By coincidence, Naminé returned to the house after an afternoon drawing local landmarks with her college friends just as Marluxia drew up in the driveway in his Mercedes. It was dark; only the headlights from the car and the light from Larxene's window gave any illumination to the steps up to the front door.
"Looks like the lamp needs replacing," Marluxia murmured as he slotted his key into the lock. Naminé glanced up at the light over the door, its plastic frame cracking and discoloured from age. Like a lot of things in the house, she had never known it to work.
"Yeah, I guess."
She followed Marluxia inside to the tune of something on the radio, blushing when he paused beside her to remove her heavy winter coat, hands running luxuriously across her shoulderblades. He himself was wearing the same long, leather coat that he had been wearing when he'd first moved in; aside from a slight crumpled texture to its folds, it seemed exactly the same as it had always been. In the halflight of the hallway, Naminé found herself similarly studying Marluxia; he seemed just a little older now than he had before, whether it was in the deepness of his eyes or the way he stood, staring simultaneously at a framed photograph hanging crooked on the wall and nothing in particular. Of course, things had changed so much in the year he had been sleeping in the spare room at the back of the house - from Vexen's tragic fall from grace to the cracking of Larxene and Naminé's perfect friendship - but Marluxia seemed somehow unscathed by their worldly troubles, some unearthly creature who observed but was never involved.
"Sweetheart, did your mother never tell you it was rude to stare?"
It had only occurred to Naminé then that she had no basis on which to judge Marluxia; although they had lived together this long, even shared a bed, she did not know the other man - not like she knew Larxene's every quirk and foible, or Vexen in his sweet, dysfunctional predictability.
"Sorry, I was just thinking."
Marluxia was truly an enigma. He might have changed, he might have been exactly the same - Naminé did not know. She could not know.
"Of anything in particular?"
Naminé was observant, but for every detail she picked out of Marluxia's appearance and actions there was another to contradict it, more impossible puzzles to solve.
"Just about us. You. Larxene and Vexen."
Marluxia hummed a little, and shrugged off his coat. Beneath it, he was sporting a smart lilac dress shirt, buttons open at his neck.
"Of course."
"It's all so confusing," Naminé said, wandering over to turn down the radio. "Sometimes I think the only thing I can guarantee is that Larxene and Vexen hate each other."
Marluxia laughed quite suddenly, pointing up to the ceiling.
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure."
But Naminé didn't understand what he meant - all she could hear over the radio was the sound of Vexen and Larxene arguing; she couldn't even make out the words. Then there was a crash, and a yell. Naminé started forwards, just as there was another thunk, louder, and indistinct cries of anger. But Marluxia stopped her as she reached the first step.
"Perhaps we should leave them to it."
"But Vexen's no match for Larxene! She'll rip him to shreds-!"
But Marluxia simply steered her into the kitchen, turning the radio up again to drown out the chaos upstairs.
"A drink, maybe?"
"That sounded a lot like furniture falling over," Naminé said, ignoring Marluxia. "He could be hurt-"
But she was cut off quite suddenly by a long, drawn out moan.
"Oh."
"Perhaps we should leave them to it." Marluxia said again, on his lips something of a smile. He had somewhere obtained a bottle of red wine, from which he poured two glasses. Naminé - who never really drank much - accepted it a little warily, remembering what had happened the last time that Marluxia had offered somebody a drink in this kitchen.
"I'll just have the one."
Marluxia nodded, the half-smile barely faltering on his lips.
"Fair enough."
He sat down, elegant and poised as always. Upstairs something hit the wall and made the letters on the note board shiver. Naminé hung by the doorway, wine glass in hand, nervous. The kitchen seemed almost unrecognisable now: the tacky work surfaces had been replaced by glass, the perpetually dripping tap now shiny and new. Marluxia had had most of the dying appliances that came with the house replaced too; they were now hidden in discrete corners, gleaming. Everything worked. It was strange.
"Something on your mind, sweetheart?"
"I don't know anything about you," Naminé blurted out without really realising she was speaking. Before she could apologise, Marluxia hummed a little and stood suddenly.
"There are very few people who do."
"You like it that way, don't you?" Naminé asked as Marluxia made for the fridge.
"People judge me for who I am, not who I was," He said at length as he pulled out a collection of foodstuffs. "And I like to keep it that way."
Naminé thought back to her life with Larxene, all those years spent together sharing memories.
"I guess." And then: "Is that why you moved here? You know, from America?"
"I'm surprised I've stayed here even this long," Marluxia said, but then he glanced up to the ceiling, where Vexen and Larxene appeared to have forgotten that anybody else in the universe actually existed. "Well."
"Well?"
Perhaps were it not for her artistic tendencies and observant nature, Naminé wouldn't have caught the brief flash of melancholy in his eyes as his focus moved from the ceiling to the unruly garden, dead now, outside. And she wouldn't have noticed his immaculate posture falter for the slightest of seconds.
"Circumstances have... changed."
Naminé looked around the gleaming new kitchen, a swish combination of the modern and the retro. And she thought about eating pizza on the staircase with Larxene. And she thought about wine, and the consequences of the wine, and Marluxia's habit for promiscuity, and the moans echoing from upstairs.
"You did this because you slept with us all, didn't you?"
And Marluxia was again the perfect, flawlessly inhuman creature that Naminé had always known, laughing gracefully at he set the cooker burning and poured a healthy dose of olive oil into the wok.
"Clever girl."
Naminé laughed too, shaking her head.
"You're strange."
"There's no fun in life if I can't keep you guessing, is there?"
The groans upstairs were beginning to die down now, replaced by the sizzle of frying meat and onions.
"I didn't know you cooked," Naminé said, walking over. She stopped by the peninsula unit to top up her wine glass, because it had such a pleasant aftertaste as it slipped down her throat, before standing on her tiptoes to watch Marluxia cooking over his shoulder.
"Sometimes I like to remind myself what mediocre food tastes like."
"I'm sure you're a good cook," Naminé assured him. But Marluxia just shrugged dismissively.
"I've never had any need to be one."
Although she knew that Marluxia never ate with the girls, Naminé had never known what he did for meals about the house - there was usually a collection of ingredients in his corner of the fridge, but equally he was rarely around the house during meal-times - Naminé guessed that he ate out frequently, and didn't have much of a routine for the times he cooked for himself.
"I guess not."
Marluxia popped back to the fridge for a moment to collect a bottle of lemon juice that Naminé didn't even know they had.
"Vexen, however, severely needs to learn that coffee is not an acceptable substitute for decent food."
"He is rather thin, isn't he," Naminé murmured, following Marluxia around the kitchen.
"Worryingly so." Marluxia replied. "At least he's eating a little more with those casts. The doctor told him he was underweight, I suppose."
And they watched the mince brown in silence, until Marluxia threw in the rest of the vegetables and tossed them around until they were warmed though, and served the mixture into two bowls.
"Here you go, darling."
"Thank you."
Naminé thought that perhaps they'd eat together, but Marluxia left the room as quickly as he had come, leaving her alone with the hasty meal and the half-full bottle of wine.
Upstairs, she could just make out the shower beginning to run.
Vexen was hardly surprised the next morning when he woke early in Larxene's room to find himself alone. What was unexpected was the fact that the dip in the mattress beside him was still warm, and that his arms half-remembered a night spent looped around the younger woman's naked frame.
He moved stiffly to stand, collecting his crutches and awkwardly assembling his clothes before painstakingly making his way downstairs in the hopes of breakfast. Larxene was in the kitchen, dressed only in clean underpants and a vest, and seemed somehow softer as she stood sentinel by the toaster. As Vexen clattered in, she glanced up, and affectionately rolled her eyes.
"Good morning, darling."
Vexen managed a surprised hello in return, and for a few minutes they choreographed an awkward dance around each other as Larxene buttered toast and Vexen's stiff fingers remembered how to brew coffee.
"So I was thinking about last night."
"Funny. Me too."
Larxene, perching her bottom on the work surface like there wasn't a perfectly adequate kitchen table just a few feet away, laughed.
"Yet another way in which you'd be better suited to a vagina."
"What?"
But Larxene just shook her head, waving her bitten toast around a little.
"Never mind. I'm fucking freezing, you know that? But I didn't want to spend forever picking out clothes when you were bound to wake up at any second."
"I thought we were talking about last night," Vexen, at the kettle, said, hoping it wasn't obvious that last night was the only thing he wanted to talk about.
"I'm getting there. Give me a minute to bitch about all my fucking goosebumps."
"Alright."
Larxene took a deep breath as though she was dragging intoxicating fumes from a cigarette, and exhaled.
"So I was thinking about last night."
"Yes?"
"And I think we should hook up more."
Even if Vexen had been hoping for congratulations, in truth all he'd expected was some kind of derogatory statement about a performance that even he could admit was underwhelming.
"R-really?"
"No need to sound so surprised. I mean, obviously you're inexperienced and about as kinky as my Grandmother, but Marluxia's right. You're a fast learner."
"I... don't know whether to be offended or pleased with that verdict."
Larxene laughed again, set down her now empty plate and waltzed over, cupping her hands around Vexen's neck.
"Now all you need to do is get yourself a hair cut and stop dressing like a tramp... and hey, you might even be mildly attractive one day."
And she bumped her stomach against Vexen's, the laughter in her eyes, and kissed his lips.
"And stop using that cheap shower gel. You smell like a dishwasher: hygienic, but still unpleasant."
With that advice, she swept away, grabbing milk from the fridge and drinking straight from the carton (did everybody do that?). Vexen settled for watching her move effortlessly about the kitchen, a woman as fluid as she was brutal.
"I feel like you're running circles around me," He said finally as Larxene dumped herself into her chair by the radiator, stretching like a cat.
"And, surprisingly, I'm enjoying it."
Vexen shifted on his crutches, already calculating how long it would take him to dress, and how soon he'd have to leave to catch the seven fifty train.
"Well. Thanks for the advice. And the sex."
Larxene giggled.
"Any time."
Feeling awkward, but not sure why, Vexen nodded, and made his was out into the hallway. Naminé was just coming downstairs, looking sleepy.
"Morning, Vexen."
"Morning, Naminé."
"How are you?"
"I'm... I'm okay."
Naminé glanced at the threadbare carpet and smiled sweetly, and Vexen wanted to hug her, possibly forever.
"Well, it's better than just being fine, I suppose." She murmured. And then: "I know what you did with Larxene last night."
"Oh."
Vexen wasn't sure what else he could say.
"I don't mind," She continued, and as she walked past her fingers caught Vexen's. "As long as you don't date her, I guess. Because that would be weird."
"Don't worry, I don't think there's any danger of that." Vexen replied. "Honestly. I think she'd rather jump off a cliff than be my boyfriend. And. Uh. Vice versa, actually."
To Vexen's surprise, Naminé laughed a little.
"Well, you've pretty much already done that, so..."
"Yeah, I think I'm pretty safe from her charms."
Outside, the winter sun was shining weakly but not without enthusiasm, and Vexen couldn't stop himself feeling just the slightest bit optimistic as he trudged upstairs to his room and readied himself for work.
"Y'know, I always wanted a swing in the garden."
Some time late in the afternoon it had begun to drizzle lightly, the sky grey but still luminescent, and Larxene and Naminé had made themselves a nest in amongst Naminé's bedding to watch the clouds draw in over the beautiful valley sprawling far below them.
"Really? Why's that?"
Larxene had been in a good mood all day. She had kissed Marluxia lavishly when he appeared from the bathroom in nothing but a towel around midday, laughed every time Naminé spoke (even when she hadn't said anything funny, but this was normal for Good Mood Larxene) and even made something vaguely resembling soup for everybody at lunchtime. She joked that she'd go give Vexen a flask of it, but not knowing the address of his workplace, except that it was quite a distance away, she instead poured some into a jug and left it in the fridge, just in case.
"I dunno. To swing on, I guess. My Mum had one in the garden when I was little, and I used to sit on it all the time. Sometimes swing so high my brother couldn't catch me. For nostalgia's sake, I suppose."
"Maybe once we've sorted the house out," Naminé said, gazing out across the horizon.
"Well, with Marluxia throwing his money around that might actually get done one day," Larxene mused. "Never did find out why he suddenly decided to just renovate the kitchen like that... I guess he was getting as pissed off as I was at that stupid dripping tap."
Naminé just smiled privately to herself, and Larxene for lack of understanding returned to staring out over the hills. The rain was falling in streams now, splashing and dripping onto the window. And with the sun setting over the horizon now the winter seemed so much colder.
"So I was talking to Vexen last night," Larxene said suddenly, something in her voice almost faraway. Naminé glanced up from picking her nails, surprised.
"Really? It sounded a lot like you were just screaming at him to me."
"Well, yeah, I was screaming at him as well. But amazingly, we also managed to have a civilised conversation. Even if this wasn't actually part of it. Point is, you know Marluxia fucked him ages ago?"
Naminé didn't remember Vexen actually sleeping with Marluxia, but she remembered finding out, and she very definitely remembered finding out after they'd drunkenly had sex in her bed.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I mentioned it last night, and..." Larxene paused momentarily, as though for once actually contemplating her words. "How much do you know about it?"
Naminé shrugged a little.
"We never really talked about it."
"Huh."
"Why?"
"Well, it's just that he said something about- well, I just wondered if he'd talked to you about it."
Naminé shook her head.
"What did he say?"
"I'm not sure if I should tell you."
"That's never stopped you before," Naminé shrewdly pointed out, stretching until her feet fell off the other side of the bed. Larxene rolled over onto her back, languidly, and the two girls were so close as to be almost touching.
"Look, he said it wasn't consensual. I just wondered if he'd told you."
Suddenly Naminé's throat felt unpleasantly dry.
"No," She heard herself saying distantly, "He didn't mention it."
"I wouldn't put it past Vexen to make a big deal out of nothing," Larxene was saying, but her voice sounded a little strangled to Naminé's sensitive ears. "I mean, Marluxia's forward enough that he'd probably get his knickers in a twist and all."
Naminé slowly sat up, a strange and sickening emotion curling in her stomach.
"What else did he say?"
"I can't remember, I was thinking about other things," Larxene said a little defensively. "Something about handcuffs. I dunno."
For a while, neither of them spoke.
"It was probably nothing," Larxene announced quite suddenly, also sitting up. "You know what Vexen's like."
But Naminé had already recalled every conversation, every accusation, every insistence Vexen made that he was too ugly, too irritable, too blonde...
"No," She said, amazed that the word even escaped her throat, "No, I don't think it was."
She stood mechanically, feeling her legs slide from the bed and her centre of gravity shift without really controlling her limbs.
"I need to talk to Marluxia."
But Larxene grabbed her arm and pulled her back down onto the bed.
"He's out at the moment. And anyway, that's a ridiculously bad idea. If he did rape Vexen-"
"Don't say that," Naminé found herself whimpering. "Oh God, don't say that."
Marluxia was supposed to be a sweet if enigmatic man; he was perhaps sexually promiscuous but otherwise harmless. The household just didn't work otherwise, without Larxene a slutty bitch and Vexen hopelessly antisocial and Marluxia quietly attractive and forever mysterious. It changed his motivations for sleeping with Naminé - it changed his motivations for sleeping with everybody. It changed too much.
"Maybe it was just the handcuffs."
"Yeah," Larxene agreed, voice flat. "That was probably it."
"I don't think Vexen would like handcuffs."
"No."
"No."
And once the girls had considered this in their own private thoughts for a few moments, the conversation progressed onwards. Of course, that was it. It would be perfectly understandable that Vexen wouldn't want to be handcuffed, and Marluxia had just got a little carried away, and it was just too easy to interpret Vexen's words wrongly. And even if it was caught in the back of her mind all evening, Naminé didn't think much more of it until at nine thirty the door clicked open and from downstairs came the familiar sounds of Vexen hobbling about on his crutches.
Naminé glanced outside at the sheets of rain pouring down.
"I'd better go check that he's alright."
"Mkay."
So she crawled out of the bed into the much colder air, turning back to glance at Larxene as she reached the doorway.
"You don't think that maybe Marluxia did... you know. To Vexen?"
Larxene, still facing the window, grunted.
"Maybe."
"Do you think I should ask Vexen about it?"
"No, he'll know I told you then. Look, I'll check into it later. Just, don't worry about it, okay? It was probably the handcuffs."
"Yeah," Naminé said, "I guess."
Downstairs, Vexen was soaked through and exhausted, but still chipper, so Naminé made him a mug of coffee, warmed up a bowl of Larxene's soup for him, and helped him up the stairs to his room, where he stripped awkwardly and fussed over his casts, then climbed immediately into bed.
Naminé kissed his forehead and let him sleep.
Must have been the handcuffs.