There was very little Zexion feared. Death, disorder and the like – but never enough to be paralyzed. Fears were mostly irrational after all.
That mantra is of no aid when Naminé isn't in her studio – a blank canvas left abandoned, a streak of color ripping through its body. Or when he gets a phone call; something about 'hospital' and Zexion is tearing through the city.
That fear doesn't abate when he is led from room to room, medical babble rattling his ears…
Naminé – later on, a hand over a steadily rounding belly – would never believe Zexion was really afraid.
Or at least, not like nowadays – with him making sure she alright every minute or so. Calm down, please…
