Come Home

Description: Inspired by the Ashika Sakura story of the same name. A single night's mistake separated them for six years. When chance throws them back together, it will take more than love to heal the wounds and bring them home. Cleon, Soriku, AkuRoku, Zemyx, and Yuffietine.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square-Enix. This should be nothing new to anyone.

A/N: A few things: First an apology for taking so long to update. Blame my husband for buying me Persona 4 for Christmas. ... cough ...

Second, a very large thank you to Suyiro Motsuko for pointing out to me that "Skywalkers" had been plagiarized. I thought I should take this opportunity to tell everyone that, with the exception of a few on MediaMiner, I only post my stories here. If you see something of mine on another site, it is without my permission and I would like to know. Thank you again, Suyiro. I truly appreciate it.

Finally, if you don't have me on author alert, you may have missed my Christmas present to my readers. Check out my profile to get to it (and vote in the poll when you're done). Hope you like it and don't get too confused. :)

36. Zexion and Demyx

Dear Echo,

I'm feeling much better now, thanks for asking. Colds are always such a pain and so gross, but thankfully this one is over now. You'd never know to look at him, but Leon is such a mother hen when I get sick. He's all, "Drink more fluids! Take your medicine! Get some rest!" It's scary, I tell you. I pity his kids if he ever has any.

I know that you don't particularly care to hear it, but I thought I should tell you that Operation Become Friends with George is going well. He was avoiding me there for a while, but I tracked him down and launched a sneak attack! Total mission success. He was actually smiling by the end of it AND I got him to promise me that he won't avoid me anymore. Ha! Shy people are no match for the almighty Demyx! Which you should know considering I somehow managed to convince you to talk to me like this rather than keep hiding away in the shadows. And, yeah, that brings me to my next thing.

Echo, are you still following me?

xXx

His tea was slowly going cold, but Zexion was too lost in thought to notice or care. At the moment, all of his considerable amount of mental power was occupied with the question of what to do about his feelings for a certain blond musician. His initial plan -- ignore them -- had not worked the way he had expected. He had posited that the best way to ignore them would be to ignore the source, but he had neglected to factor in the stubbornness of the object of his affections. Demyx was Demyx would always be Demyx, and thus that experiment had failed in a rather embarrassing fashion.

Regardless, the option to simply ignore the unwanted emotions remained with him. It would be made more difficult by keeping in contact with the source, as the forced lunch had proved, but it was still a possibility. As unscientific as it was, Zexion hoped that the passage of time would lessen the effects of his feelings. Either that or he would discover a way to combat them and function normally in spite of them.

Releasing his tight grip on his mug, Zexion instead splayed his hand across his chest, covering that spot in the center that hurt the most. He had yet to figure out why his chest ached so much. It was a near-constant feeling, lingering on despite the medications he took to rid himself of it. It didn't make sense. He had felt similar pains in his arms and legs when he had contracted a fever, and those had always lessened or been eliminated by the usage of drugs. This ache simply would not go away, and if he were foolish enough to picture Demyx's face in his mind, it would flare sharply, enough to steal his breath for a moment. He had, of course, resolved not to think of the other man at all, but his normally obedient mind refused to follow his orders. Often, he found his thoughts drifting, even in the middle of class, and they would only stop when the sudden pain in his chest made him gasp and returned his focus to him. The whole thing was extremely irritating.

Zexion sighed and took a sip of his cold tea. What had he done to deserve all of this? He had been extremely content, living his life as he wanted, steadily taking each step toward achieving his goals. What had he done to deserve a chance glance across a crowded park that destroyed everything that he had built for himself? Back when Demyx had been his angel and then his muse, he would have given anything simply to know, to understand why his obsession had gripped him so firmly. How ironic that, now that he did understand, he wanted nothing more than to be ignorant again. Love was a pastime for ordinary people, people who didn't have the mental capacity to realize that the world was made of numbers. Love was something he neither needed nor wanted.

At least Demyx was still ignorant of Zexion's feelings. That was a problem with which he did not want to have to contend. From the little he knew of social interaction, Zexion had come to believe that a normal person, when faced with an unwanted confession of love, would limit his dealings with that person due to a sense of awkwardness. Demyx, however, had proved time and time again that he did not react to anything normally. If anything, Demyx would probably try to increase the amount of time they spent together, either as a way to reinforce the friendship aspect of their relationship or as some sort of twisted favor to Zexion. Regardless, Zexion was very glad that Demyx still knew nothing of his unrequited affections.

Although, how could he be sure that they truly were unrequited?

Shocked, Zexion sat up in his chair and looked around as if the thought had come from somewhere other than inside his own mind. Heat began to rise in his cheeks, both from the illogical reaction and from the thought itself. Of course Demyx didn't reciprocate his ridiculous feelings. Demyx barely knew him. He was merely a patron of the place where the blond worked, the assistant to "Doctor Frosty". Their interactions were purely on a professional level. Even if Demyx had invited him out for New Year's and had lit up like a sun when he actually came, and even if he had tracked Zexion down to talk to him, going so far as to come to his school, attack him after class, and take his bag hostage, it didn't mean that … it didn't mean that …

Did it?

Face flaring, Zexion set his tea on the table beside him and pushed it away. Clearly, the tea was increasing his body temperature in spite of the fact that it was itself no longer warm.

Well then, suppose, purely for the purpose of argument and completely hypothetically, suppose that Demyx did return his feelings. The next step in the socially accepted method of romantic interaction would be for them to begin dating. Zexion folded his arms over his chest and nodded his head. Yes, dating he could do. Simple meals in quiet restaurants and perhaps a concert or two. Hanging out together in the library or even, if Demyx insisted, that damned sun-drenched park where he had first laid eyes on the other. Zexion could handle that. And while he didn't particularly see the point, he could handle holding Demyx's hand in private and even, maybe, sharing body warmth on unseasonably cold nights.

If they succeeded at dating, however, Demyx would certainly insist on progressing further with their physical contact, and that was where Zexion's mind hit a serious roadblock. He didn't want to think of such things. He really didn't want to think of such things. It was bad enough that he had had to admit his love for the musician to himself. If he allowed himself to think of physical things like kissing Demyx, then his mind would never … it would never …

Zexion's eyes slid shut, and he gently bit his lip. Kissing Demyx. What would it feel like? The blond was so bright and so warm. Would kissing him feel like merging with a sunbeam? Would it be as sweet as his smile? As deep and soulful as his eyes? And then, to touch him, to run his fingers across that soft-looking skin. The sexual areas didn't interest him as much as the curves and planes that made up the majority of the human body. Those short, soft lines of the neck that fell into the shallow valleys of the collarbone, and then, in comparison, the wide expanse of back, so firm and flat except for the small bumps of shoulder-blades near the edges. How different would Demyx's body be from his own? Would the blond's innate warmth and light make his fingers tingle? Would he watch Zexion as he touched him? Would he smile? Would he allow the exploration indefinitely, or would he interrupt it by leaning in to claim Zexion's lips in a kiss that would wipe his overactive mind completely clean?

In a sudden burst of anger and surprising self-restraint, Zexion snapped open his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He was not going to think about such things. In addition, he was not going to drink tea anymore. Clearly, it disagreed with his system and made him unbearably overheated.

Rising to his feet with mug in hand, Zexion strode into his kitchen, poured the cold tea down the drain, and then retired to his room to bury himself in the thickest, most boring organic chemistry textbook he could find.

xXx

Whenever you send me a picture, it's always an older one, so that made me wonder whether you're still hanging around me with your camera like you did before we started talking. It doesn't really make much difference to me one way or the other. If you are, I don't mind, and if you aren't, that's fine, too. But whether you are or you aren't, I have a request to make. This Friday, after I get off of work at 8:00, please follow me. I'll come out the front door so you don't need to worry about watching the back door. I promise that I won't turn around or try to sneak a peek at you, so please follow me. It's very important to me that you do. I swear this isn't some kind of trick, and really I'll be putting myself at as much if not more risk doing this than you will, but it's just that important to me. So please.

Until Friday,

Demyx

xXx

They were going to The Royal Flush. That had been Zexion's initial assumption anyway, but once Demyx turned down the proper street, it became a certainty. In spite of having foreseen it, the decision confused him a bit. Why ask Echo to start following him at Lionhearted Books instead of simply requesting he come to The Royal Flush straight off? It would have been more efficient and definitely warmer. However, Zexion reminded himself, this was Demyx he was dealing with, and the musician never did anything according to the scientist's expectations. Shrugging to himself at this baffling truth of life, Zexion pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck and continued walking.

The blond had been as good as his word. As usual, Zexion had kept his distance and hidden himself within shadows and behind telephone poles and parked cars, but Demyx hadn't turned to look behind him even once during the long walk. He hadn't hesitated or slowed down either. He simply walked, hands buried in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. His posture was a little stiffer than usual, but Zexion attributed it to the knowledge that someone was following him. The temptation to look behind him must have been overwhelming, and Zexion was extremely impressed by how well Demyx was fighting it.

When they finally arrived at the club's entrance, the leader surprised the follower by walking right on by it. Instead, he turned the corner and disappeared down the alley towards the back entrance. Finally, Zexion understood why they had bothered to take this long walk in the harsh winter cold. Whatever Demyx had planned, it didn't involve the club proper. In fact, Zexion reasoned as he slipped into the darkness of the alley himself, Demyx probably just wanted somewhere quiet and private. Several of his hypotheses, most involving new songs or other reasons for a performance, were instantly discarded, leaving him with very little idea of what the other man intended. His nervousness increased dramatically at this as did his desire to forget the whole ordeal and go home; not knowing what Demyx was doing was always a dangerous thing.

Several paces ahead of him, the object of his thoughts and anxieties stopped in front of the back entrance door and pulled it open. Eyes set firmly in front of him, he stepped through, not bothering to close the door. Zexion just blinked at it for a moment. Now would be the perfect time for a strategic retreat. However, if he did so, he would have to deal with the subsequent guilt over abandoning Demyx without at least giving him a chance. While self-preservation was always an adequate excuse for an escape, the other man had given him no reason to believe that his anonymity was in danger. Demyx had even gone out of his way, through both words and actions, to assure his secret penpal that he would be safe. If Zexion refused to trust him after all of this, he knew he would feel quite disgusted with himself come tomorrow. Plus, he was curious, dammit. Just what the hell was Demyx doing?

Biting back an unhappy grumble, Zexion approached the open door and passed through. Demyx was quite a ways away by now, but he had stopped next to one of the handful of empty rooms that sat backstage. As Zexion carefully closed the back entrance door, doing so without any unnecessary noise or movement, he watched the far-off blond carry on a quick conversation with some unseen person within the room. The distance and the muted sounds of music and conversation from the main area of the club drowned out what they were saying, but the scientist saw the musician smile awkwardly before leaning forward, grasping the handle of the room's door, and shutting it. Then, he moved on to the room directly next to it and slipped inside, again leaving the door open. Now extremely confused, Zexion followed with slow, careful steps, approaching obliquely so that he could peek inside while still mostly hidden in the dark hallway.

The room into which Demyx had disappeared was dark save for a single lamp in the corner, its small halo of light barely extending more than four feet. Large, bulky outlines on all sides indicated that the room was used for extra storage. Tables and chairs were stacked against one visible wall, and boxes with unknown contents created towers next to the other two. The center of the room, however, was clear, and that was where Demyx stood, his back to the door and his head bowed.

"Fifty-six … fifty-seven …" Zexion heard him half-whisper as he slid inside the room and found himself a dark corner between some boxes and what appeared to be amplification equipment. Apparently, Demyx was giving him time to arrive and get comfortable. "Fifty-eight … fifty-nine … sixty." With the completion of a minute, the blond head lifted and shoulders straightened with resolve. "Echo?" Demyx asked brightly. "Are you here?"

Hidden in his corner, Zexion lifted an eyebrow. Surely, Demyx didn't expect him to answer.

As if reading his mind, the musician laughed a little to himself and continued, "Well, it was worth a try, right?" He shook his head and shifted a little on his feet, still speaking to the back wall and pointedly not turning around. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that you are here. If you're not, I'm going to feel like a dork for talking to myself like this, but the only one who'll know about it is me, so that's not too bad. I already know what I dork I am. And if you are here … well … let's just say I really hope you're here and leave it at that."

Slowly, one of Demyx's hands pulled free of his pocket, and with it came something long and fairly thin. What it was Zexion could not determine due to the darkness of the room, and soon it was gone, brought in front of Demyx's body where he could no longer see it. "Echo," he was saying, fiddling with the long, thin thing in front of him, "I asked you to come here tonight because I have something I want to say to you and I didn't want to just write it in a letter. I wanted to tell you in person. It took me a while to figure out how I was going to do this since you don't want me to know who you are, but I finally came up with something that I think will work." He sighed heavily and squared his shoulders. "So, here goes."

Both of Demyx's hands rose to eye-level and then curved around his head to tie the ends of what he held into a double knot. Finally, Zexion recognized it for the strip of cloth that it was, although he still had no idea what Demyx was doing with it. His mind dredged up an old memory of some action movie he had once been forced to watch and how the hero had tied a headband on before going to battle, but he doubted that Demyx was invoking that particular imagery. Before he could formulate a different hypothesis, however, the blond before him finally turned 180 degrees, revealing his mildly anxious face and his tightly bound eyes.

Demyx had blindfolded himself.

"Now, I know this is really stupid of me," he announced, his voice slightly higher in volume as an automatic reaction to not being able to see, "but you should know I'm not doing this without precautions. Axel is right next door." A slightly shaking hand raised to point to the wall. "Plus, there's a monitor in here, and Luxord has the receiver piece in his ear. We tested it out the other day. He has it turned down enough that he can't tell what I'm saying, but all I have to do is raise my voice and he'll come running. I have faith that you're not a crazy rapist who'll attack me -- especially since if you were, you would have done it by now -- but just in case you are, you should know that I have back-up. So, yeah. It's stupid, but not completely stupid. Or something."

Slowly, Demyx took a few breaths and then lowered himself to kneel on the floor. "I'm kind of a klutz at the best of times," he explained, "so I figure I should probably be close to the ground when I do this so I don't fall over. You know, just in case." He sent the space in front of him a little half-hearted grin before sucking in a few extra breaths. "Okay," he stated a moment later, "I'm ready now." Lifting his head so that he seemed to gaze directly before him, he said, "Echo, if you're here, please come sit in front of me. Like I said, I want to talk to you, and I want to do it in person. So please …" His right arm lifted from his lap and slowly extended the hand forward. "Please come sit and take my hand. I … I want to know that you exist. I mean," he explained hastily, "I know that you exist because you write me things, but right now, all you are to me is words on a piece of paper. I want to feel you. Touch you. Just your hand is enough. I just want to prove to myself that you really are real."

Stunned, Zexion stood in his corner and just stared. Apparently, Demyx's ability to surprise, blindside, and downright flabbergast him was limitless. He couldn't even begin to fathom the logical steps that a person's mind would have to make to reach a conclusion such as this. He had known that Demyx was optimistic, stubborn, and undeniably creative, but he had never realized that the other man could plan out and execute a strategy just as well as Zexion could and that he possessed a bravery that far surpassed his own. Demyx's actual request, the fact that he was supposed to be doing something right now, had yet to register in Zexion's shocked mind.

His mental powers finally came back online when the outstretched hand lowered and Demyx sighed. The blond head bowed in disappointment, causing Zexion to take several steps forward in an automatic reaction. Part of him wanted to kneel down and take that hand, but a much larger part of him was terrified beyond belief of what would come next. Touching Demyx right now would close the distance between them, and even with his anonymity preserved, Zexion wasn't sure he wanted that to happen. Echo was his shield. If he lowered it, even just a little, wouldn't that mean he would be making himself vulnerable? His feelings for the man before him were complicated and confusing enough.

"Guess I'm a dork after all," Demyx said to himself, ignorant of the figure painfully hesitating only a few steps away. "Figures." He raised his hand and moved it towards the blindfold.

Something within Zexion snapped. Without even fully realizing he was doing it, he lunged forward, dropped heavily to his knees, and snatched the reaching hand away just as the fingers had grazed the cloth. Demyx jumped and half-shouted a yelp in surprise, but in the next second, his expression had turned to one of wonder and joy.

"Echo?" he whispered hopefully. "Is that you?"

Zexion swallowed thickly, too frightened and shocked by his own actions to move. Thankfully, Demyx didn't seem to want an answer. His other hand gripped Zexion's as well, and both of them squeezed tightly.

"It is you, isn't it?" he asked, his smile bursting across his face. A hand began to pat its way up Zexion's arm, across his shoulder to his chest, and then up towards his face. Instantly nervous, Zexion grabbed it before it could make contact with anything. "Ah, sorry," Demyx apologized immediately. He lowered his hand, keeping hold of Zexion's as he did so. "I guess I could find out too much if I did that, huh? Like if you wear glasses or not and how long your hair is. Yeah, okay. The face is off-limits. But wow …" He grinned widely, bound eyes staring up at where he thought the other's face was. "You really came. You're really here. I … I'm just …" He lifted both hands and pressed Zexion's palms against his grinning cheeks. "This is just awesome! I can't believe you're here. … Can I take your gloves off?"

At the question, Zexion's fingers instinctively twitched, but he forced himself to calm down enough to actually think about the question. Coming to the conclusion that it would do no harm, he forced their hands away from Demyx's face into the blond's lap where he carefully placed one of his hands into both of the other's. An understanding smile lit up Demyx's previously confused expression, and he gently removed one glove, then the other, placing both at his side before picking Zexion's hands up again. His fingers began to explore, softly tracing the digits, backs, and palms, brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

While Demyx played with his hands, Zexion slowly regained control of himself. His panic and fear melted away in favor of a gentle happiness that made him smile in spite of himself. He had touched Demyx's hand before, but only in a handshake. While that contact had resulted in a tingling feeling, this was warming his entire body, yet producing the occasional illogical shiver. He had the inexplicable urge to touch Demyx's face again, but this time of his own volition. All of his previous hesitations and anxieties seemed irrelevant now; he couldn't even remember what half of them had been.

"Well, Watson," Demyx stated after a moment in a fake British accent, "from the fact that your fingers have no calluses, I can deduce that you do not play a stringed instrument." He grinned a little at himself and, dropping the accent, added, "But I knew that already. Guess I fail at being Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

Swallowing a chuckle, Zexion squeezed the hands he held once. Instantly, Demyx perked up.

"Oh hey!" he cried. "That's a good idea! If I ask you a yes or no question, you can answer by squeezing my hands. Once for yes and twice for no, maybe. Kind of like a horse and foot-stomping. Okay?"

Throat starting to hurt from holding back laughter, Zexion squeezed once. Yes.

"Awesome! Okay then …" He dipped his head a little, expression turning slightly hesitant. "I asked you to come here so I could talk to you," he said, tone lowering. "Guess I should start talking, huh?"

Yes.

Demyx snorted. "Hey, you weren't supposed to answer that one," he teased, briefly sticking out his tongue. The seriousness returned, however, as he continued, "Anyway, I was thinking that, if you're okay with this, with being together without me being able to see you, then maybe we could do it more often. Especially if we found a way to communicate without you talking, like the yes/no thing. And then, maybe, if we did it enough, you'd be more comfortable with me. Maybe you'd start to trust me a little more. Feel comfortable with letting me know a little more. And then maybe, in time, you would be okay with …"

Zexion frowned. He did not like the direction this was going. Only half-realizing he was doing it, he squeezed Demyx's hands twice.

"Don't say no like that!" the blond responded, frowning himself. "It was just an idea I had. What I was hoping would happen. You can't tell me I can't hope for it. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen, but I'm allowed to hope. Right?"

Sighing quietly, Zexion hung his head. Why did he feel thoroughly reprimanded? Yes.

"Yeah," Demyx replied, his mood instantly improving. "But anyways, forget all that. That's future stuff and not really that important right now. So yeah, what's really important is …" Demyx stopped, and abruptly a red flush flooded into his cheeks. He dipped his head, gazing through the blindfold at their joined hands in his lap. "Okay … so …" he stammered, clearly ill at ease. "How am I going to do this? Well … directly is always good, right? So … directly …"

Confused, Zexion ducked his own head to try to get a better glimpse at the other's expression. He squeezed the hands he held once, more as an encouragement than as an answer to any of Demyx's questions.

"Echo," the blond finally said, face turning even redder than before, "you know I'm gay, right?"

Zexion blinked. What an odd thing to ask. Still, he had known of that fact previously and indicated as such.

"So I guess that doesn't bother you."

No.

"Good. Because that would be weird, you know. To have a homophobic person willingly holding the hands of a known gay person. Just wouldn't make sense, right? Like, what's with that? … And I'm rambling again. Should probably stop. And don't you dare say yes to that, either. I'm talking to myself here." He shook a finger in the air, keeping hold of Zexion's hand while he did so and making Zexion bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Okay, so anyway," Demyx said, returning the hand to his lap and lowering his head once more. "What I wanted to tell you. Well, you and I have been exchanging letters for a while now, and I feel like I've gotten to know you pretty well. I mean, you're infuriatingly close-lipped sometimes, but I've still managed to see a good deal of you. And like I said before, I really like you. I really, really like you. In fact, I think …" His voice trailed off in hesitation, and the red color from earlier reappeared in his cheeks. "I think … I think I'm starting to … to fall for you. … In love, I mean. … Fall in love. … With you. … Echo …"

He paused for a moment, waiting for some sort of reaction, and when none came, launched ahead full-speed. "And you know, if you're straight and totally not into that, all you have to do is tell me and I'll forget it. It's still a young feeling, right? I'm still not all that sure. So I can squash it before it gets too bad. It doesn't need to ruin our friendship. But, you know, if you are interested … well … that's why it's so important to me that we build up your trust in me. Because if I do fall for you and you fall for me back, then we're going to have to meet at some point, right? We can't be boyfriends if I never get to see your face, right? And that's why I thought we could get you used to being with me like this. You could get comfortable with me. And then … and then …" Slowly, Demyx's excitement wound down, more energy draining from his voice with every second. "… and you haven't moved at all yet," he noted finally. "I broke your brain, didn't I?" Sighing, he hung his head and played idly with the motionless fingers he held. "Well, at least you didn't scream and go running from the room," he mumbled to himself sadly. "That probably would have been worse."

If Zexion had wanted to speak to Demyx at the moment, he would have informed the other that his brain had not broken as the blond feared. It had, however, seized up completely, awash as it was with a wild and untamed anguish, laced with threads of disbelieving horror. Demyx's words kept circling through his head, pounding against his skull and screeching like demons. I'm falling for you, Echo.

Echo.

Wrenching his hands from Demyx's loose grip, Zexion grabbed the man before him on either side of his face and held it steady while he pressed his forehead against the other's. The blond's initial gasp of surprise evolved into a series of half-pants of hope. "Echo?" he whispered, tentatively touching the back of one of Zexion's hands with his fingers.

His eyes shut tight, now as blind as the one he held, Zexion clenched his teeth together and tried not to release the screams of frustration that were building up within him. He had done this to himself. No one deserved the blame more than he did. He was in love with Demyx, but Demyx was in love with Echo, and while Echo was a part of Zexion, he was not truly Zexion. Echo had more courage than Zexion did and the ability to say what he wanted to say without restraint. Any lack of knowledge or experience in social interactions Echo may have had went unnoticed by the simple fact that Echo did not interact with anyone. Zexion, however, was forced to do so, and his failings were painfully obvious, even to himself. Until now, he hadn't cared about those particular weaknesses, but Demyx was a social person and would surely choose someone who had those skills over him. After all, isn't that why Demyx had chosen Echo? Because Echo had no real failings?

"Echo?" Demyx tried again, gently stroking one of the hands that gripped his face. "Are you okay? You haven't gone running yet, but you feel really tense. Can I … ? Is there anything I can do?"

Now he knew that, yes, people could have their hearts broken. For years, he had scoffed at the idea. A heart didn't actually break. That phrase was just a romanticized description of the disappointment that comes with not achieving what you want. It was just another emotion, useless like all the others. He had been sure that a logically-minded man like himself would easily be able to reason past it and dismiss it as just another annoyance. He had been wrong.

Zexion's heart was broken. He could feel the fragments of it in his chest, their jagged edges pressing painfully against his skin. The desire to cry was overwhelming. Never in his life had he ever shed tears for any reason other than a natural reaction to eye-irritants or extreme pain. Now, he wanted to sob himself unconscious and never wake up again. It was such an unintelligent, melodramatic response and he was utterly disgusted with himself, but he couldn't make the feelings go away no matter how hard he tried.

He knew exactly what needed to be done, and he wished with everything that he possessed that he could do anything else.

Fighting back the threatening tears, Zexion dropped Demyx's face and instead leaned forward to encase the other man in his arms. Again, Demyx gasped in surprise, his hands rising to lightly grip the front of Zexion's coat. Despairingly, the cold and logical scientist pressed his cheek against soft blond hair and held the body of the man he loved as tightly as he could.

"Demyx," he whispered, feeling the other shiver at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry."

And then he was on his feet, dashing for the door. Throwing it open. Running down the hall. The tears had finally come, obstructing his vision and making it difficult to navigate. And yet he kept on running. Running away.

Demyx's cries of surprise and despair followed him all the way to the back entrance and haunted him long after he had passed through.

xXx

Dearest Echo,

I am so sorry about what happened yesterday! Please tell me you'll forgive me. I promise I won't ever mention my feelings again, and I'll stop asking to meet you. Just please forgive me. I feel so awful. Can we go back to what we had before? Just friends, writing letters to each other. That was okay, right? Let's go back to that, and I'll keep my mouth shut about anything else. Just chalk it up to me being a super first-class idiot and forget it. Okay?

Signed, Demyx

xXx

Echo,

Oh my God, it's been three days and you haven't been by to pick up my last letter? Please don't tell me you're gone for good. Please, please, PLEASE don't tell me that. Please tell me you just need some space for a couple of days. Please tell me you'll forgive me eventually.

Please, Echo. Please.

Demyx

xXx

Echo. I'm so sorry. Please come back to me.

xXx

"… hello? Excuse me, sir, are you still there?"

Demyx swallowed, his throat dry and hot. "Y-yes," he stammered in response to the woman on the phone, "I'm here. Did I … Did I hear that right? You want me to return the key to the box?"

"Yes, sir," the post office employee replied. "The account for the box has been closed, and the other owner has already turned in his key. If you could please come by within the next couple of days, turn in your copy, and pick up the three letters that were inside, we would very much appreciate it."

"All right," he somehow managed to say. "I will."

"Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day." A quiet click signaled that she had hung up.

Slowly and mechanically, Demyx replaced the phone receiver into its cradle. Then, just as slowly, he sank to the ground.

Across the room, Leon laid down his newspaper and looked up in concern. "Demyx? Are you all right? Did something happen?"

But Demyx did not respond. He merely clutched a pair of gloves tightly to his chest and wept.