A/N: I think I replay Kingdom Hearts like twice a year, going on like 12 years now. And it would take more than all my fingers and toes to count all the parts of it that make me ugly cry. A LOT of those moment involves members of Organization XIII. Their characters, their stories, their MUSIC, it's all too much. Granted, a lot of my crying may be motivated by scenarios and relationships I've sorta fabricated in my head, like this one!
Zexion and Demyx make sense. I can't explain it. But the internet has always validated this baseless ship. Opposites attract, I guess?
Disclaimer: I lay no claim to the gay nightmare that is Kingdom Hearts.
Onward!
"VI"
By WickedHope
Illusion
I dealt in illusion, but I lived in fact.
Though whether I was "living" or not always seemed to be a matter of debate.
That state of limbo – living or dead, scientist or magician, heart or heartless – congealed into an atmosphere of discomfort I could almost breathe in. I convalesced inside it, thinking very little about myself, or my place in the Organization. Not that a group of thirteen similar unfortunates that couldn't make up its mind on who or what it was provided much welcome distraction.
No, he fulfilled my need for distraction. Or at least that's what I told myself.
Demyx...
I couldn't pinpoint where it began. Maybe I didn't remember, maybe I didn't want to. Maybe it was true, and I was incapable of remembering – memories lived in hearts, so no heart, no memory, right?
But my body always remembered how it felt to be near him.
I could feel him under my skin every second. Whenever he came near me, it was like putting my hand up to an open flame, pleasure and pain all at once.
And he always found a way to be near me.
It would often go the same way. Formulaic. I think that's what I liked about it.
"Why are you always lurking?"
I would barely look up from whatever I was reading. A raised eyebrow was enough.
"Zexy, Zexy, Zexy, one can't lurk in their own home. Silly."
"People prefer privacy in their own homes, too," I'd point out. "And don't call me that."
"Why not?" He'd lean over me then. The chains on on his hood would brush the page of my book, his stupid bangs hanging in my face. Suddenly, my memory of his smell would be validated – gentle musk, sage and...leather? I could never quite place it.
I'd look up. His plump lower lip would be jutting out, pouting. Pathetic.
"I like my nickname for you," he'd argue. "Sounds like I'm saying sexy." A smirk.
I'd roll my eyes. "Yes, it's sort of right there, isn't it? You must have had to try so much harder with Axel."
"Axel?" That always threw him off. He'd always be shocked, like he forgot every time.
"Yes, yes," I'd murmur, throwing in something like, "and after Marluxia, Larxene, Roxas and Saïx all fell through, the only choices left were me or Xemnas."
A sly grin. "I think you skipped a few there."
"That sounds like a confession."
He'd shake his head. "Nah, they're not really my type."
He'd probably start inching closer here. The memory of his hot breath against my face, that's hard to forget.
"And what's your type?" It would take every ounce of my strength not to let my voice tremble. No matter how many times we'd do this dance, it never stopped making me nervous. Not that I showed it.
A raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I bet you'd like to know."
About then I'd look him in the eye. "I would. But it doesn't sound like you're all that sure yourself." Quickly, I'd close the gap with a kiss. A blink-and-you'd-miss-it little peck. And oh was it hard to pull away without taking more, I'd slam my book shut in his face and stalk off.
Of course, it never ended there. Our verbal dances were like our hobby. For every punctual kiss, there were ten long, breathless embraces, nights where we couldn't peel our bodies off each other if we tried.
Not that I ever wanted to.
The sight of Demyx's body is another memory that lives burned in my mind, a proud scar of that time in my life.
We spent every night together. No one ever asked questions. I doubt they cared. Towards the beginning, I exercised a little modesty. Demyx always lacked that. His coat would hit the floor the moment we were alone, and he'd spend every following second begging me to do the same. Most nights, I took so long to lose mine because I was so transfixed by the sight of him without his. His olive skin was speckled with moles from head to toe, like a field stars. His chest was wide and thick, and lifetimes of strumming the sitar had made his arms muscular.
My body was always hungry for his touch. It was the only way to quiet the memory of his body.
There was nothing like those long and slow kisses. I could never believe him when he said there'd never been anyone else before. He was too good. The way he rocked his head and hummed into my lips, like his had been built for mine.
Demyx would enchant his sitar in the corner of the room, just so there was something else. He hated silence. And then his fingers would play my body inside, trailing down my stomach and my thighs, gripping me, caressing me, holding me hard against him.
When we sparred with words, I won with ease, throwing Demyx off his rhythm and plucking at his nerves.
But when I let my mouth go silent and allowed Demyx to rock my body into his tempo, I was a sitting duck. He ruled this dance, played me like his sitar, sang a song to my body where the only lyrics were my name.
I hear him saying my name constantly.
"I love you, Zexy."
He said it every night.
He'd whisper it when he passed me in the hall.
He'd shout it as he enchanted notes of water to burst over my head and drench me.
I'd smile. I'd nod. I'd nuzzle further into his shoulder. It was my way of saying it back, and I hoped it was enough for him.
There was something about the word. Words were my magic, but there was something that eluded me with that one. It seemed to powerful. If I'd found it in my Lexicon and spoke it to life, I wasn't sure what it would bring into the world with it.
I thought it wasn't a word that was meant to take on air for me. It could only live in my head.
"You don't have to call me that," I said one night.
Demyx grinned. "You mean, Zexy? Would you prefer straight up 'sexy?'"
I shook my head. "No. Zexion. I remember my real name."
He was playing the sitar. His fingers froze.
I could hear him holding his breath. Demyx was always making noise. His silence was deafening.
"Well?"
"Ienzo."
He waited a long time before he repeated it.
"Ienzo."
The way Demyx said it made it sound like a song.
Suddenly the sitar was gone. He said up straight, and his arms wrapped around my naked body tighter than they ever had before. His hands held my shoulders like they were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
I closed my eyes, memorizing everything about that moment. So that when it wasn't really happening anymore, I could still trick myself into thinking that it was.
"Do you remember yours?" I whispered in his ear.
He shook his head. I could feel teardrops against the bare skin on my shoulder.
"You will," I promised.
"I don't need to."
I suppose all this was my way of saying it back to him. Apart from Demyx, my name was the only thing that helped me feel real. Putting the two together was the best formula for love I could imagine.
After a while, he broke away and looked me dead in the eye. He brushed back my long bangs. I'd never seen Demyx look so grave. "You know you don't have to do this, right?" I knitted my eyebrows. He grasped my face with both hands. "Stopping Marluxia. Interfering with those dumb Keyblade wielders. You can stay out of it."
"No, I –"
He put a finger to my lips. "Don't say you can't do nothing. I'm doing nothing."
"I'm not like you."
"I know," he laughed. His smile was stunning. "And I love that about you. But I've been wondering if..." He chewed on his lip. I could tell that whatever he was about to say, it was hard. "...if we need this."
My heart dropped. "Need what?"
"This!" He waved a hand at the room around us. "The others, the Organization, all the Nobodies. Why keep up with this crap when we have each other. Nine and six is fifteen, right?" Demyx grinned. "The two of us together equals more than this dumb organization, don't we? We found something that works. Let's not push our luck."
I held onto Demyx. The thought of what he suggested made me dizzy. I wanted it so badly to be real.
"No," I decided as I spoke. "I need to do this. I know you don't trust him, but Xemnas..." I shrugged. "Kingdom Hearts is our best bet at having hearts again –"
"We have hearts," he insisted.
"Not like they do." I thought of Sora and Riku. Not like they do.
"How? How could we not have hearts?" he asked, almost shrieked. He kissed me once, twice, so many times I lost count. "How could this be happening if we don't have hearts, huh?"
"Demyx..."
"I don't need a heart to know I love you."
I stammered, my mouth grasping for words but, for maybe the first time in my life, not being able to find them. If there'd ever been any doubt he hadn't meant it when he'd said it before, the doubts were gone. Demyx's love, in that moment, was as close to real as it ever could have been.
If I could have said the same thing back to him, and meant it, really believed it with the heart I didn't have, that might have been the right spell. That could have birthed into reality a Zexion that was content being Zexion, and being loved as Zexion. A me that didn't need any more parts to feel like I was finished.
Demyx must have known I couldn't do it.
He kissed me one last time, and said, "Just promise me you'll think about it." Then he laid down and tugged me down next to him. I laid my head on his broad chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
I left for Castle Oblivion that night before Demyx woke up. He was a heavy sleeper.
Before I went, I whispered a simple spell – an illusion just a step more potent that a dream. A memory spell, actually, one that would make sure our every embrace played over and over again in his head like they did in mine. I wanted him to have at least that.
I didn't know then I'd never been able to give him that for real again.
I wonder what he felt when he found out the Keyblade wielder had finished me off. For once, he might have understood why I insisted our lives weren't real – it meant we didn't really feel the pain that we did.
Had I simply died (a second time, but once and for all), it might have been better off. Apparently it had been my own stubborn will that prolonged my existence the first time, creating my Nobody. Making Zexion real. I imagine the same thing did it again. Only this time, I knew exactly what it was my soul wasn't ready to let go of.
So, I reformed.
And he didn't.
That first night in Hollow Bastion, I cried until dawn. In fact, that became nightly practice.
It's funny – thinking back on my time in the Organization, I never once felt like there was some part of me missing. Of course I told myself that (mostly at at Xemnas' bequest), but I think it might have been my strongest illusion. All the while I believed that Demyx was the trick, that there was no way I could be experiencing love being what I was, when in fact, it was just the opposite. The idea that was I incomplete, unloveable – that was the illusion.
I know Demyx rejoined the Organization. I don't blame him.
If half of what he felt for me was real, I imagine that after I left him, he felt quite lost. I doubt he knows I'm still out here.
Now, the lie I tell myself is that he is still just as real as he was back then, and that if I could just get to him, hold him and kiss him again, to remind him what it felt like, he'd remember that he was enough. He'd know that he didn't need to feel lost anymore.
I spin the illusion that when he sees me, he won't hate me for leaving him behind.
Now I prefer illusion to fact. Because to accept fact would mean admitting I do have a heart. Maybe I always did. The only new thing is that now, every day I'm without him, my heart is breaking.
A/N: This one warmed and broke the heart that I also (fun fact) lack! I can almost promise there is going to be a companion piece from Demyx's perspective. In the meantime, give Zexy a favorite, and leave poor old me a comment to show some love.
WickedHope