History

Even turned the manuscript over in his hand, as though feeling the quality of the paper. "I never pictured you as a soft scientist," he said, his tone mostly unreadable.

Ienzo sighed. His vision was cut into odd little slivers; he wasn't quite used to his new glasses, his eyes scrambling to adjust. "You're going to be frightfully disappointed in me, but I no longer derive any pleasure or fulfillment from so-called "harder" subjects."

Even stared at him. "Why on earth would I be disappointed?"

"I do recall a period in my life when you found my perusal of fiction a waste of time, when I could be studying."

He set the manuscript down onto his desk. "We all know what a fool I was, back then. No." He smiled. "The only way I'd be disappointed in you was if you were to waste your life faffing about. But you were never lazy." He ran his finger along the paper spine.

Ienzo frowned a little. "I understand the… trepidation, you might feel," he said slowly. "And… it is quite harrowing."

Even's eyes dropped, became distant. "I can only imagine what the experience has been like, for you."

"...Gathering these stories?" He thought about it. "Not everyone is… willing to share such dark content of their hearts. I've had more than one door slammed in my face." He knotted his hands together tightly. "I'd hoped that my suspicion regarding everyone's opinion of us was mere paranoia, but some folks do feel a certain… ire. Not that I can blame them." Some people hadn't even let him speak to them; others were more direct.

"We don't blame you," one woman had said. "We know you were Ansem's ward. But how can we trust that any information we give to you will be used for good? None of it was before."

Others, however, had been incredibly welcoming. "If I've seen anything in my life, we all deserve second chances," an older woman had said. "If you're good in the committee's book, you're good in mine."

The stories flooded his life; the losses, the difficulty to adjust to a new and alien world (had these worlds truly been here all along?), the nightmares, the darkness. Ienzo could not offer them much comfort other than an attempt at catharsis. Any attempt at more psychological treatment would be uncalled for.

Rather than hold their minds in his hands, he now held their hearts; he could only hope he could be worthy of it. "It's… worth it, to hear their voices," Ienzo said softly. "We… need to understand the human impact. I don't mean the numbers." He forced himself to meet Even's eyes. "I have… written something of an abridged memoir, myself."

Even digested this; his expression became pinched. Then, he sighed. "It would only make sense. You are one of the victims."

"Victim and perpetrator in one." He shook his head slowly, then rolled his eyes. "Seems I am fated to live in dichotomy." He took a breath. "I have already spoken to the others. It might be valuable to give your own version of events. Not necessarily for publication."

Even smirked. "For the good of my recovery?"

"Well, yes. You had said you were trying to write and reflect, to delineate a new identity. How is this any different? Your perspective could offer some insight to future generations, when they inevitably look back at all this." A warm, needling pain bloomed inside of his skull, and he flinched without meaning to.

"...Record keeping," Even muttered. "Very well. I… will consider it. Are you alright?"

Ienzo touched his temple and winced. "I had hoped these new glasses would lessen my headaches, but that appears not to be the case."

"You're still getting them? After all this time?" He frowned.

"Not frequently. You needn't worry." He forced a smile. "Take as much time as you'd like with it. I have other copies."

"I shall, but…" Even gave him a once-over. "Do let that fiance of yours take a look at you. Apparently he's quite competent."

Ienzo hesitated; his engagement was supposed to have been private, but now it was something of an open secret.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you actually think you could keep it under wraps? What with Dilan's inane gossiping?"

"Not… secret." He felt his face reddening. "I don't see why my personal life should be of interest to anyone."

"Of course it will be, when we live on top of one another." Even went to speak, then hesitated. "You are so… very young. So young."

The repetition of it caused Ienzo to blush again, though no longer with embarrassment. "As nobody will let me forget. Heaven forbid I be allowed to make my own choices."

"I don't want you to get into something so permanent. You're barely stable yourself."

Ienzo bit his tongue. He took a breath to calm himself.

"Even if you were not only twenty-one, you've only been with him a year. I realize you are not used to the idea of permanence, but-"

"It was I who asked him."

This seemed to throw Even. "I'd've-figured-"

"Demyx is very respectful of my boundaries. He would not force me into anything I did not explicitly ask for. Should it end, we will deal with it maturely. But I don't see that happening."

For a few moments neither of them spoke. "Do you truly want this?" Even asked. "Would it make you happy?"

"Yes," he said. "And I am already happy." His headache was worsening. "Insofar as I can be, anyway."

Even considered this. "I suppose I will always see you as a… child," he admitted.

Ienzo sighed. He tried to smile. "Par for the course when you raise were always… more my guardian than Ansem. But you must trust I am able to make my own decisions. After all, you-" He felt heat rise to his face.

"I what?"

"It was not me you came back to Radiant Garden for."

"You know why I had to leave. Ienzo, I did not want to, but who else would've-"

"...I know." He bit his lip. "Still. A note would've been appreciated. You needn't protect me anymore. Especially from him."

Even sighed. "Old habits die hard. Or so the cliche goes."

"...Right. Well. I shall leave you to it, then."

Ienzo made his way home slowly. He figured he was developing a migraine-not nearly so uncommon since he'd been trying to relearn magic, especially so since that stunt with the fire. His stomach churned, and he was experiencing vertigo, both sure symptoms. Demyx had left him medication. It would be a sleepy, wasted afternoon, but he'd be fine. He stumbled; to the untrained eye he probably looked drunk. His body was so unwieldy. He dug in his pocket for his keys and with shaking fingers tried to unlock the door, only to drop them with a rattling that seemed much louder than it actually was. He finally got the door open, and was more relieved than he'd like to admit to see Demyx on the couch, strumming Arpeggio idly, with a dreamy look on his face.

"Hey babe," he said. "How was your day?"

Beans rubbed at his ankles. The touch was like a shock. He swallowed bile. "Demyx?"

The shift in his expression was immediate; Arpeggio disappeared and he all but vaulted over to him. "What's wrong?"

"I feel peculiar." Not quite in his body. Not quite present.

"How?" He took Ienzo's wrist, his pulse.

He tried to speak, but the words couldn't come; something seemed to register in Demyx's eyes.

"Lay down," he said gently, easing him to the floor. The hardwood seemed unusually cold. Some wadded fabric was shoved under his head, his vision strange and sheeny. Why was he on the floor and not on the couch, the bed? "This is going to feel warm," Demyx added.

Ienzo felt hands on either side of his face. It wasn't just warm; it was hot, burning, but he was no longer able to tell him anything.

"...Right," he heard Demyx say. "Right."

Ienzo hoped he would explain.

"Hold still," he heard instead. "Try to relax."

How could he? He could barely move. The heat moved through his scalp, deep within (the brain didn't have nerve endings; where was this pain coming from?) and sharpened into agony.

"I'm sorry," Demyx said. "Just-"

As suddenly as the pain came, it faded, replaced by heat for what seemed an eternity, until it subsided, a cold so intense he shivered, but at least his body seemed to be under his control again. Ienzo blinked. "What-"

There were tears in his eyes, Ienzo noted. "I'm going to put you to sleep for a little while," he said thickly. "I'll explain everything when you wake up."

The heaviness of Sleep overtook him. When he woke, he was in his bed, and it was dark. A thin film of sweat crawled along his skin. Ienzo sat up slowly. He turned on the lamp at the bedside. "Demyx?" His voice was scratchy. He thought he heard something in the bathroom, water.

The door opened. "Should've figured you'd wake up the second I turned my back," he muttered. "Had to pee for hours and of course-" He bit his lip, then crossed over to Ienzo. His hands were still a little damp when he took his vitals.

"I don't suppose that was an ordinary migraine," Ienzo said.

"Try not to talk," he said, without making eye contact. "There's not an easy way to say this."

He felt his anxiety spike.

Demyx sat at his feet. Now that he was in the light, Ienzo noted how terrible he looked; pale, sweaty, and flushed. Exactly how he always looked when he used too much magic, too fast. "So you had a stroke," he said. He bit his lip.

He knew he was supposed to be quiet, but he spoke without meaning to- "No, I was just ill-"

"Ienzo, shut up, please." His eyes were watering, and he blinked, trying to drive the tears away. "The symptoms are… really similar," he said slowly. "Sometimes you can even mistake a small stroke for a bad migraine. But it feels… different, inside your head. It's a good thing that I was there, because I was able to fix it right away. Even luckier that I literally was just studying this a few days ago." He hiccuped. "You're fine now, but I…" The tears broke free. "How long have we been ignoring what's been forming inside you? You've had headaches for a year. A year." His previous professionalism was slipping, and he held a hand over his mouth, muffling sobs. "It could've… triggered a brain bleed, it could've-"

"It's not your-" Seeing his expression, Ienzo cut himself off.

"Aerith's coming to look at you," he said. "In case there's anything else I missed. Try not to… move, or talk, unless you really need to."

Ienzo settled back against the sheets, reeling. He tried to take Demyx's hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze, but he was shaken. These headaches of his had all along been part of a larger problem; he'd had a feeling, especially since the last time he'd blacked out. He couldn't blame them for not understanding what it was. The way the will affected the body was not something anyone studied. There was no way to qualify how it worked. Maybe there hadn't been any other signs that could be fixed, no sign a scan could pick up, anyway.

The door creaked open. "I had to… check on something," Aerith said to Demyx. "I think I figured it out. You look terrible."

"I've never done the spell before."

"Have some ether. I'll take it from here." She approached Ienzo. Her braid was frizzy, like she'd done it in a hurry. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay. I think. Sleepy." Would shorter, clipped sentences help?

"No pain or numbness anywhere?" She prodded him.

"No."

"I'm going to look at you. It's going to feel warm."

Ienzo flinched, bracing himself for the same terrible heat, but the sensation was gentle.

"Well, there's nothing left," she said, to Demyx. "He feels more or less healthy-"

"Then what was this?"

"An accumulation." She looked at Ienzo. "The people I work with… haven't normally been through so much."

He chanced a question. "Like what?"

She drummed her fingers together. "...Permutations of being," she said slowly. "From darkness, to nothingness, back to light. Putting your body through all those changes… the stress is going to sow seeds that won't emerge for years. And considering you wore down your will twice… It must've exacerbated the symptoms." Aerith frowned. "Think of it like… a person who really doesn't take care of themselves. Will you feel it at twenty? No. But suddenly at forty you keel over with a heart attack. I'm hoping-and what I read supports this-that once you reach and get through the crisis point, you won't have to deal with it again. Essentially reset to zero with magic. Demyx."

He looked up, drying his eyes.

"You've been through the process twice. I want to look at you too. Maybe not now. But tomorrow." She twirled the end of her braid. "It's actually kind of… common. So many people here have gone through so much stress, and the darkness, too. Of course that's going to affect the body."

"Will I be okay?" Ienzo asked.

She squeezed his hand. "He did a good job. I'll check in on you regularly, and you tell me the instant you get the smallest headache. But I think you'll be fine-just get some rest these next few days. Nothing strenuous."

"My body seems hell bent on destroying me," Ienzo remarked dryly.

"I have a feeling you're going to do a whole lot better," she said. "Please take it easy. Both of you."

For a long while after they left they lay side by side on the bed in the dark, trying and failing to get some sleep. Ienzo could hear Demyx trying to stop crying. "I don't think it would be too strenuous to hold you," he said softly. "Come here." He rested his head against Demyx's chest. "I don't suppose this is the… best time to tell you. Even found out about us. It feels these walls have ears."

Demyx was still shuddering. "What did he say?"

"About what I expected. That I'm so young to make this decision. But I… what happened today only proves I made the right choice." He was glad for the dark, the way it hid his face. "I want to have as much time with you as possible. I can't afford to be cautious." He could feel his own emotions welling up within.

"Shit happens," Demyx said tiredly.

"Exactly."

"I hope she's right. For my sanity." He didn't say it, but Ienzo sensed it-I can't keep doing this. "But I… I'm excited to be married to you."

"I am too."

Aerith ended up being right; he did not get headaches after it was over, any more than an ordinary person might. His scans came back continually clean. Even and Dilan delved into this new vein of research regarding the effect of darkness and nothing on bodies; it excited them. They hoped to be able to help everyone else who was suffering. It seemed sometimes as though the second they got a hold on how much damage had been done, something happened to make it clear this was only the beginning. This was the nature of recovery.

Ienzo returned to his normal alcove in the library for some light reading. He found his manuscript on the desk, flooded with sticky notes and, he suspected, suggested edits. He sighed. Even may have been the better critical thinker, but he was not necessarily the better writer.

Lying below this was a composition book, filled with steady, painstaking writing. Even's story, the beginning of it:

The boy, when we took him in, was numb, traumatized; he did not speak. I all but begged him to find a family in town, but his mind was made up, and the small genius became his son. I found myself caring more about the child than I wanted to admit; the others, too, drawn to the glow of his potential.

Strange to read about himself in the third person.

They found him lying facedown in a pool of water after a storm; eighteen or so, strong, his hair a shocking silver. He remembered nothing aside from a name that was to haunt us all-Xehanort.

Ienzo flipped through the pages wearily.

He seemed to have taken with Ansem's ward. Ansem figured this may have had something to do with his past-perhaps a forgotten sibling. It was so difficult to get Ienzo to speak; I would not dare take the only easy conversation he had from him. What I did not realize quickly enough was that Ienzo was no friend of Xehanort's, no pet; he was a puppet.

Those memories...

Ansem was livid when he discovered we'd repurposed our experiments. He, a man who hardly ever raised his voice, chewed out golden boy Xehanort with more vitriol than I'd ever experienced. We were discovering the very building blocks of the soul; didn't he realize how momentous this was? Ansem always held his ideals above all, up to and including the people in his life. I figured this was more of that frippery. But he was always better at seeing the bigger picture than I.

I was wrong, and a fool; there was a reason they called him Ansem the Wise.

Ienzo couldn't look away; it was like a trainwreck. He realized he'd needed this, to hear what Even had to say. There was so much left to the story.