V.

For the next day-for the next several, actually, it was so hard to tell time in this lab-Ienzo worked tirelessly. He read through the backlogs of the apprentices' original research, thousands of pages of it, examining and cross-examining psychological and chemical experiments alike. There had been, in total, some hundred subjects, not counting those who had been deemed outliers or had gotten turned away at the beginning. One hundred people.

He knew better than to eat before he worked. He drank tea with extra honey to keep up his blood sugar and willed himself to feel numb.

The first dozen or so subjects had been volunteers, and unrelated to one another. After that, there were some pairs, a mother and son, friends. The first twenty or so had samples taken, were asked some questions about their life experiences and their relations to one another, and then the results were studied. This was the more-or-less harmless beginning.

There were physiological correlations for the existence of bonds between hearts. Heart rates would nearly synchronize, especially between family members or lovers or anyone who had bonded for many years, rather than just friends or those in strained relationships. Rates of oxytocin and dopamine were generally higher, and people were generally happier and more well-adjusted.

It was around then they started getting cocky. To put it mildly.

If the strength of bonds could make someone happy, what would happen if they were to break? Or if a person had no bonds-did that make them more unstable?

They started to keep subjects longer, overnight, then for weeks on end, in those awful hollow cells in the lab's basement. There was fear, panic, and this made it all the easier for the loaded questions to stick. Rather than build people up, this psychology tore them down.

Soon after the first Heartless was born from them. This person had been a young woman, and she'd screamed and screamed for hours before finally succumbing to the darkness within.

Ienzo remembered feeling scared. And to a degree the others had too, but they hadn't backed down. They interpreted it as another discovery about human nature.

He closed out of the files briefly and rested his head in his hands. This felt like torture. But if he could only find some insight, he might be able to use this pain to help Sora. If only he had samples from Sora and Riku, or Sora and Kairi. If the trace was there, physically, there might be some way to induce a sleep that would allow Riku to connect with Sora, something akin to what had happened during the Mark of Mastery exam. But how? He had no magic to perform such rituals, and to do so medically was dangerous.

He felt like he was back at square one. Ienzo stood, noting the tremor in his knees. Firstly, he needed to eat and take care of his body. He could figure out the rest once he was stable.

He did so, was able to keep down a meal and sleep for a few hours. His circadian rhythm was hopelessly off; it was the middle of the day. For some reason his teeth were chattering, even though he wasn't cold, and he knew he needed a break from this project before it started to worsen his own psychological state. Yet to do nothing and purely rest would be a bad idea. He needed distraction.

Ienzo went back to the study room and sat on the bench. It was uncomfortable, he noted, not that he was after comfort. He opened the first page of the score. He could only read treble clef, and not very well; he had to mutter a quick mnemonic under his breath to orient himself. The metering was odd, too, with the sixteenth note carrying the beat. He tried to count it out. Did it work rhythmically with his translation? It was really only the written language that evolved, the actual words had remained mostly the same when spoken.

Ienzo could not seem to get it right. Playing the keys felt awkward, though he could remember Dilan once remarking he had pianist's fingers.

"You going ahead without me?" Demyx's voice startled him. He smiled slightly.

"Oh, Demyx. No. Not quite. I just… I was trying to figure out the rhythm of a phrase. It changes the meaning of the characters in my translation, which changes the meaning of… just about everything." He set his head in his palms. "I'd basically have to start over."

"How long have you been at this?" Demyx asked. "It… seems like you're pretty tired."

Ienzo blinked, then looked out the window. The sky was pink. "...Quite some time," he admitted. "I… tend to lose track."

Demyx sat next to him on the bench. "Which section do you mean?"

"This little bit here. See?" He touched the measure in question. Ienzo played the phrase, and he saw from Demyx's grimace that he'd had it completely wrong. "I can't for the life of me count it out correctly. I… should have waited for you." In a moment of exhaustion, he considered confessing what he'd been up to. He didn't want to bear it alone, but why should he burden Demyx? Their relationship was tenuous as it was.

He held out his hand, unbandaged. The scar was red, but it seemed to be healing well. Ienzo was struck with the odd urge to run his finger over it. He hadn't seen a naturally healed wound in a long time. That had to be why, right? "Well, you're in luck. I'm all healed up. Even took out the stitches. Let me see. Oh, right. I remember this." He wrinkled his nose. "It's the meter. 29/16ths."

Ienzo did not know what that meant. "Beg pardon?"

Demyx rolled his eyes a little. "I know, right? God, at least make it an even number. 30/16ths would be so much easier to count. And they're short measures, too, that all bleed into each other. It's so…"

"Chaotic," they said at the same time.

Suddenly, Demyx looked shy. "Well, it sounds kind of more like this." He played through the bridge with more fluidity than Ienzo had. "I'm sure on the actual sectioned instrument it would be completely different. And that would be…" He thumbed through the pages, seeking the same phrase. "...This one. And it's got a treble clef, which means your options are really, really open. ...What's this?" He gestured to the rune next to it.

"They're letters. Let me see." Ienzo checked the dictionary. "My guess would be either an F or an S. Runes are, for whatever reason, pretty phonetically similar to our language now. If I had to start my studies all over again I think I would focus on linguistics. It's just so delightfully complicated, and it really reveals a lot about human psychology how words and roots formed-" Goodness, he was rambling. He cut himself off. Linguistics was one of his favorite subjects in private study, but it had never applied to anything he'd done as an apprentice. It left it untainted.

Demyx's brows furrowed. "An F? But it could mean flute, but that would mean it transposes higher, and that… feels off." He played the notes in octave. "But if it's an S… what could it be?"

Ienzo went back to his translation from several days previously. "Dawn. That's the first character. So, if I'm correct at all, the first phrase is "Dawn town." Maybe's more like "Dawn, Town," with a comma. Maybe it's more of an action line. But that's not the correct participle."

With an unreadable expression, Demyx said, "Daybreak Town."

"I'm sorry?"

He shook his head. "Not dawn. Daybreak. The rhythm wouldn't fit." He played it again. "It fits with "Daybreak"."

That was absolutely correct, Ienzo realized. With a little jolt, he realized that, here with them working at about the same level of competency, he was having fun with Demyx. It had been a long while since he'd found this sort of eager ease in his research. The pain of the past few days dissipated a little. "You're right. That's so apt. Daybreak Town. I wonder what that is. Is it poetic license? A place? I've no clue." He stood up and started poring through geography books. "Perhaps there's a reference to it in some sort of history…" The sunlight was fully through the window now, warm as it grew weaker.

When Ienzo looked back up, he saw Demyx staring at him with an puzzled look.

"You've an odd expression on your face. Is everything okay?"

Demyx jumped a little. "Yeah, uh, fine." He cleared his throat. "You seem pretty passionate about this kind of stuff."

"Passionate?" He paused. Yes, that was right. "Yes. I suppose. I've never defined it at such, but I… I always feel most myself when I'm in my research. Making connections."

Demyx nodded and sat forward a little. "I know what you mean. That's how I feel when I make my music. Like… I'm part of something worth something. Like I have…"

"Purpose," Ienzo said. "I refuse to believe things are meaningless."

"I find you easier to talk to than Zexion," Demyx said. "Why is that?"

The comment made him feel weak. Was it possible Ienzo was wrong? Could he ever leave behind Zexion's darkness? "He and I are… not the same," he said. "Every day I'm working harder to be a better person, to make up for all of the terrible choices I've made. It is… exhausting." He looked away. He wondered if he should bring it up, this anxiety they had so in common, but decided against it. "You are different as well. I know it's still hard to realize this."

He shook his head. "The others don't either. I just wonder how much of our Nobody selves were made of bad memories. I mean… I was a complete asshole. The way I treated Roxas-" He trailed off, turning pink. Was it possible he felt regret?

"It's unfortunate there's no way to quantify what you mean," Ienzo said. "There must be purchase in it. If you've no conscience, no empathy, it's easy to make bad decisions. Because none of it matters. I don't want to live like that any more. Now that I've a choice." It seemed like a revelation to him. Was Zexion psychologically different enough that he was not entirely to blame? But-what about when he was a child?

"Me either," Demyx said quietly.

This commonality found, Ienzo drummed his fingers on the piano bench. "Hopefully this research will shed some light on the past," Ienzo said. "Shall we get back to work?"

The next morning, Demyx was late. Ienzo was disappointed, but not surprised. He tried to push through a few more of the lyrical lines.

With yesterday's context, the first line became Daybreak Town is a fucking mess. Was it some sort of self-deprecating folk song? But considering how chaotically the song began, Ienzo wondered if it were more of a tone poem.

More fights breaking out. That line was simple enough. Keys and sparks flying everywhere. By "keys", did they mean Keyblades? What else could they mean?

While Ienzo puzzled this, Demyx came in quietly. He was pale, his face drawn, and he clutched one elbow in self-support. He started rehearsing quietly, his playing not as fluid or as perfect as before. Ienzo bent back over his book. He considered asking if something was wrong, but if it were, what could he say in reassurance?

"Do you ever have nightmares?" Demyx asked so suddenly it startled him.

"Well… I suppose to a degree. Everyone does at some point or another. Why is it you ask?"

"I had a really bad one last night and I can't get it out of my mind. It just… it felt so real," he said.

So that was why he was so shaken. Ienzo turned towards him. "What was it about?"

Demyx shuddered. He spoke haltingly, in a low, restrained voice unlike his normal patter. "I was in the Keyblade Graveyard. There were… so many bodies in armor… cut up… bleeding… completely dismembered… The Keyblades were everywhere. There was so much blood in the dirt that it was muddy, and red."

Ienzo considered this. These dreams were terrible, but unfortunately a price to pay for surviving Xehanort. "Perhaps this is a manifestation of survivor's guilt, because you weren't one of the true vessels, and thus, didn't perish in battle. It's a natural psychological response. We internalize trauma differently as humans."

He hugged himself more tightly. "Trauma? Do you think I'm traumatized?"

Surely he didn't think this behavior was normal for humans? "In all likelihood, yes. I'm not qualified by any means to make that diagnosis, but considering what you've been through-and by extension, the rest of us-some sort of post-traumatic stress is not uncalled for."

"I just want it to not bother me." His voice dropped to almost nothing.

Ienzo frowned, knowing that sensation all too well. "I'm sure. If there was something I could do to help you, I would. Unfortunately, there's no easy cure. You just must remind yourself that the pain you feel is illogical, and it will pass. The best key to these things is usually reason." It wasn't much help, but it was something he could offer.

"Always one of my strong suits," he said dryly.

"You just need something to center yourself," Ienzo said. He was aware of how artificial he sounded, and he hated it. "Something you can hang onto when these moments come."

Demyx's eyes met his. "Do you experience the same thing?"

Right. He was sharper than they'd given him credit. There was a reason Demyx had been largely in charge of reconnaissance. "For many years. Even before the Organization."

Demyx hesitated. "What happened to you?"

Ienzo froze. He didn't have to tell him, but at the same time, part of him wanted to. "You know I was very young when Ansem the Wise took me in."

He shrugged. "Yeah. Of course."

Ienzo took a deep breath. "Do you know why that is?"

"I just figured you were that smart."

It was so much easier not to make eye contact. "You flatter me. ...My parents passed away when I was a child. It was… not natural." Maybe if he said it quickly, he could get it over with.

Demyx turned towards him more fully, a sad, knowing expression on his face. "Heartless?"

"No. Heartless were not as common then. There was another type of monster, one created from negative emotions. We know now that they come from Ventus's counterpart, Vanitas. But then… they were everywhere. I was actually coming from here… this very castle… with both of my parents. It was open to the public then. And… well. There was a swarm."

The memories to him were very vague, cauterized by time and trauma. He remembered more having the story explained to him than experiencing it.

"Both of my parents passed. I only survived because Aeleus was on duty and stepped in. I've still got the scars." It felt odd, but not entirely uncalled for, to show Demyx the scars at the top of his shoulder. They'd stretched and whitened as he'd grown, and often he forgot they were there.

It was then Ienzo became aware of how closely they were sitting; there was little enough space. Demyx lightly brushed his fingers against the scars. Ienzo flinched at the unexpected touch. "I'm sorry," Demyx said quickly. "I wasn't thinking. And, um. I'm sorry about your parents, too."

He fixed his shirt. "I don't remember much of them, even now. But you see. When you insist I cannot understand… I understand better than you know."

"Yes," he said.

For a moment they held eye contact. Ienzo could still feel what it had been like to have these scars touched, the slight calloused scratch. A feeling he could not recognize bloomed within him. Whatever it was scared him. He glanced over at the clock and noted with relief that it was getting late. "It's about time for me to start making dinner. You'll join us, right?"

"Right," he said. Ienzo left. In his pockets, his hands trembled.

Ienzo had always thought he understood emotion, at least from a purely literal perspective. This is sadness. This is fear. This is anger. And so on.

What was it he was feeling?

Whatever it was it was strong, and he could feel it under his skin, all too warm and alive. It was not necessarily unpleasant. The only anxiety he was experiencing came from the unknown.

After dinner, he sat in his bedroom and tried to puzzle it out. It had happened when Demyx touched his old Unversed scars. Ienzo ran his fingers over them experimentally but felt nothing but skin. The last time he'd been touched by anyone else-Ansem, when he was sick-he'd felt an odd revulsion. What was so different about Demyx's touch? This was, he realized, the second time he'd felt this emotion, not the first; it had been there last week when he'd stitched his hand. And again when he'd watched him play piano.

Ienzo's breathing hitched. He let himself remember having the scars touched, and felt a soft pulse of the emotion, like light.

He got up and crossed over to his bookshelf. He pulled out the old dictionary and riffled the thin, brittle pages until he found what he was looking for.

Longing, n; a strong desire especially for something unattainable. See also: pining, passion, lust.

Was it even possible?

He put the dictionary away and sat on his bed, shaking all over. The panic made him dizzy. Somehow or another these feelings had grown within him against all awareness, bright and sharp and piercing. Ienzo wanted-

That's what it was. He wanted the unknown. And he wanted Demyx to be in it with him.

"Oh, fuck," he said.