Title: and she will be loved

A/N: For the Fading Tides zine! This story became a monster, my god, it just refused to end. XD Also get what movie I watched before writing it?

Summary: There weren't many options for an orphan in the slums of France. Naminé knew that. That's why she didn't complain when the Organization took her and used her for their backstreet performances. It gave her a roof over her head and food, and that's all she really needed.

That was, until she met Xion, and realized that it wasn't all she wanted.

…

…

…

…

The Organization was always busy. It was the first thing Naminé noticed when she'd joined the theatre group as a painter. Whether it was staging nightly performances, planning long-term big ones, or running practice, there was always something to do. Of course, despite all of that work, there was never enough money. At least, that was never enough when Lexaeus came around with pay and he had to explain to Naminé why her envelope was always just barely enough to live on.

Secretly, she was certain the higher ups just wanted her to stay with them until they'd used her up, to take and take until they could toss her to the side like the rest of the rubbish. That was how it worked in the slums of Paris, after all. She'd seen enough orphans forgotten on the streets to know just how close she'd been to joining them. Seen enough adults wasting away in the shadows to know she was a step from dying like that too.

Well, the joke was on the organization. It wouldn't be today, wouldn't be tomorrow or even next year, but one day she'd be free of them and this place. Her art was good. She'd seen strangers stop and stare at her hand-painted promotional posters long enough to know that it was true. If she found the right patron, she could leave and never look back.

Naminé paused, her brush hovering over the large white canvas for the play's background. There was little she'd miss about this place, from the tiny wooden chair she used to the musty smell of the old, moth-eaten curtains. In the shadows, she spotted other organization members moving to and fro, and she wouldn't miss any of them.

Behind her, she heard the first note of Moulin Rouge on the piano and Naminé looked over her shoulder as Xion stepped on the stage.

No, the only thing, the only person Naminé would miss was her. Dressed in a simple black dress, lilies in her hair, Xion looked like a mourning bride or a ghost as she stepped into the spotlight. It always seemed like she'd fade away one day, that she'd vanish into nothing if Naminé so much as took her eyes off her.

Clasping her hands together, Xion closed her eyes and sang. Her ordinary looks hid an extraordinary voice, one that soared across the empty theatre and reached every seat. Her notes hung in the air like crystal, haunting and ethereal. Naminé's fingers twitched as she listened, the urge to draw something filling her.

Another voice soon joined Xion's as Roxas stepped on the stage. He was the sunlight to her moonlight, bright where she was dark, and sometimes it just dazzled Naminé to see them on stage together.

It also hurt, but she was used to suffering. What was unattainable love on top of everything else?

-x-

As usual, stage practice ended late. Naminé stood in the wings as the actors packed up, ready to head to the dorms or, for a few lucky ones, whatever place they called home. Smoothing out her white dress nervously, she rubbed on a stubborn spot of green paint as she waited for Xion to pop out of the changing room.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted black hair and Naminé looked up just as Xion started to cross the open floor to the back exit. "Xion!"

Startled, Xion stepped backwards, looking around frantically until she spotted Naminé. She relaxed and sighed with relief. Pushing a stray lock behind her ear, she approached the stage. "Yeah?"

"The posters." Naminé smiled as she held up her paintbrush. "I need to make a few with you in them."

"Oh." Xion blinked for a second, looking around. Most of the actors were out by now, leaving just the two of them in the darkened hall. She nodded shyly. "Sure."

"Great." Trying not to smile too brightly, she held out a hand to pull Xion onto the stage. A single touch shot a spark through her arm, and it was silly how much Naminé felt like a schoolgirl in love. Even her heart beat like a drummer off tempo, so loud and fast that she didn't know how no one else had noticed it. Quickly, she spoke, trying to drown out the noise. "I've already finished Roxas and Axel, so there's just you left."

"Oh, sorry," Xion mumbled, curling into herself as she followed Naminé further back to where the stage backgrounds were drying. "I should have come earlier."

"It's not your fault!" Naminé added hurriedly. Of course, she'd said the wrong thing. Why did it always go like that? "I needed the time anyway to fix up the composition."

Looking utterly unconvinced, Xion nodded and rubbed her arm. "It's ready now?"

"Yes, let me just set up your spot…" After straightening out the old fabric and newspapers she's scattered around to catch the stray paint drops, she set up a seat directly underneath the stage lights. Naminé trotted to where her easel stood, checking her view before nodding. "Ok, if you could just sit there."

"Just sitting is fine?" Xion asked as she climbed on the stool. "No poses?"

"None this time. I just need your head for now." Naminé hummed, pulling out her paints and setting up her colours. She wanted to do something soft for the first poster, something classic. The hero, the heroine, and the villain all facing off. "This might take a little time," she explained apologetically as she peeked over her easel. "You might feel stiff."

"That's fine." Xion smiled as she sat as still as possible. "This happens every time."

"It really does." Naminé sighed. Unfortunately, all posters had to be hand painted and that always took time. She had never been a fast painter, preferring to get all the details over speed. Unfortunately, that meant she had to work on the posters in advance or risk the organization's wrath. "You looked really good on stage today."

"Thanks." Xion reddened, still incapable of taking compliments properly. It was cute. "It's mostly Roxas and Axel, I…I couldn't do it without them."

"Don't underestimate yourself." Naminé smiled encouragingly. She started to add the pale peach of Xion's skin to the canvas. "You're really good too."

"That's…" Xion started to shake her head before catching herself. "I'm not all that impressive. I wouldn't be here if they found someone better."

Naminé frowned. "There's no one better."

"There's lots of better people," Xion disagreed easily. Her fingers curled onto her thigh, digging into her skin. "I'm…I'm not like you."

"Like me?" Thrown off guard, Naminé could only stare at Xion owlishly, her protests dying on her lips.

"You're really talented." Xion's cheeks flushed as she gestured at the backgrounds. "I've seen how everyone looks at your posters. Everything looks so beautiful, so realistic, so…it's amazing. You're somebody."

Naminé swallowed. Her skin flushed and her ears felt hot. "I am?"

"Yeah. You are." Xion's eyes glowed with some unreadable emotion. "One day, you'll make it out of here. I just know it."

"So will you," she replied automatically. The poster was all but forgotten now, her paintbrush hanging limply between her fingers.

"I won't." Xion chuckled sadly as she shook her head. "I'm…I'm just a nobody. One day, I'll disappear, and no one will notice."

Immediately, Naminé stood up, her chair scraping against the stage as she dropped her brush. "I'll notice."

"Huh?" Now Xion looked at her, confused. "You will?"

"Of course I will." Forgetting where they were, forgetting who they were, she went to Xion's side and clasped her hands tightly. Xion's skin was warm and soft and real. There was no way Naminé would forget this sensation, would actually forget anything about the woman in front of her. "I'll always notice."

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Something lingered on Naminé's lips—a confession? An invitation? She wasn't sure but she needed to say it, to put this nameless feeling into words.

Then Xion coughed and she dropped her hands like they were fire. "Oh, sorry." Naminé stepped back, her skin hot.

"It's fine." Xion coughed into her elbow now. "Thanks."

"It's…it's nothing…" Naminé hid behind her easel once more. Busying herself with cleaning her brush, she added, "And…it's not just me, you know. Roxas and Axel will miss you."

Xion stared at the ground and nodded. "I…I guess they will."

"Roxas especially." Naminé didn't know why she blurted that out, but now that she had, she couldn't stop. "He really seems to like you."

Xion's eyes widened. "Like?"

"Yeah." She bit her cheek, but the words poured out of her like paint out a can. "The way he looks at you…it can't just be acting."

"That?" Xion chuckled, a soft, fleeting thing, and Naminé was transfixed. "No, that's… that's… well… you're not entirely wrong. It's not acting. But…it also is."

Naminé cocked her head, confused. "It's…both?"

"Yeah." Xion nodded, her eyes hooded. "We're alone, but when we're on stage together, when we look at each other…we can pretend."

"Pretend what?"

Xion shook her head, withdrawing. "Nothing."

-x-

Tonight was a performance, and Naminé squirreled herself away on the upper rafters above the stage. From here, she could hear everything, though her angle didn't give her a good view of their faces. She pressed as low to the wooden boards as she could, ignoring the dust and suspicious creaks as she watched the ongoing performance below.

Actors dressed in black, demon-like outfits ran across the stage, their shadows looming large on the white backdrop. Glowing lanterns gave their eyes a demonic look.

"I'll save you all from heartless," Roxas shouted, holding a cardboard key-shaped sword tightly as he ran across the stage. He slashed at the shadows and the actors spun around him tauntingly.

"Save yourself," Xion pleaded, and a spotlight fell on her on the small side stage. She reached out, her hands grabbing at the empty air as she fell to her knees. "Please, forget me."

As she prayed, the music swelled, and it wasn't long before her voice swelled into song. Naminé liked watching the audience's reaction to this; they looked surprised every time. As though no one could imagine this mere slip of a girl to have such a loud, graceful voice. They didn't know how hard Xion had practiced till her song reached every corner of the stadium, how raw her throat had been some nights. No, they only saw the startling end result. Dressed in a shimmering dress, a crown perched on her head, Xion looked like an actual princess.

Naminé smiled as she took in the slack-jawed audience. Xion's fans would grow after this. They would—

Odd. The gentleman in the box seat wasn't smiling. No, his expression was impassive, as smooth and colourless as marble. There was something familiar about his silver hair and golden eyes, his impassive smile reminding her of another's as he watched Xion with a calculating eye.

It didn't take long for her to realize why. Behind the man, Xemnas stepped out of the shadows, wine goblet in hand. The pair looked almost identical, down to the smirk Xemnas gave as he whispered something in the stranger's ear, looking like a predator stalking his prey.

His gaze was fixed on Xion the entire time.

Naminé shivered, fear running down her spine. Nothing good could come out of those looks.

-x-

Naminé almost didn't need Xion to stand on the stage a week later. She'd burned the memory of Xion's monologue in her mind, etched it every night until it was all she could see when she closed her eyes. The soft curls in Xion's wig, the airbrushed makeup that gave her a haunting, mournful look. Her hands clasped tightly, lips mumbling an unheard prayer.

Even before Naminé had realized how deep her affections ran for Xion, the songstress had always been a muse.

Still, she wasn't about to turn down a chance to be alone with Xion. More importantly, she had questions. It hadn't been a surprise when Xemnas had called Xion over to the box after the play, a private discussion between the three. While Naminé wasn't sure what it was about, she knew it wasn't good by how pale Xion's skin had been after. Xion hadn't mentioned it when she'd returned to their dorms, late even by after-party standards. Maybe she could pull it out of her now.

That was, if she could focus on anything other than Xion. Xion sat on a small table today, her starlight-coloured dress arranged artfully around her. Her head inclined slightly, nose brushing white lilies, a spirit given form. Beautiful.

It was hard to think staring at her.

"Axel's surprisingly good with makeup," Xion explained, cheeks flushing at the compliment. She ducked her head slightly. "He said he could do it since Marluxia wasn't around."

Naminé blinked. Had she said that aloud? Embarrassed, she hid behind her easel. It was easier to talk when she didn't see Xion. "He does his own, actually."

"That explains it. I wondered how he did his eyes." Xion smiled, a waning moon. She spent a lot of time with him and Roxas, now that Naminé thought of it. Was that who she pretended Roxas was?

Something in her ached. She didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know. Instead, she busied herself with mixing her paints. There were no mixes that could capture the purple in Xion's eyes, the blue in her hair, but she got closer every day. Changing the topic, she said, "Demyx was near the church yesterday, trying to drum up an audience. He was doing really well at the beginning too. Only…"

Xion leaned forward, curious. "Only?"

"Only, he got bored halfway through, started missing his notes, and got pelted with tomatoes instead of coins." Naminé shook her head. "He came back looking like he'd been attacked."

Xion laughed. "Really?"

Naminé flushed. Xion's laughs were a rare thing, and she wondered what she could do to steal another. "Yeah. Saix was furious since he'd 'borrowed' his costume."

"No wonder he was so glum today." Xion covered her mouth, giggling.

Emboldened, she shifted through her memories for another strange story. "I saw this squirrel on the street today. He had a mouthful of stolen nuts, but he waited so patiently for the carriages to pass. Only when everyone started to walk did he cross."

"Aww, that sounds cute," Xion cooed, enthralled. "I wish I could have seen it."

"Maybe…next day off…" Naminé kept her eyes firmly glued on her painting, her skin burning. "We could go to town together. And keep our eyes out."

"But…" Xion hesitated, looking away. She rubbed her arm, her silken white gloves bright on her pale skin. "I…I'm not sure if I'll be allowed."

"Allowed?" Naminé blinked. For all of the organization's faults, limiting their freedoms had never been one of them. Marluxia had often expressed distaste over her visits to the core of Paris, but no matter how much his lips curled in disgust or he scoffed at her desires, he had never physically stopped her.

"Xemnas…" Xion trailed away, uncomfortable. "He…"

Xemnas. Naminé remembered the stranger, their cold smirks, Xion's visit. "Is it because of the stranger?" she blurted out.

"Huh?" Xion snapped her head back, staring at her.

She bit her tongue, cursing herself. "I mean…I…" There really wasn't any way to hide it. "I'm sorry, I saw you visit the box, and…"

"It's fine." Xion curled her fingers into her skirt, bunching them up. Sounding distant, she nodded. "That was Ansem, one of our patrons."

Patrons. That explained the box seat, the wine, and even Xemnas's presence. Maybe they were actually brothers, one wealthier than the other. It wasn't an uncommon situation, in a society where the eldest took everything and the younger siblings were left to fend for themselves. "Oh. What…what did he want?"

Xion worried her lips. "Me."

Naminé wasn't sure she heard right. "You?"

"Me." She traced circles on her skirt. "He wants me to as his personal songstress."

Naminé dropped her paintbrush. Her chest constricted, leaving her breathless. "You're leaving?"

"Probably. Do I have a choice?" Xion finally looked up, her smile fractured. "Xemnas is fine with it. Ansem wants it. What else can I say but yes?"

"That…" Naminé remembered Xemnas's smirk. "Can't someone else do it?"

"No, he wants my voice." Xion played with her earring, withdrawing into herself. "I have met him a few times and he doesn't seem cruel, at least."

A small comfort. Ansem's expression had been as cold and distant as starlight. That was the indifferent expression of a man selecting his bedsheets or kitchenware, not one to his future employee. Or…considering how close patrons could be with their chosen stars, something more.

The organization wasn't a warm place, but at least Naminé could keep an eye on her here. At least Roxas and Axel could help her here. There, Xion would know no one. "I don't want you to go."

Xion clasped her hands. "Me neither."

-x-

It was like knowing Ansem's name had summoned him. Everywhere Naminé looked, there he was. Every performance, he sat in his box seat, a glass of wine in his hands. During practice, he sat in the front seats, leaning back in his seat as though he were in his manor.

Naminé spent her time listening to the older actors and stagehands, paying attention to the rumours she'd once ignored as gossip. He was the older brother, the cold, rich bachelor with an eye for beauty. Ansem funded not just this theatre, but several others, his hands in several pockets. Nobility mingled with him, trusting his judgement.

He wasn't someone they wanted as an enemy.

He also wouldn't hurt Xion, if all accounts were right. Ansem treated his employees fairly, if coldly, and compared to some of the crueller patrons, this was a good choice. It might even be the best choice.

It was something to be happy about. Xion would never want for food or safety again.

Naminé should be happy.

She couldn't so much as crack a smile.

"Naminé?" Standing on a ladder, Riku regarded her coolly. "You're awfully quiet."

"I usually am," she muttered, pulling out of her thoughts. Around her, couples and families leisurely strolled the cobbled streets, busy workers rushing from one job to the other as they weaved between them. And above them all, Riku was pasting on one of her posters to a brick wall, doing the work of three.

Naminé was supposed to be helping him, but with her thoughts as muddled as they were, she couldn't manage more than just hold his ladder for him.

Riku raised a brow, his lips tugging into a smirk. "You're not as loud as Sora or Kairi, but you still talk."

She bit her cheek. Ever since she'd joined the theatre, she'd considered him as a big brother of sorts. It was hard not to; he spent so much time wrangling his two best friends that he just radiated that aura now. Tightening her grip on the ladder, she watched as he applied a coat of paste to the back of the poster. "What do you…" Naminé gathered her courage. He was the only one she could ask, really. "What do you think of Ansem?"

Riku's lips curled in disgust. "Annoying." It was such a blunt statement she couldn't help but giggle. He returned to pressing the poster to the wall. "He's always there and in the way. And everything has to go his way."

"The actors are complaining," she agreed, nodding.

Riku snorted. "They're doing more than that. Oh well, he's not my problem."

That threw her off guard. Cocking her head, she asked, "Because you're not an actor?"

"Because I'm leaving." He said it as easily as breathing, as though he wasn't worried she'd tell the organization. "He'll be someone else's problem."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she squeaked, "You're going?"

"It's not like it's a surprise." He patted the top of the poster, checking that it was fully sealed to the wall. "I've been planning this for months."

"Really?" Naminé gripped her shirt, running through her memories. Had he mentioned it before? He must have, at some point. Stumbling over her words, she asked, "W-where?"

"Not sure. I think I'll leave France entirely?" Riku shrugged. "It's a big world and I want to see all of it."

The world. Naminé looked up at the bright blue sky, at the birds soaring freely through it. She'd never thought beyond leaving the theatre, beyond walking out its doors and disappearing into the streets. At most, there was a vague assumption about somewhere in Paris, but even that wasn't a solid idea. "I never thought of that."

Riku leaned on the ladder, arms crossed as he studied her. After a few minutes, his expression softened. "You have to think about at least that much if you want to leave."

"I'm not…" Naminé trailed off, ducking her head when he chuckled. Rubbing her wrists, she mumbled, "Was it that obvious?"

"I mean, you're a terrible liar." Riku snorted, amused. "And I've seen how you've looked at the doors sometimes. I do the same. Don't worry, no one else noticed."

Naminé released the breath she didn't know she was holding. Tucking a lock behind her ear, she asked quietly, "When are you leaving?"

"Soon. Just need to make enough for the two idiots. I'm not leaving them here." Despite his words, his expression was gentle. She'd seen him talk to his two best friends and there was no mistaking the love between them. "You should do the same." He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Dangling it down, he waited for her to grab it. "This'll help."

"This?" She smoothened the creases as she read the colourful poster. In a couple of weeks, one of the exhibition centers was hosting an open gallery. New artists were welcome to display their goods there and attract the eyes of the many patrons attending. If Naminé entered, she could get customers, status—it would be enough to live on.

She didn't have to stay with the theatre, if she played her cards right. Overcome, Naminé looked up at him.

He laughed. "Don't give me that. You're a good artist. They'll fight over you."

"But I don't have any works," Naminé protested weakly, scared. This chance stood in front of her and it felt too good to be true.

"Your posters?" Riku rolled his eyes as he climbed down. "You have plenty of rough drafts and pieces that didn't make it up here. If not, make some." Beside her now, he ruffled her hair. "You got this."

She hugged him tightly. "Thank you."

-x-

Naminé spent her days diligently painting her set pieces, touching up every rock and tree until no one could complain about her work. At night, after the last actor left, she pulled out her canvas, dragged her seat across the stage, and painted in the dim candlelight.

There was no need for Xion this time. She could see in her mind's eye Xion's dress, her dreamy expression, the delicate curl of her hand. Naminé sketched her over and over again, adjusting the pose until she got it just right. For hours, she mixed together different shades of purple, playing with how the moonlight had hit her during the play or the candlelight during their talks. The competition was soon, her escape even sooner, and though she didn't have the time to spare to make it perfect, she forced herself to take it slow.

There would be other competitions, after all. But this might be her only chance to convince Xion. Who knew when Ansem would whisk her away?

Naminé knew what it was like to starve, to live in the gutters and barely survive. You couldn't feed off love, after all, couldn't eat on emotions. But the difference surviving and living was love, was having someone to strive for, someone to come back to.

She was tired of just existing.

-x-

Xion stood in the center of the stage, for once in her normal clothes and not one of her elaborate costumes. Hands on her eyes, she asked, "Can I look now?"

Naminé glanced at the stage once more. The actors were gone. Ansem was gone. The only ones left were the two of them. She'd asked Xion to stay in the change room while she'd set up the stage, arranging her pieces like the galleries she'd caught glimpses of in the heart of Paris.

Looking at them all lined it up, Naminé's feelings were more than obvious. Xion was everywhere in them—from the close ups of her various performances, to the more distant shots of her on mountaintops and seashores. The second Xion opened her eyes, Naminé's heart would be bare. She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. There'd be no more hiding.

"Naminé?" Xion repeated. "You still here?"

'Y-yes." Naminé took a deep breath and steeled herself. "You can look now."

She couldn't look at Xion, just listened as her lips parted in a soft gasp, as she wordlessly took in the whole thing. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Xion walked from one piece to the next, her quiet footsteps barely audible over the drumming beat of her heart.

Finally, Xion stood in front of her. "It's beautiful."

Hesitantly, she looked up. Xion smiled at her, eyes bright. "Really?"

"Yes." Xion gestured. "It's all…it's beautiful. You're really good at it." Her hand curled into her chest as her expression turned wistful. "I'm not that pretty, but you make me think I could be."

"You are." Naminé clasped Xion's hand between both of hers, trying to press her overwhelming feelings into her skin. "You always have been."

"I'm not—" Xion shook her head, taking a half-step back. "It's just the dresses and make up."

"It's not." Naminé squeezed her hands tighter. "Even before you sang, I couldn't look away from you." She resisted the urge to bow her head, to close her eyes and hide. "I've loved you since the moment you stepped in the dorms."

Xion's eyes widened. "You…" She broke into a whisper, hand trembling. "You do? Really?"

"Yes." She smiled softly, gesturing at the closest painting, one of Xion flying through the air. "You always make me feel like flying." At another of Xion's back as two cats curl up next to her. "You're kind." Namine pointed at another and yet another as she talked. "And you're funny and when you tease, your smile is just so—"

"It's you," Xion confessed, the words tumbling out of her. "When I'm on stage, I pretend he's you. That we're together. That…we're happy."

Naminé stopped breathing. "Then…all this time?"

"Me too. It's been you, it's always been you." Xion glanced at the paintings. "I wish I could see myself in your eyes. I don't feel half as amazing"

"Then stay with me." Naminé squared her shoulders, pulling out the flyer from her pocket. "I'm leaving—it won't be much but come with me."

Xion scanned the flyer, her lips moving silently. Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't."

Naminé's heart plummeted. "Why not?"

"I'll…I'll only drag you down." Xion tugged her hand but Naminé kept her grip tight. "I'll get in the way."

"You won't," Naminé insisted, stepping forward. "You…you're my muse. You're everything. I can't do this without you."

"You can't support both of us, and…" Xion bit her lip. "Ansem…he, he might come after you. Take away your patrons."

Remembering Riku's words, she shook her head. "It doesn't matter. If he does that in Paris, then we just go somewhere else. Rome. Venice. Anywhere. You could sing at the operas. I could paint the churches. We'll make do."

"But you can't—"

"I can," Naminé repeated firmly, refusing to let her, let this go. Love wasn't enough to eat on, to survive on, but it was more than enough to live on. "Please."

"I'm just nobody…" Xion mumbled, relenting. A tear trailed down her cheek.

"Not to me. Never to me," Naminé whispered, pulling her close and pressing their foreheads together. Xion trembled and Naminé didn't think twice before closing the gap, kissing the corner of her eye, the edge of her lip, the hard line of her jaw.

When Xion kissed back, steady and strong, Naminé knew they'd make it. It didn't matter what they faced next, they'd make it together.

-x-

A week later, in the middle of the night, they ran down the streets hand in hand.