wasn't some of this his fault, in some way? Perhaps if he hadn't come along, had trusted his own judgement better, he'd have somehow not soured the meeting- somehow.
What can you do?
"The play he's participating in," he coolly said, "is called Final Limit. Opening night is in less than two months. Your son loves music, and, I would understand that he loves you all very much as well. If you could attend, he would be very happy."
Zexion wasn't sure what he was expecting for saying that. Maybe nothing- maybe just the shame of ever having talked and interfered in this venomous business.
He got a stinging slap to the face, so hard and forceful that he tasted the small slivers of coppery blood pooling in his mouth as soon as the stinging receded. Wincing back, he instinctively touched his cheek, hurt gaze watching the woman who'd laid the blow on him to begin with. She was unmoving, still like a statue caught in a graceful motion. Her rouged lips did not tremble or grimace in disgust; instead, they fixed in a perfect, meaningful poker face. Her green eyes were narrowed into catlike slits that never wavered from the prey she'd just struck out at.
It was the father who slowly enunciated, "Musicians and actors, gays..." stepping forth and pulling his wife back, then bringing his entire family back, away from Zexion, "...and whores. All aberrations. You tell me the difference, Ishida. You ruined my son."
Zexion maintained his level stare, all anger steaming under control beneath his flesh. Hand dropping from his cheek, he stood stubbornly, remaining there until the family silently turned around as one and walked back towards the house.
He wanted to shout something, anything to their backs. Call them cowards. Reject them with words worse than what they'd burned into Demyx's mind. But in some way, he felt like the battle was long lost.
And somehow, turning around promptly and walking away from the scene, he felt like the war was- in a twisted, sick but definite way- won.
End of chapter thirteen