Unsettled

Ienzo was feeling restless. This was not an unfamiliar feeling, but rather one that had snuck up on him with increasing frequency. He felt as if he were at his wit's end.

The garden was done, finished, left behind were empty gaps that made him realize that after all this time he still wasn't sure who he was. It was something like existential agony. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, yet sleep eluded him. So did any notion of rest. He found himself, again, missing the days when thoughts would unravel so cleanly; he felt nothing but tangles, and his feelings resembled even less.

I feel as though I'm back at square one, he wrote early one evening. This sensation stuck with him. What awful, horrifically boring waffling. It certainly didn't make him good company. Worse still than was that everyone else seemed to be in good spirits. He found himself dealing with another type of illusion; feigned laughter, a neutral expression, cheer and chatter where there should be none.

Not many seemed to notice this shift, and for this Ienzo was both incensed and grateful. Only Demyx did, but he was far too busy and exhausted from his own work (oh, to have the certainty of a calling); Ienzo just said that he was tired and that was all.

It did not feel good to lie to him.

But truthfully, how did he define this feeling? Was it the weight, the numbness of depression? He wasn't so sure. Mostly, he felt the slickness of anxiety, like acid along his veins despite medication. He felt trapped within his own heart, within a remorse that was supposed to have eased. Would he carry this his whole life?

Did he want to?

Ienzo wanted to live more than anything. It was a desire that was nearly painful. He needed to get this feeling out of his body somehow.

"I don't suppose you have anything you seek to get rid of?" he asked Even. "I was purging my papers in an attempt to get organized."

"What are you disposing of?" He seemed distracted; he had a new project to keep him occupied, studying the long term impacts of darkness on trauma and the body. It was worthwhile work, and seemed to have reconnected Even with the real world.

"Nothing that hasn't already been digitized and archived."

Even gestured vaguely to a pile of file folders in a crate by the door. "I suppose you must need something to fill your days now, then."

Ienzo paused, and just barely turned back. "That," he said, "is putting it mildly."

"Why don't you continue your studies? It's been a long enough time. They've kept you busy with such frippery."

"...I would not call it that."

He shrugged. "Most people your age seem to get caught in crises of existence. I should hate to see you become stagnant."

Ienzo considered the irony of this. "I won't-no less than you, anyway."

Even scowled. "Go on then, will you? I need to concentrate."

"Certainly."

He took his papers to a courtyard, one shielded from the wind. What was left didn't seem like much; Ansem had already shredded a majority of it, and the strings of paper sat heavily against the stone. For a moment he ran his thumb along the matchbox in his pocket. What was the point of this? He withdrew his hands and looked at them. It took a little bit of doing-magic was so much harder than it used to be-but before long he held a small flame in his palm. He studied the color of it, the bright red and orange. He picked up one of the pages and held a corner into his hand, watching it disappear into smoke.

It didn't take long for the mess to burn. Curious, how quickly things could be destroyed. Ienzo watched the flames, perched on the lip of a derelict fountain. It didn't make him feel much better, but it made him feel no worse. He nursed the brunt of a headache idly.

"...An attempt at catharsis?" He heard over his shoulder. Ienzo turned and saw Dilan facing him, his face alight with bemusement.

"I suppose. I figure there's no need to keep this all, not when we have it in the computer."

To his surprise, Dilan sat next to him. "Is it a pleasure to burn?"

Ienzo rolled his eyes at the reference. "Not quite. Good to know that I have some magic left, however small." His head ached dryly, insistently. There were a few moments of silence; the fire cracked and popped a little, emitting some sparks. "You needn't worry, I'll clean up all the ash once it's over."

"...Saves me a bit of work. Yes. Our list of tasks seems to grow by the day."

Ienzo glanced over to him. "...Does it?"

"Someone's got to make this place habitable. And that committee is scattered enough as it is. I'd hoped Demyx's membership in it would garner us some resources, but they seem to never have anything to spare."

"...Well, town is growing. This place isn't exactly a priority when we're the only ones who live here."

"It was once beautiful," Dilan said. "A shame, all of this finery, crumbling."

Ienzo blinked quickly, feeling a touch dazed. "...Like so many things," he mumbled.

"Are you alright?"

He forced a smile. "Oh, yes. Magic tires me. That's all."

"Are you certain? I know there was some-hesitation, as to whether or not to let you-"

"I am a grown man. Demyx and Even do not make decisions for me." His tone came out sharp.

Dilan pursed his lips. "Of course you're right."

Ienzo shoved his hands back into his pockets, feeling cold now. "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm more tired than I thought." The pain in his head throbbed in time with his pulse. "This has nearly burnt itself out. I'll get to it in a few hours when it's all cooled."

"Nothing nearby to burn," Dilan said. "It feels nice to sit, admittedly. I feel as though I haven't stopped moving all morning."

He stood, and had to fight not to stumble at the sudden wave of dizziness. He clutched his head, felt at the space under his nose. No blood. Surely there must be something else wrong with him?

He heard gravel crunch as Dilan stood. "Ienzo?"

"I'm fine," he said, but it sounded weak. "It's just a little-"

Abruptly, his knees gave out, his vision darkening for a moment. When he came to, Dilan's jacket was under his head. "Yes, you're just fine , aren't you," he spat. "Do you always feel this need to lie?"

Ienzo was still reeling. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Someone has got to take a look at you, and he seems to know what he's doing. You're not well."

He tried to sit up, only to have Dilan ease him back down. "He's going to kill me," Ienzo said dazedly.

Dilan laughed. "Nothing like young love, is there? Ienzo? Ien-"

The smell of something bitter, and a touch of something cool on his cheek. "Oh thank god," Ienzo heard. His eyelids felt leaden. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes…" He mumbled. He forced his eyes open. Demyx was crouched over him, one hand taking Ienzo's pulse. He looked flushed; he must have ran here. The pain in his head was so intense as to be almost unnoticeable. "I… I'm sorry."

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I… I cast one small fire spell… that's all."

Demyx rested a hand against his forehead. "You're stable," he told Ienzo. "It seems that the magic triggered a migraine-"

"Oh, is that all?" Ienzo muttered.

"When Dilan said you blacked out I-I figured…" He turned redder. "You're going to be okay. Drink this." He offered him a canteen. Whatever was inside was sour, and he flinched. "It's for the pain."

It did seem to help, but made everything a bit foggy. "Do you need help with him?" Dilan asked.

"No, I got it."

Humiliation washed over him, and he felt his eyes water. "I can walk."

Demyx hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yes… just let me-" He sat up, the dizziness worsening.

"Oh, no. Let me carry you. I'm sure you can do it, it'll just suck major ass when you feel like this."

"No," he snapped. "No."

Demyx blinked. "Ienzo-"

Something was unraveling, a hot stab of nausea almost making him double over.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Ienzo pressed a hand to his face, feeling the tears spill over against his will.

"Baby…" Demyx trailed off. "I knew something was wrong. I knew it."

"...I shall… leave you some privacy," Dilan said. "Call if you change your mind."

Demyx pulled Ienzo close. He felt like he could barely breathe, clinging to him with a pathetic sort of desperation. Demyx stroked his hair. "What's really going on?" He asked.

"Nothing," Ienzo insisted. "That's the issue, there's nothing wrong and I still feel this way."

He kissed his cheek and handed him a handkerchief.

"I feel… purposeless," he said. "I don't know what to do with myself. I'm lost… I'm so used to… moving forward, to having a goal."

Demyx wiped a tear from Ienzo's face. "Do you think this could also be some kind of sadness?"

He sniffled. He was a bit woozy. "How so?"

"It's… weird," he said slowly. "Maybe this is how you're letting go of it."

"By feeling like garbage?"

"You took on so much pain that wasn't yours. Mine, the Heartless'. It has to come out sometime. Using magic could've triggered it."

Ienzo touched his chest with a trembling hand. "...You may be right. These emotions… didn't feel connected to me." Such strange permutation of power.

"Let it go," Demyx said gently.

"Cry it out?" he asked bitterly.

"If you have to." He sat and crossed his legs. "Come here."

Humiliation broke through the weird cool stillness within him. He let himself be pulled close, breathing in Demyx's smell and the scent of ash, water oozing down his cheeks. "It's been months," he hiccuped. "I haven't the slightest idea why this is happening now ."

"You're good at pushing things away."

"Deluding myself, you mean?" He was trembling.

"Maybe you weren't ready."

For a moment anger nearly broke through him, but he deflated. "...Maybe not," he conceded. "It is so… strange… I feel like I've made some leaps and bounds, and yet, my heart is so tender… infantile, if you will." He hated the way he sounded, thick and poorly. A thin, sharp pain redoubled behind his eyes. "You know I used to feel them, when I was younger."

"The victims?"

His body was leaden. "Yes. I could hear them, even when I was nowhere near the lab. For whatever reason, I always had an acute sensitivity to darkness. Is it because I was nearly one of them?"

Demyx's arms around him tensed just the slightest. "...You were?"

"Yes. I never… told that story?" The tears continued to run, cool and distant. "They were… keenly interested in the hearts of children. And I was… there. You have to admit it's quite utilitarian of them." The ache in his heart was lessening, bleeding out. "I think this connection is fading."

"Good," he said woodenly. "But they… they never-"

Ienzo took some of his own weight back. He shook his head. "We became Nobodies first." He touched his chest, the space above his heart. "I suppose that in and of itself was an experiment." He could taste salt, when he spoke. "The slightest twitch of power, and it all comes up," he muttered. "I am so very… tired. Demyx?"

His jaw was clenched tightly. He grit his teeth.

"Don't hold it against them. We've all done bad things in our lives."

"Why aren't you mad?"

"...I've spent enough time dwelling on it," he said tiredly. "What good would anger do? They're in pain as well."

Demyx took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he seemed to have composed himself somewhat. "Do you want to go home?"

"There's nothing I want more."

It took a long while for the tears to stop and the ache to fade, but once it was all over he felt lighter. He figured that settled it. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and move on. The past was the past; nothing left to be done. He would study, pull the pieces of himself back together one by one. And then whatever happened next. No point fretting about it. Easier said than done, Ienzo knew, but at the same time it was completely necessary. Once he was feeling more himself, he might work with the committee. One day.

But all there was was the present.