Burning Daylight

by Gray-Rain Skies

[For Rachael] AU. Sooner or later, there's no escape from what's right in front of you. [ZexionDemyx]

2. Part II

Ah, yay! I'm glad this story, despite the chapter length, seems to be going over well. Thanks for reading so far, and I hope you like this update, too.

Disclaimer: No.

-- - --

Folding his legs and tucking them closer to his body, ruffling his hair impatiently with his hands as he stared at the group massed before him, he winced, the discomfort surrounding them raising to extreme levels. Quite honestly, at first he'd thought it was a blessing, to see Hayner, Pence, and Olette sight-seeing the vast array of merchant stalls, all laughter and smiles, and he'd tugged on his cousin's arm happily, calling after them. Now, they were spread about across various boxes shoved off and forgotten in an alleyway, no one truly meeting anyone's eyes, conversation stale and silent as chatter from crowds murmured far beyond the exit of their temporary hang-out.

And no one…was trying…at all.

Sighing at last, unable to stand the oppressive silence a moment longer and wanting only for some kind of breakthrough, he turned to his cousin, tilting his head, smiling hesitantly.

"Rox?" His voice came in a hushed murmur, his attempts strict in trying not to capture too much extra attention from the trio gathered close together. He wasn't there to force together people not compatible, as if he was some kind of self-appointed match-maker for broken friendships. Rather, he just wanted to spend time with old acquaintances and the cousin he'd meant to waste the whole day with on leisurely activities. "You okay with this?" he asked apologetically, clearly implying that, if this was too difficult for the blond, they could leave at any time.

Having clearly caught Sora's words, too, Roxas glanced up, apathetic gaze skating his countenance for a moment, the line of his mouth twitching in contemplation as he tried to figure what it was he truly wanted to do with the rest of his day. And then the boy tilted his head and smiled softly, the action hesitant, yes, but somewhat warm, and Sora couldn't help but be cheered by seeing such a thing.

Pushing out of the corner of his seat, hopping down from the high box which he'd claimed, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said nothing as he turned his back on the friends he'd once been so close to. Following his cousin's example, only sliding down more carefully onto the ground, Sora turned sadly to the three pairs of eyes that had glanced over to watch their movement curiously – and, in Hayner's case, indignantly – and he lowered his gaze slightly in humility, cautious smile on his lips.

"Well, guys, we're gonna go, okay? It was great talking to you, really. Hope to see you around!" Raising his hand, he grinned in a somewhat cheesy fashion and gave a half wave, lingering in his steps as he waited to see if they would reply.

Exchanging uncertain glances, both Pence and Olette shifted uncomfortably, the green-eyed brunette swinging her feet and hunching her shoulders awkwardly, the stout boy beside her rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to look at them. Coaxed by the silence at last, both mumbled a good-bye, only Pence waving, and Sora sighed regrettably, nodding in acceptance. Stepping back a few inches, he turned abruptly on his heels.

"Yeah, have the time of your life, Roxas!" Hayner called after he'd walked a few feet towards the blond waiting expectantly in the same spot the brown-haired teen had left him. "Great to see you're still the same insensitive bastard we had to force ourselves to like!"

Stiffening, Sora stared at the back of his cousin's head as a slap resounded behind him, Olette hissing at the boy a sharp reprimand as he grumbled in response. Roxas, in reaction, twitched, hands fisted and shaking at his sides, head bowed and tilted somewhat to the right, but he never uttered a sound, instead standing patiently in the spot he was rooted to, reigning in the rage that no doubt was churning in his stomach.

Sora, however, was not going to let Hayner's comments slide, no matter how wounded the boy was. He was a good person, Sora knew that, and he wasn't going to walk away with that impression of his cousin's former best friend ingrained in his mind.

"Hayner," he murmured softly, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes soft and sympathetic even when the caustic words directed towards Roxas were injurious to his heart, "please take that back. If anything, this is my fault, not his."

"Sora."

Blinking, surprise making his attention trail ahead of him, he caught his cousin staring directly at him, his back now turned on the alleyway's entrance, his hands shoved into his pockets as he idly glanced down a moment and kicked at a can that rested at its feet. The clattering noise of it bouncing and tumbling across the ground was the only break of silence occurring between their group of five, and as Roxas glanced up, eyes first training on the three faces of his past, soft recognition lessening the scowl that had made its way past his attempts towards apathy, he finally looked for a long time at Sora, and he shifted nervously, fiddling with his hands.

A sigh whispered past the blond's lips, and then a scoff, and then, much to his immense shock, Roxas was chuckling as he lifted his hand and scratched at the side of his nose. The sound was bitter, an insincere grasp at mirth, but cruelty didn't sound from its depths, and anger seemed to have relinquished its hold from his shoulders and countenance for the most part.

"Your fault," he muttered, letting his head fall back, eyes scanning the darkness that crept forth always from the clouds above. "Right." Lowering his head then, oceanic stare curiously capturing Sora's bemused gaze, he let his lips tilt upwards in a crook half-smile. "You dumbass," he muttered, eyes softening. "What're you thinking, blaming yourself? God, you always have to see the good in everyone but you."

Sora blinked. There was affection in Roxas's tone, he knew it. The blond was honestly regarding him without a note of scorn in his voice, without eyes customarily narrowed and words burning with sarcasm. Instead, his cousin was almost giving a true, genuine smile, something Sora hadn't seen in years and years; and, at first, he merely rubbed the back of his head modestly, unsure of what to think as the silence passed and the trio of friends behind the pair looked on in honest bewilderment. At last, though, all he could do was laugh cheerfully, which he did, linking his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes and shrugged the worries off of his shoulders.

"Force of habit," he teased gently, and then he was watching Roxas roll his eyes and beckon impatiently with his hand, motioning for the brown-haired teen to walk out of the alleyway. Obediently Sora obeyed, shooting the hesitant blond an encouraging smile, which Roxas caught, reacted to by shifting uncomfortably, and then looked away from with a heavy sigh, fisting his hands in his hair grudgingly.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered under his breath, forced grin keeping his lips tilted slightly upwards, and, relieved, Sora continued on to linger outside of the alleyway.

Feet scuffing against unworn cobblestones as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall face of a small building, he inclined his head and let fall his brown bangs into his eyes, gentle smile in place. It was more appropriate, to have Roxas fight his own battles, and so he'd wait patiently for their words to finish, however long it would be. Either Roxas would come out with renewed friends…or he wouldn't.

Whatever the outcome, though, Sora knew his cousin would be content, and that was all he asked for in the end.

-- - --

The downpour had caught him unawares.

He hadn't paid much heed to the contented rumbling in the distant, it merely a familiar greeting to his day as he settled into his chair, faithful instrument resting against his knees. Even when the sky began to spit soft pearls of water from the swirling heavens, he hadn't found himself fretting, though Naminé, who'd as well decided to stand by the side of the road and express her artistic sense, was battling with herself, sometimes unpacking her things and lifting her brush to the canvas, other times pursing her lips and leaning down to pack her materials away.

It just seemed like another ordinary day in Hollow Bastion, the mood melancholy, the scenery dreary, overcast, and heavy.

So when the sky opened up and washed over them a harshly pounding rainfall, lightning staggering across the heavens and startling Naminé out of her senses, both shared a look proclaiming their utter shock and then gathered their valuables, taking off in different directions upon sparing short farewells. And that was what he was doing at the present, sitar strapped across his back as he covered his head with his arms and raced down the path towards the center of town, his house a far greater distance from where he was currently running than would've liked he at the moment.

Yelping sharply when the thunder crashed and lightning lashed imposingly from above, he quickly decided that running through the deserted streets even a few more feet would be a fool's move. So, upon last minute impulse, he swerved to his right, a café he'd caught sight of looming like some kind of shining beacon of hope to his panic-stricken mind and rain-soaked frame. Throwing his arms out wildly, he stormed through the unlocked doors, breathless, dripping, shaking from the cold, and upon looking up he cringed at the scattered, bewildered stares focused on him. Laughing belatedly in embarrassment, scratching at his cheek as he averted his eyes, he trudged with sopping shoes towards a table, shivering as he slipped the sitar to the side of his person and then collapsed into the chair.

He paid nothing but his sitar any attention for several moments after his frantic entrance, worrying over the instrument like it was the only thing in his life that truly mattered. Fingers gingerly touching upon every inch of the sitar's body, he inspected the strings and checked for water damage; finally he sighed in relief and glanced up slightly, only to see dark legs standing some way off, one foot tapping impatiently. Lifting his attention fully, he was startled to see the dark-haired man who so often now came to watch him play, arms crossed over his chest, one visible eye narrowed as his countenance remained unrelentingly sour.

"U-uh…" he stammered, at a loss for words at both the male's striking visage and look of impatience trained solely on him. Gulping, swallowing as his lips trembled from nerves and the cold, he bowed his head and tugged at one of his soaked sleeves, eyes downcast, he at a loss for what the stranger wanted.

"Fool," he muttered softly, and Demyx glanced up in alarm, sea green eyes widened incredulously as the man tilted his head and swept his gaze swiftly across the table. Following his gaze hesitantly, he looked at the table to see several books scattered over it and a coffee slowly staining the top with a ring of dark liquid.

Startling in embarrassment, he cried, "O-oh!" and fumbled to rise from his seat, one hand at the last minute clutching the instrument to his chest as the other steadied himself on the back of his chair. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't…I-I mean, I…I swear I didn't---"

"Hardly matters now," the man replied coarsely, and, wide-eyed, Demyx jerked his head up, lips still trembling as the man slipped his gloved hand over the table and walked to a chair directly across from where the sitarist was now standing, he elegantly settling himself into the seat and drawing his possessions closer to his body. "You're a mess." His tone was contemptuous, visible eye flicking to no doubt take in Demyx's disgraceful appearance in disgust, and sheepishly, tiredly, the dirty-blond-haired musician fell back in his own chair, head bowing in shame, wet bangs plastering over his forehead.

"I'm so sorry," he lamented, placing his folded hands gingerly on the table, waiting a few seconds before he nervously took up twiddling his fingers. "Honest, I-I didn't mean to take your seat. I wasn't paying attention and---"

"That much is evident," his newly-made companion drawled, and, sucking in his breath in surprise, Demyx glanced up, stare met by nothing more than the scene of the dark-haired male diligently reading, not even caring enough to look at him while he drilled off insults. "It's not as if you seem like the more intellectual of our race."

Eyes narrowing, he crossed his arms stubbornly. "H-hey! Just because I stole your seat doesn't mean that you can…t-treat me…that way?" he finished lamely, cringing under the furious gaze now catching his widened eyes. Slumping in his chair, allowing his arms to fall limp at his sides, he let his chin fall and mumbled a, "Sorry," fingers delicately placing themselves at the corner of the glass table and rubbing self-conscious circles at the surface.

"You're pathetic," was the only response he received, the words muttered and distracted as another page in his book turned and scratched against the oppressive silence falling between the pair.

Eyes focusing on his lap, lips twisting unconsciously as he tried to rein his sadness in, Demyx automatically reached for his instrument, the panacea for any form of injury ever cut into him. Thoughtlessly he began to strum a song, not considering the reactions of the few gathered in the café in search of comfort, and his shoulders tautened from grief and hurt began to relax, gaze lifting from the ground and warming slowly.

"You're playing." The voice registered in his ears, distracting him, and a sour note made him wince momentarily as he glanced up without warning. Finally, opening one eye hesitantly, he stared at the man who'd so far had nothing pleasant at all to say to him. Now, he was watching with the utmost interest, head tilted to the side as his bangs fell slightly away from his veiled eye, the darkness that cloaked him contrasting greatly against the cheery white of the café that built up a foundation all around them. And, curiously enough, the hard line he'd always worn on his lips for the whole time Demyx had watched him had lessened.

"U-um…" Blushing, both from pleasure at being noticed in a better light by the exotic man before him and from embarrassment at being caught resorting to nothing more than his own emotional therapy, he ducked his head down again, having found it immensely difficult to look into the stranger's sharp, dark, calculating eyes. "S-sorry. I didn't think that…" Cringing, he sighed. "Right. I didn't think. I'm really sorry for disturbing you with my noise."

"You really are quite a fool," came the mumbled response, and Demyx glanced up, this time completely baffled. What did he want from him, truly? Did everything he do serve to agitate the person across from him? "Your music is fine. Not as mediocre as I first thought."

Choking on the slight praise, Demyx blushed, small smile tugging at his mouth's corners. "Th…thank you." Fondly, he brushed his fingertips against the sitar, lowered gaze soft and gentle.

"Play some more." In shock, the musician jerked his chin up, lips parted slightly as he rapidly ran his incredulous stare over the man's countenance. His expression was serious, surprisingly enough, eyes even seeming less than certain and lacking confidence as they challenged Demyx's stare for a long moment and then flicked away, the stranger's lip curling in unease. Raising a gloved, fisted hand, he rested it near his mouth and coughed politely, head inclined to the side, stare removed. "Please," he finished, though he didn't look to Demyx this time.

Biting his lip to keep down his excitement, for the longest time the sitarist could only nod, skin beneath his teeth paling from the pressure. He in time gathered his senses, though, giving his head a gentle shake before he moved the instrument before him, fingers plucking at several strings.

A thought flittered through his mind before his hands had fully crafted a song, though, and Demyx glanced up momentarily, innocent expression on his countenance. "Can I have a name first?" he asked, voice hushed, smile embarrassed.

The male, stiff and ill at ease, abruptly shot his attention Demyx's way, and the dirty-blond cringed in both surprise and remorse, he wondering if he should've asked such an intrusive question. The stranger had made it clear that his respect for the sitarist was almost nonexistent, saved only by his liking of the music the dirty-blond-haired youth played, and so Demyx wondered if he'd only served to agitate him further and spur him on to just walk out completely.

Ducking his head down, he parted his lips, apology already forming in the back of his throat when he was interrupted. "Zexion."

Glancing up once more with a shy gaze, he tilted his head in question, reacting as if he hadn't heard – when, clearly, he had. "P…pardon?"

A sigh was expelled from the named stranger's perfect lips; though, as his attentions were keyed in on them intently, Demyx caught the slightest wisps of a smile. Face burning as he raised his stare to meet the one visible eye, he allowed a sheepish smile of his own to break forth through his timidity, and he didn't look away as the male across from him held his gaze.

"Zexion," he annunciated with the smallest hint of amusement, hands moving to fold neatly on the glass table as he leaned forward, dark hair veiling half of his beautiful face as pleasure danced on and off of his lips, the normal dullness of his eyes now replaced with a light slightly brighter.

Embarrassed beyond words now, Demyx leaned back and bowed his head, gathering the instrument protectively in front of him as he floundered for some kind of reaction. "Nice name," he finally murmured softly, cringing when he realized that this Zexion undoubtedly heard him, and then, blowing wet bangs plastered into his vision out of his eyes, he finally commenced with the song, a smile warming his lips gradually as the music flowed stronger from his instrument. "I'm Demyx," his softened voice replied, but he didn't glance up to see if Zexion had heard him.

Instead, he continued to play, committing the new melody and the male's name to his heart.

-- - --

Attachment he could honestly live without. It only served to complicate, to annoy, to mess with perfectly laid plans. Such was his dilemma now, as he stared at the immaculately cleaned-out hotel room, at the suitcases perfectly stacked by the door, at the bed made and abandoned without a second thought. He was getting attached. And not to the room he was currently lingering, arms crossed, stare pensive, head tilted and idly focused towards the door; nor was it to Hollow Bastion, for he'd quickly tired of the cloud-encumbered, tourist-attracting fortress of a town. Those he could leave behind without a second thought.

Narrowing his eyes in sudden frustration, he lifted his hand and carefully pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. It was that languid, gracefully beautiful musician who was pestering his normally collected thoughts.

It was Demyx who was keeping him attached.

It had been a blatant mistake, for him to stop on the side of the road every day and get swept up in the luxurious, innocent sound of his music. It had been more of a mistake to settle across from the dirty-blond in the café when he'd stumbled in and collapsed into his chair, looking utterly lost and admittedly adorable as he clung to the instrument he so cherished. And it had been horridly wrong of him, an irrevocable error, to later engage in quiet, extended conversation after the song he'd made up on the spot had finished, rather than excusing himself and striding rapidly out of doors, never looking back at the dirty-blond. Because of his foolish, thoughtless actions, however, he closed his eyes and saw a charming smile, and he fell asleep not with a book in his grasp but with the memory of a song in his mind.

He could hardly forgive himself for letting it come to this. He thought nothing of those around him. He cared not for commonplace pleasantries or the warm feelings instigated from close contact. He liked instead distance, minute contact, and that was why, he argued, that he would never fit into the bustling atmosphere of Hollow Bastion. That was why he was leaving behind the hotel room he'd stayed in for a short time, his one week up, the road to the nowheres of opportunity unfurling with every step he placed closer to the door. He hardly wanted a change from his solitary life, and so he cast one last idled gaze about the room he'd cleared, slow pace bringing him beside the bags he kept on his person always, right hand moving to rest on the top of one suitcase, right foot brushing accidentally against the cardboard box holding his books.

This was farewell to his hotel room, he assured himself. There was no going back to it.

But it took a lot of convincing to remind him that he couldn't care less.

It would take him several trips to gather all of his possessions neatly into one pile on the first floor, and as his hand grasped the polished doorknob he sighed, jaw tensing and then relaxing as he kept his irritation well hidden. Truthfully, he should've been overjoyed to remove his belongings from their present position and get that much closer to his car and thus the road, as normally he did every vacation's end. But his pains now seemed superfluous, unneeded, and he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to stay just a week longer, so as to get to know the musician just a little better.

Dropping the suitcase forcefully outside of the room, he pocketed his key and clenched his fists, furious stare boring into the faded black of his bag. What did he care? Honestly, it was just another face in another crowd in another town. He would easily forget Demyx as time wore on. So why was he resisting against such a fact?

Fingers tightening around the handle of his suitcase, he started towards the elevators, books to be taken down his second trip. And as the contraption he stepped into hummed and the doors closed in front of him, so that he was staring at the contorted image of himself in the sliding entrance the whole time the moving box rumbled past each descending floor, he narrowed his gaze bitterly, jaw tensing for a second time, teeth gritting in impatience.

Leaving didn't affect him, no. He'd be glad to see the faded wallpaper and dirt-stained rug gone, the familiar interior of his vehicle cushioning his body as he drove the distance away from Hollow Bastion. But when the elevator stuttered to a stop and the doors slid apart so that he was looking into the vacant lobby, he hesitated, grip tightening on the suitcase's handle. Another second passed, his gaze scraped broadly around the surroundings strewn before him, and then he was stepping out as the doors began to close, flicking bangs from his gaze as he dragged the baggage towards the counter.

His next trip was more quickly executed, he not so willing to be delayed by his thoughts a second time around. And as he dropped the cardboard box he'd retrieved by the bag he'd left near the counter, he looked away from the inquiring gazes of the few people gathered around lounger chairs and couches, bowing his head as he fished out his room key to be turned into the concierge.

The desk empty of said person at the moment, Zexion merely rested his hands against the countertop, head falling back as the key rested coolly beneath his right glove. Staring past the curtain of dark bangs to gaze at nothing on the ceiling above him, he allowed his thoughts to escape him, tongue running along his dry lips automatically as he simply remained in a calm state.

Resounding footsteps had him lowering his eyes, however, and then a man, sporting both a mane of brown hair and a jagged scar across his nose, flicked cold eyes down towards him and tapped his fingertips against the mahogany surface beneath their hands, then tilting his head to the side as he sighed in exasperation.

"How may I help you today?" his voice, devoid of all warmth and personality, droned, his eyes focused away from Zexion as he stood right in front of his figure and perfectly arched his brows.

Appraising the man for a moment in mild surprise, he then bowed his head and shrugged away all emotion, fingers of his right hand curling and claiming the key lying flat. Thoughtfully, he tapped its teeth against the countertop, five slow, solid beats slicing through the silence, and then he tucked the brass-colored object into the palm of his hand, bringing his fist to his chin.

Irritated, the brown-haired concierge opposite to him turned his head Zexion's way just as he flicked his eyes upwards, and, with no change of emotion, he lowered his hand and extended his fist towards the bemused man, turning it over and uncurling his fingers.

Tilting his head, narrowing his eyes, he opened his mouth, and, with the utmost clarity so that he would not be mistaken, he merely claimed, "I'd like to check-in to a new room."

-- - --

He could hardly care less, that the dark-haired bookworm, who was somewhat vertically challenged and was definitely as antisocial as himself, didn't wedge himself behind the onlookers anymore and bury his nose in his books, opting instead to stand in a place more convenient for watching the performance. Demyx, however, was ecstatic, and to exaggerate such he always dragged the poor, ill-tempered man all the way to the front, in order that he might get a better view than the place which he always insisted on standing.

The actions of the sitarist, though the blond hardly paid them any mind, were then caught immediately by Axel, which was something he did care about, for it never meant anything good. And, unfortunately, it led to the redhead's new hobby of complaining to him about such special treatment granted to the new guy.

"Ro-ox!" he was whining now, as the blond batted his hand away from his face in exasperation and stood on his toes, craning his neck to see if Sora would make it again today. The boy had fast made watching Roxas sing into a habit, replying when the blond commented on such that he loved every moment of it. So he was expecting the boy's arrival quite anxiously now, because his cousin had become one of his pillars of strength when he had to perform in front of countless strangers. "Don't you want me up there with you? I mean, after all, I am your---"

"Boyfriend. Yeah, uh-huh." Squinting, the blond sighed in irritation and tilted his head, peeved that the most recent mess of brown hair he'd caught sight of did not belong to his cousin. "Honestly, Axel, I don't care if you're standing two feet in front of me or are all the way in the back of the crowd. Really, I don't. So all you're managing to do is piss me off with your whining!" That said, he shot the affronted redhead a narrow look, hands clenched in front of him as he growled warningly, teeth bared.

Axel did not take his words well. Green eyes, so mesmerizing and beautiful when Axel was both being uncharacteristically sweet or characteristically taunting, were now cold and dark, a flat evergreen as he narrowed his gaze on the blond. Lip curled into a silent snarl, he reacted badly to Roxas's lashing out, no doubt about to voice his own retort. "Well why don't I just---?!"

"Sora!" Roxas suddenly called, distracted from the redhead momentarily as he pushed his weight on his toes higher and waved his arm in a wide arc, wanting the boy, still so far down the road, to see him immediately. "Sora, over h---!"

"He can damn well see you, Blondie!" the redhead at his side snapped as he grabbed Roxas's arm in the air and squeezed it sharply, then jerking it down to both of their sides as he spun the blond to face him. "So why not listen to me for one friggin' second?"

Glancing up in annoyance, he tugged at his claimed limb, but the redhead's grip was steadfast. Oceanic stare narrowing as well, clashing against bitter evergreen, he tossed his head contemptuously and spat, "What? What do you want to say? That I'm ignoring you? Oh, God forbid I don't talk to you for five minutes!"

"You know, you've been a real asshole ever since you started getting all sweet and cuddly with your long-lost cousin. Be a little more considerate to the guy who actually gave a crap for all the times Spiky wasn't there for you!"

"It's not like he actually could've been, jerk! He was all the way on Destiny Islands!"

"Spare me, Rox. Don't bore me with the same old sob story. Fact of the matter is, you want him around more than you want me, isn't that right? Because of course Sora has to make it to every show, but me? No, it doesn't matter one bit if I'm even here, does it?"

Sucking in his breath quite rapidly, Roxas allowed his irritation to fall away as Axel dropped his arm with force, turning his head away then to grumble softly under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. Lowering his eyes, he clenched his fists awkwardly as all thoughts trained on his words before, on his cruelty to the man before him, on his complete apathy to Axel whatsoever.

"When I said that…" he began to murmur softly, head now completely bowed, bangs falling into his shadowed-over eyes, "…I meant that, as long as you were here, I didn't care where you were. Not that I-I---"

"Not good enough, Rox," Axel muttered reproachfully, and the blond cringed, keeping his eyes lowered as he fisted and relaxed his hands continuously, stare boring holes into the tops of his shoes. He'd assumed that it wouldn't have been, after all. What he'd meant to explain to Axel and what he'd actually said were two different things entirely. As it was, he couldn't put his feelings into words worth a damn, and so, for yet another time, he'd ended up hurting the person he cared most for.

"'m sorry," was all he could find to say as the silence pressed on, and then he turned away from the redhead, walking to where Demyx was presently in deep conversation with a thoughtful-looking what's-his-face, eyes not even searching out Sora any longer. He didn't want to further agitate the redhead, whose stare he could feel burning into the back of his neck.

His footsteps carried him grudgingly closer to where Demyx was animatedly chatting with the relaxed stranger, and the blond cast his worried stare onto the ground, shoulders shaking as he wondered about how long Axel would be put off by him. And now, more than ever, he wanted to not have to go up and stand center stage, he obligated to sing before the crowd when suddenly all that he longed for was his home and his bed and the ceiling, which he could stare at endlessly for hours and never got one wrong reaction from.

So when the familiar gloved hand clasped gently around his wrist, stopping him instantly in his tracks, he was both relieved that he didn't have to walk farther and absolutely terrified, because he didn't know what to say.

"Roxy," came the soft voice at his ear, and in one shaking breath he sighed, shoulders slumping as he lifted a hand to his face and shook his head, teeth piercing the skin of his lip sharply. Arm moving to rest against his stomach, Axel guided the blond to lean against his chest, and, shuddering softly, Roxas let his head fall neatly beneath the older male's chin.

"'m really sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes, hands moving to clutch the redhead's arm as he lifted his head and nuzzled gently against Axel's chin, eyes squeezing shut as he did so.

"You two lovebirds going to kiss and make up yet? Hmm?"

A soft gasp catching in his throat, Roxas let his eyes flutter open and he lowered his head, mouth agape as he stared in horror to see Sora standing across from them, hands clasped at the base of his hair easily as he tilted his head and grinned. Stuttering incomprehensibly, the blond tightened his grip on Axel's arm, fingers clutching the worn fabric of his jacket as he shifted backwards, pressing uncertainly closer to the redhead's frame.

Suddenly, Roxas felt Axel's warm breath against his cheek, and, wincing slightly, he flicked his eyes to his left, lips quivering nervously. "Whadda you say, Rox? Do you really want to stay mad anymore?"

Coloring in embarrassment, the blond finally forcefully pulled himself out of the redhead's eased grip, one hand raking through his hair as he avoided both pairs of eyes pensively focused on his form. As long as he had to, he wanted to go back to Demyx with the sudden fight resolved and his spirits lighter than they were at the pressing moment, but he was hesitant to reconcile anything with Sora's eyes watching and with his own embarrassment holding him back.

Finally, shrugging his shoulder indifferently, he tilted his head as he stared still at the ground, one hand moving to rest desperately in his pocket. "S-sure," he mumbled with a nod, head tilting farther to the right, "I guess…"

There was a soft chuckle to his left, and then a familiar arm wrapped around his shoulder, Axel leaning some of his weight into the blond's side. Inhaling sharply when the redhead leaned down, breath tickling his cheek as Axel's smirking countenance loomed in his peripheral vision, Roxas looked further away, eyes catching Sora's amused stare momentarily before he removed his gaze once more.

"Rox," the redhead's warm, teasing voice whispered into his ear, making the blond shiver when his lips pressed gently against the skin soon after. "C'mon, look at me. I'm not mad…"

Head ducking down, he narrowed his eyes, frustrated with himself for being so speechless, and then, with a heavy sigh, he finally turned his attention to Axel. Due to hesitance he only stared at the darkly clothed torso of his best friend's chest, but as the redhead continued to trail his lips along the blond's jaw Roxas finally lifted his chin, warily meeting emerald eyes when Axel pulled back.

"So…you forgive me?" he murmured hesitantly at last, eyes flicking away as he was once more reminded of how his cousin was standing off to the side – which only served to make him accurately aware of their compromising position.

His reply was a scoffed laugh, and Roxas jumped when Axel lowered both hands to his hips, so that the blond whipped his head back and stared at the redhead in alarm. Grinning devilishly, the older male replied, "'Course I do, Roxy," and ducked his head down, swiftly capturing his lips before the blond could react in any way, mouth softly caressing his as Roxas stood stock still.

Finally it clicked in his mind, so that he inhaled sharply and lifted his hands to Axel's shoulders, pushing away with a gasp. Shaking his head, stumbling as he blinked rapidly and ran his tongue over his lips, he felt his cheeks sear under Axel's no doubt amused gaze and promptly dropped his arms, turning around to see his cousin staring up at the sky with a smile on his face.

"S-Sora, I-I…" Lifting his fist, he wiped at his mouth as the brown-haired boy lowered his head and smiled at him lightly, one brow arched as he said nothing. "Y-you know Axel?" he squeaked softly, eyes narrowing as said redhead snickered in enjoyment at the blond's fumbling.

Tilting his head, his cousin chuckled softly. "I think we've met once or twice."

"A-ah…" Roxas trailed off, violently scrubbing at his mouth as he shook his head and flicked his gaze towards Demyx, who was lounging comfortably in his seat, laughing in a delighted sort of fashion as his short and sour companion leaned curiously over his instrument, scrutinizing it as he held his hand to his chin. "Well, I guess---"

"Blondie's my boyfriend, Spiky," Axel drawled easily, slipping his arm around Roxas's waist just as he began walking, so that he cried out in alarm and tripped back into the redhead's embrace. "Y'know, if you couldn't figure it out. He was too sheepish to tell ya himself, though, the cutie."

"I'll kill you," Roxas hissed through clenched teeth, struggling in the unmercifully tight hold that pinned him against the Axel's body. However, before he could effectively glare at his captor, cheerful laughter erupted from Sora, and in surprise the blond glanced ahead, wide stare dubious but smile slight and hopeful on his lips.

"No, I got that much," his cousin commented lightly, arms crossed over his chest as he shared a knowing glance with Roxas. "I figured that if he allowed you to get that close to him without tearing you limb from limb, you oughta be close." Closing his eyes, he grinned whole-heartedly. "'sides. That fight you had didn't last long at all, did it? Roxas really cares about you, I'll bet."

"Really…?" whispered the redhead's soft voice in his ear, but Roxas didn't deign that a response, instead squirming in his friend's hold as his cheeks darkened with red and finally slipping free. Jogging over to Sora, he cleared his throat and slung his arm over his cousin's shoulders, steering him around and towards Demyx, claiming that he'd probably blown off the dirty-blond long enough and he might as well sing.

As his cousin laughed once more, however, shaking his head as he eased himself out of Roxas's insistent hold, the blond snuck a glance over his shoulder, catching Axel's eyes hesitantly. The redhead, arms crossed, head tilted to the side as he watched the two, allowed a grin to slip onto his face at the blond's curious stare, he winking soon after as he stood off to the side obediently.

And Roxas grinned back, because he really couldn't have asked for a better person than Axel to always be by his side watching.

-- - --

Oftentimes, he wondered if this was borderline infatuation, or if perhaps that line had been crossed almost as quickly as it had been drawn. He hardly knew the person at his side, so careful in his deliberations and elegant in his speech, but the emotions fluttering in his stomach upon a single calculating glance or crawling along his skin at the simple brush of a hand were undeniable, that Demyx knew.

He was not in love. Though foolish and naïve, as he would be scolded for being by numerous people he acquainted himself with, he knew that the tentative blushes he hid and awkward smiles he attempted to force down were not yet a product of a fully developed adoration. True, he'd never fallen hard before, or fallen at all, really, but all instinct within him murmured that it was too soon to completely feel a full heart's affections, and so he kept standing on that perilous fence, wondering which side he learned towards: infatuation or just growing admiration.

Slipping his hand into Zexion's now, he covered his embarrassment by giving the startled man's arm a quick pull, persuading him to stumble on down the street as he laughed cheerfully and blushed when the dark eyes on his face finally flicked away. Times such as these made him almost certain of the depths of his feelings towards the dark-haired traveler, his fingers acting on their own accord to lightly squeeze the gloved hand within his grasp in a comforting way, but still he was uncertain, naïve as his friends always claimed, unwilling to tamper a good thing by rushing too quickly into uncharted waters. So he laughed and doted and remained ever cheerful, affecting to seem like his overly-affectionate efforts towards friendship were just that, as if he felt the pressing desire to just be close enough to feel the rustle of clothing against his skin and catch the faint scent of shampoo with everyone he met.

The fact of the matter was – and he kept it a secret – that it was only Zexion who'd ever made him behave so foolishly before.

"Do you in fact know where you're going," drawled his alluringly soft voice presently, "or are you just going to drag me up and down these godforsaken stalls all day?"

Pouting, letting loose his hold on his companion's hand to pull at his sleeve, Demyx then crossed his arms and caught the dark-haired male's quick gaze before it glanced away in sudden interest. "What, you don't like spending time with me?"

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, the bangs veiling his right eye fluttered in an amusing fashion before they settled again in his vision. Tilting his head then in a tell-tale sign of annoyance, Zexion flicked his eyes the sitarist's way, dry expression claiming his countenance. "Must you complain? I'm wasting my time spent reading to walk these crowd-infested streets." The look of utter disgust present on his face now made Demyx almost giggle; he talked of Hollow Bastion as if he was wading through trash heaps. "So don't whine about such idiocy."

Demyx's first reaction to the words spoken was, surprisingly, to smile. Having spent much time with Zexion in the past few days, he'd picked up on the differing tones the male used when addressing him, all scathingly worded and sarcastically said but used to imply different emotions. Now, his tone was light, exhausted, indicating that he was tiring of being jostled to the side by countless pedestrians and thus he was impatient. Anymore biting, and the dirty-blond would've seriously worried if Zexion was, in fact, mad at him, but that wasn't the case, and so he willingly grasped the dark-haired man's hand once more and happily pulled him to the side, guiding him to the place he'd secretly been searching out all along.

Zexion would never have to know that he'd just used the crowds as an excuse to walk close to him for the passing hours.

Left hand falling on the door as Demyx pulled the shorter figure closer with a smile, he jerked his head to the side and pushed at the entrance, the wood giving way into a room darker and cooler in atmosphere. Shivering only once in apprehension, the sitarist looked back with an encouraging smile, gaze softening when he caught the dark-haired male try to surreptitiously glance inward around Demyx's frame; squeezing his hand, smiling happily when Zexion's suspicious eyes flicked up into his, he then dragged the male in his wake, the door swinging behind them as the two descended the stairs into a wider, tenser room.

"I've never been here," the dirty-blond-haired youth sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment with his free hand as he settled himself down at the first open table he saw, Zexion coolly and calmly following his example and sitting directly across from him. "So I don't know how much fun it'll be. But I heard all kinds of aspiring artists – writers, musicians, dancers – come to perform while the audience just eats and relaxes, s-so---"

Zexion smirked silently as he tilted his head, leaning forward to rest his chin in his open palm, and Demyx blushed, leaning back wide-eyed as that dark, amused stare captivated his. "You don't like it here?" he murmured smoothly, lifting his head momentarily to cast a sweeping glance around the oppressive room, smoke suspended and choking in the air, shady characters confined to corners as their voices dissolved into murmurs as they drank from their bottles.

"I-It's not my typical hang-out, no," he replied nervously, eyes darting around and then flashing back to his companion's. Zexion himself was taking everything in stride, a calm expression on his countenance as he leaned his cheek into his hand and almost smiled, visible eye trailing the details of the room a moment longer before focusing back on him. "B-but you like it here, right?"

Brows arching neatly, he slid his hand to rest below his chin, but he was carefully contemplating his words, it seemed, because his nod was slow and pacifying. "It's peaceful. Quiet."

Beaming now, quite proud that he'd found a place to suit Zexion's tastes rather than the rambunctious outer streets of Hollow Bastion or near the promontory where he always performed, Demyx squared his shoulders against the stares they seemed to be collecting and smiled as bravely as he could manage. "Th-that's good."

Ducking his head down sheepishly then, he bit his lip and circled his finger on the stained surface of the table, a few bangs tumbling into his vision as he tried for all the world to appear interested in the chipping wood peeling even more so because of his idled ministrations. When he could take it no more, though, he shyly glanced up, cringing when immediately his gaze locked with Zexion's. Even more mortifying in his mind, the dark-haired man nodded to himself and then placed both hands flat on the table, pushing himself to his feet.

"Come along, Demyx," was all he offered as explanation, and, knitting his brows in confusion, the musician immediately stumbled to his feet, chair legs screeching horribly against the floor as he fumbled with it an a desperate attempt to be polite and then left it pushed against the table, hurrying after his companion already half-way up the staircase.

Upon reaching the outside, he at once caught sight of Zexion leaning against the brick face of the building's front entrance, arms crossed placidly over his chest, dark bangs falling neatly over his eye as he tilted his chin and stared at the sitarist, expression seeming hard and vacant but his gaze almost amused. Scratching at his head in the utmost confusion, Demyx sucked in a breath and made to ask Zexion what the deal was, but without any prompting the man only pushed off of the wall and lifted one hand, flicking his fingers forward in a gesture to follow as he then turned and began to walk away.

Obediently the dirty-blond jogged after him, head tilted, hands clasped behind his back when he finally was side by side with the shorter male. "Uh…" he began innocently, watching as Zexion continued to stare straight ahead, gaze unrelenting, "…why'd we leave?"

The dark-haired man's lips twitched somewhat as Demyx watched him, but otherwise his expression never changed. "I'm not normally one who has the tendency to frequent local bars," he drawled, head tilting as if he was contemplating the full extent of such a lifestyle.

Blushing immediately, Demyx shook his head and waved his hands. "N-no! It wasn't that kind of bar! It was a karaoke---"

"You're quite naïve," the dark-haired man commented lightly, faint smile visible at this point on his lips, and Demyx hung his head with a sigh, arms dropping limply to his sides. "And furthermore, I'm not as into the arts you previously explained as you seem to think."

Lifting his head, the sitarist stared at him, puzzled. "What? But you…all the time you read and…you like my music and…!"

"So that makes me a lover of the arts?" Zexion drawled in amusement, head turning as he arched his brows and allowed the corners of his lips to curve higher. "I was never under such impression."

"B-but---!" Demyx sputtered, quite at a loss at this point, and Zexion looked away, though the dirty-blond had caught the man grinning at his expense, and he pouted sourly.

"I'm a man of science," his companion finally replied, and the sitarist sighed, looking down at his feet as he curled his hands into fists and then uncurled them in a repeating fashion.

"You like it when I play," was all he grumbled, keeping his voice low enough so that he was rather convinced that the man beside him wouldn't hear.

"You're a special case indeed," was the answer he received, however, despite his attempts to go unheard, and in surprise Demyx glanced up, face warm and mouth momentarily dry. Choking in embarrassment, he then let his head fall again, hand nervously ruffling his hair as he tried desperately for a change in conversation, the man at his left walking as calmly on as ever.

The silence wore on between them, Zexion every so often muttering his disapproval when he was jostled to the side or pushed unceremoniously against Demyx's frame. The only conversation exchanged between them as they struggled to get out of the square was the dark-haired man's mumbled apologies, slander towards the crowd of pedestrians attached, which Demyx only shook his head and smiled at, holding up his hands in a placating manner until he looked off to the side to blush, arms falling back to his sides. Of course, this wasn't how he'd wanted the day to pan out, and he would've preferred if he could've thought of some less crowded eatery to lounge in, but nothing truthfully came to mind and he was too embarrassed to speak to his companion anyway.

When the crowds cleared and the pair stepped onto a path only slightly peppered with people, Demyx heaved a great sigh of relief, smile pulling at his mouth's corners as he swung his arms freely and tilted his head back to stare at the sky. The clouds had gathered once more, pregnant with gathered rain, and the smile on his lips faded, a frown pulling on his lips when almost directly after he'd glanced towards the heavens a raindrop struck his nose.

"Rain," he mumbled sadly, glancing towards Zexion with a tilt of his head. He loved this kind of weather, he really did, but when it came to choosing between constant precipitations and spending some time with the dark-haired scholar, he'd wholeheartedly choose the latter first.

The other male said nothing, resorting to simply walking along and continuing in the same direction as Demyx hesitated, sparing the sky a wary look before glancing back at his comrade's retreating form. Opening his mouth to speak, he tilted his head, and then he winced when, to his surprise, another cold raindrop landed on his face. Looking up, he winced at the wetness that fell into his eye, lashes fluttering in discomfort as he shook his head, and then he sighed, jogging after the still-walking Zexion, a light drizzle now accompanying the pounding of his footsteps.

Gently catching the dark-haired man's arm as he fell beside him once more, he mumbled, "The weather will only get worse, y'know. Do you really want to keep walking?"

But Zexion merely tilted his head and walked on, shaking rain out of his eyes and hair as the atmosphere all around them thickened with the increasing downpour, and the musician sighed, dropping his head obediently and trudging after his friend. The drumming of feet on cobblestones and faint splash of puddles as several people ran towards shelter registered in his ears as still they walked in silence, but Demyx kept his eyes on the ground, rain pounding into the bare skin on the back of his neck and plastering hair into his eyes and clothing against his frame. He winced once when his boots waded through a particularly deep puddle, teeth chattering as he stumbled and kicked in the air to shake the water out of the soles of his shoes, but other than that he strolled calmly and quietly in Zexion's wake, without a clue as to where they were going.

The walk was long, the two traversing up and down the many streets of Hollow Bastion, through the cold, in the rain. So it rather surprised him when suddenly a quick tug on his arm on Zexion's part ended the trip by dragging his reluctant form inside a foreign place radiating with warmth. Blinking, lifting his head as he shook the rain-laden bangs from his vision, he glanced around a plain looking lobby, eyes falling lastly on his soaked friend as he leaned over and squeezed the water out of his cloak.

Before he could open his mouth, however, Zexion was walking again, quickly jabbing his finger against a button that indicated going up. Crossing his arms, the dark-haired male stepped back, eyes closed as he kept his chin lowered, and, with a sigh, Demyx walked towards the elevator doors, not wanting to appear rude by just leaving so suddenly and also not wanting to brave the outdoors again the way the lightning was now flashing.

Just as a sharp crack of thunder had him jumping, a bell sounded, the golden doors before them sliding open directly afterwards. Without hesitation Zexion stopped forward, turning around to rest his dark stare on Demyx, and, nervously, the dirty-blond hurried on before his chance was lost. Shifting hesitantly inside, the entrance to the moving contraption closing moments after he leaned his back against the far wall, the musician sighed, clicking his toes idly as the silence fell between them, nothing but the soft buzzing easing the tension he felt.

Sneaking a glance at his companion's profile, Demyx felt his face heat up, and he looked down again, twiddling his hands in embarrassment. He didn't know whether it was the weather or just the death of their previously long-lasting conversation that had prompted Zexion's silence, but now, as the elevator rose higher, the male stood brooding in the corner, arms crossed, look of determination in his eyes. And butterflies were bursting into flight within the musician's stomach, because he found himself unable to deny that the dark, foreboding manner of the dark-haired man was anything but hopelessly attractive.

Swallowing, Demyx sighed and cast his gaze onto the ceiling, he leaning more heavily against the wall at his back as he tried to count a rhythm in his head, making any attempt to soothe his nerves agitated by the reigning quiet. Finally the doors slid open, the rustle of Zexion's cloak signaling his movement into the hall, and Demyx was quick to follow, pushing hastily out of the elevator and padding over the carpet, at his friend's heels.

Dark head bowed as he rooted through his cloak for some desired object, the male's footsteps slowed, and Demyx, so close at this point, had to stop before he crashed into him, holding up his hands to catch his balance while simultaneously sucking in his breath. Face flaring, he hesitated in his steps and then shook his head as Zexion continued on, following the man at a careful distance now, cheeks stained a visible pink as he mumbled softly to himself continuous reprimands. He kept on doing so even as the dark-haired man stopped at his door and looked up, so that when he finally became aware of where he was and glanced over at the man, his face flared a deeper red when he caught the faint smile on his friend's lips.

"U-uh…" he stuttered in embarrassment, jumping back a little, stumbling over foot as he shook his head. "I-I…"

Leaning against his door, tilting his head, Zexion glanced away from Demyx momentarily, eyes casually sweeping down the hall before they flicked back to his sea green. Small smile on his lips, he lifted his chin, brows arched perfectly as he waited for the dirty-blond to continue. Blushing under his tension, completely wordless now that his friend's perfect stare was focused solely on him, he rubbed the back of his neck, lowered his head, and then glanced back up again, completely at a loss.

"S-so this is…" he fumbled, trying desperately to make conversation and failing spectacularly.

"My room, yes," came Zexion's voice at last, soft in tone, deep in sound as he continued to mesmerize Demyx with his brooding stare, as if he was waiting for something.

"Oh," the musician replied lightly, lips curving into a smile as he spared the door a pleasant glance. Then, grinning a little wider, he glanced back to his friend, that same calculating stare almost encouraging him. Tilting his head, smile lessening a little, he tried to interpret the silent message directed towards him. And then, as he completely relaxed against the barrier, it clicked. "O-oh!" he stammered, blushing, pulling back as he raked one hand through his hair nervously. "Oh, I-I…"

"Oh?" Zexion articulated, one perfect brow arched as he crossed his arms tighter across his chest, rain collected in his hair trailing in drops along his chin and down his nose in random intervals as the sitarist watched. Holding his breath, eyes glancing to a thin mouth and then away, he scratched at his cheek with a shaking hand, uneasy smile rising and falling on his lips.

"I didn't…I mean that's not…no, I-I-I…"

Sighing, slipping his hand down the door, the dark-haired male walked closer to him, Demyx flinching as he blushed and fiddled with the jacket clinging to his thin frame. As he was doing so, concentration completely on his present action, two warm, gloved hands closed around his wrists, and as he glanced up, startled, Zexion pulled the dirty-blond down to his height, lips crashing against his as all the musician could do was stare with startled eyes and remain positively stiff with shock. The man was insistent, however, harshly letting go of Demyx's wrists to tangle his fingers in his matted-down hair, and, gasping softly, he allowed his eyes to flutter to a close, nervousness relaxing completely from his shoulders.

Stumbling over-foot when Zexion pulled away, eyes glazed over and lips slightly parted as he panted for breath, the smallest smirk floated to the dark-haired man's countenance as he fitted the key into his door and pushed it open, glancing back with a pointed look. Blushing, looking down, Demyx hesitated, biting his lip, darting his eyes about as he avoided the man's stare. He hardly knew this person, though he held him already in his heart as his dear friend, so he didn't want to ruin this relationship they had between them. But, while he wasn't in love, the sudden emotions racing so frantically and insistently within him were undeniable, and he wanted what Zexion was artfully hinting at, of that he was certain.

So, swallowing painfully and then lifting his sheepish gaze from the carpet, he in embarrassment reached for the dark-haired man's hand, intertwining their fingers automatically. Upon establishing compliance through contact, they then together disappeared into the more calming darkness of Zexion's room, door closing behind them.

-- - --

Hands linked behind his head easily, expression composed and relaxed as he lingered a ways away from the group gathered about the stall, he sighed softly, tilting his head as he lifted his gaze to the heavens, and then he dropped his gaze just as quickly, shoulders falling. Not once, in the whole time that summer had fallen upon them, had the sun shown its face in that sky.

He was tiring of rainfall. He was tiring of thunder and lightning and storms that shook their apartment building on bad nights. He was tiring of Hollow Bastion in general.

But he couldn't tell Roxas; not yet. For one, he couldn't bear to do it, afraid that he'd break the fragile heart within the blond's chest that had just begun to heal. After all, here they all were, cluttering the cobblestone streets of the business square, Roxas tentatively interacting with Hayner, Pence, and Olette as he sent his dirty-blond-haired former friend awkward smiles and stiff jokes or nudged the pretty brunette ever at his side in the arm as he pointed out some ridiculous little trinket. He was softening towards them, ever since words had been exchanged and punches had been thrown in that alleyway as a form of reconciliation. Now, as Sora watched, eyes pained and smiled forced, he noticed that his cousin was far happier than he'd been upon his arrival nearly a year ago, his form comfortable and the air about him light and calm. He didn't want to see that fade away.

And for another thing, Sora didn't even know how to explain himself. Here he was, reunited with the cousin he loved like a brother, in the business capital of the world, on scholarship to one of the most prestigious colleges in the world, on his way to making a name for himself despite to his low social standing and yet due to his impressive accomplishment…and he wanted to return to seclusion. Roxas wouldn't understand, that he knew, and the blond would probably hate him for his decision. There was no reason why he shouldn't.

Easing apart his linked hands as he kept himself away from the fun they were all having as a kind of penance, the brown-haired youth lifted his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly as he lowered his eyes and heaved a sigh, his worries clenching tightly in his stomach. A part of him truthfully didn't want to leave the place he'd grown accustomed to calling home; he loved equally the experiences he'd had and the acquaintances he'd made, so it would be hard to let all of that go in the end.

"Sora!"

Looking up with a start, the boy let his arms fall and cocked his head to the side, curious expression easing away the trouble from his features as his eyes connected with his cousin's. Arms crossed, countenance stern as the blond leveled him with a disapproving stare, Roxas arched one brow questioningly, but Sora managed a real smile for the youth, laughing as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"You all right?" the boy pressed, despite his skillful theatrics, and Sora nodded enthusiastically. "You seem kinda…off today."

"It's fine, Rox," he persisted, beaming as he walked over to his cousin and clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "You worry too much. I've just been thinking, that's all. Go back and hang with your friends."

The stiffness in the blond's shoulders eased beneath his touch, and then Roxas batted his hand away, lopsided grin in place as he shook his head and jerked his thumb towards the three turned away from them and gathered still around the stall. "They're going to hang here; I told them I was heading off, and they decided not to come."

Sora blinked. "Where're you going?"

Grin gentling on his lips as he shook his head almost childishly, his cousin grasped his wrist and pulled him along, the two heading slowly away from where Hayner, Pence, and Olette were browsing through souvenirs to no doubt bring back home to Twilight Town. "We're going to spend the day together, stupid. Y'know, be chummy and all that sentimental crap?"

Smile breaking out on his face, Sora laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh, Rox! You mean it?" he joked, immediately getting a punch in the shoulder from the smirking blond trying desperately not to laugh. Chuckling still, the youth ruffled his locks of brown hair, sincerely glad that his cousin, so quiet and withdrawn by nature, was becoming less and less temperamental as time wore on. He'd feared more than once that he'd lose his cousin, and consequently his only kin, to the demons within him, but Roxas was a fighter, it seemed, and he was faring well against his troubles at last.

Walking beside each other in amiable silence, Roxas with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Sora with his hands linked behind his head, the two cousins surveyed the marketplace teeming with life, he far more curious at the sights than the blond seemed to be. Admittedly, he probably shouldn't even be so awed at the multiple business transactions and rapid bartering occurring, but life had always been so calm and easy-going on Destiny Islands, so the liveliness of the town never ceased to astonish him as he moved through it.

A hand grasping his arm as he continued to walk on in a kind of daze, Sora blinked and looked over to see Roxas rolling his eyes at him, jerking towards another direction thereafter with his head and then dropping his previously claimed limb, walking the way he'd indicated. Laughing at his own expense, the darker-haired cousin jogged after the one leading, smile dancing on his lips and eyes alight as he lifted his head to all of the action surrounding them, delighting in being able to make memories with Roxas for once in such a place.

It wasn't often that the blond was even found caught in the midst of all of this, after all. He wasn't one to openly embrace rowdiness and raucous noise.

"Hate this place," Roxas was muttering now, as if answering Sora's musings, and the brown-haired boy had to cover his laugh, looking away as he stayed on his cousin's heels. "I can't believe you're enjoying yourself, Sora."

Grinning, the addressed boy shrugged. "It's an experience."

"'s a royal pain in the ass, is what it is…" was his grumbled reply, and this time Sora did laugh, cheerful voice ringing out loudly.

"Anyway, this is what I wanted to show you," Roxas continued, though the slight smile on his face confirmed that his mood had lightened. Waving with his right hand as he stopped in front of a stall hidden against one of the alleyway walls beneath an awning, the blond leaned down, Sora coming up curiously beside him and tilting his head. Shrugging, he followed his cousin's example, eyes falling to the contents on the table, and immediately he stiffened, hand stilled midair above the crafts.

"Remind you of the sea?" Roxas asked eagerly, smile not wide on his lips but bright in his eyes as he glanced up. The blond had been to Destiny Islands once in his entire life, and he'd always had a fond place in his heart for the small paradise, so no wonder he was excited at his discovery; and proud, of course, because it so represented Sora's home.

But that was the very thing that was killing him now, the memories rushing back as he forced a smile. Eyes burning, he gingerly lighted the tips of his fingers on a necklace made completely of thalassa shells, found only on the Islands of his home and Kairi's favorite of all shells to collect. Swallowing, smile faltering on his lips as he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the smooth surface and tilted his head, heart rushing back to the best friends he'd left behind, mind wondering what they were doing.

"Kairi," he whispered, vision blurring as he turned the carefully crafted necklace in his grip, fingers shaking evidently as he examined the object. He missed her. And he missed Riku. Gods above did he want to see them now, to hold both close, to laugh over old jokes as they made new memories together. In deciding to find his cousin, he'd sacrificed the two people he most held dear, and, if he had any regrets at all, that was the only one. Not a day passed when he didn't think of them, didn't miss them, but this was definitely one of the more painful revelations now, with him holding the thalassa shells in his hand and not seeing that ocean he loved in the distance, reassuring him that he was home.

"You want that necklace, Sora?" came a soft voice, and, startled, Sora glanced up, tear coursing down his cheek before he could prevent it, making Roxas blink in surprise and tilt his head the brown-haired boy's way. Shaking his head, laughing softly as he lifted his fingers to his face and carelessly wiped the offending teardrop away, he placed the thalassa shells back down, backing away.

"I can't afford it, Rox," he said lightly with a grin too big for his liking, shrugging easily at his cousin's insistent stare. "You know my job pays me nothing!" And he laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his head, letting his gaze trail desperately as he fought to escape his cousin's scrutiny. "Hey, Rox. Let's go over there!" he then said, and he started walking to the place he'd abruptly picked out and pointed to, wanting more than anything to just clear his head and calm his emotions.

Sighing heavily, spinning around, Sora leaned against the wall and slid down to the cobblestones, knees bent and arms thrown limply over them as he bowed his head and tried to breathe normally again, the tremble in his body quite unnerving. No matter what he did, though, be it shaking his head and closing his eyes tightly to force the images from his mind, or count backwards from ten to try to distract his thoughts with the practice, he failed to successfully dislodge Riku and Kairi for one moment from his heart. It was no good; the threads that kept them together were too intertwined now, and, no matter how hard it hurt to keep them so close, he couldn't tear himself free.

A shadow fell across the ground beside him, though he found it miraculous to see such without a sun in the sky, and, glancing up, Sora caught himself looking into a troubled oceanic gaze, the blond's eyes storming as he held out an object in his hand, which Sora found to be the necklace upon further inspection. Sighing, forcing a smile as he reached up and took the prize from his cousin's grasp, Sora leaned back against the wall as Roxas moved to sit beside him, tilting his head as he ran his thumb once more over the familiar, sea-worn surface.

He wondered if he'd hear the ocean if he put it next to his ear.

"Who's…Kairi?" Roxas asked hesitantly as the silence reigned between them, and, glancing up, eyes staring out at the people traipsing back and forth to different places right in front of them, Sora gave a reminiscent smile.

"One of my best friends back home," he said softly, voice fond yet still pained.

"Sounds more than that," the blond encouraged in a murmur, keeping his voice low for Sora's sake, so that perhaps the conversation would flow more easily. Sora smiled, knowing that not to be true, but it was the thought behind it that counted.

Lowering his eyes back to the thalassa shells, the brown-haired boy nodded hesitantly. "She doesn't know, of course; I've never told her."

"You went away never telling her…" Scoffing softly an ironic laugh, Roxas shook his head beside him; the gesture, though harsh at his expense, was somewhat soothing, he found. "You really can be such an airhead, Sora. She's probably…"

Wincing, the boy shrugged, not needing to hear the rest of his cousin's dropped off sentence to understand what he'd meant to say. "Yeah," was what he whispered. "I know."

Sighing, Roxas shifted beside him and then slung an arm around his shoulder, startling Sora greatly and prompting him to look over. Head bowed, eyes averted, his cousin pursed his lips, picking at the fabric of his pants deliberately with his free hand as he remained silent for a time, not explaining himself, not able to look up. Finally, he parted his lips, wincing before he said anything, and then murmured, "I'm…always here, y'know. For anything that's bothering you, Sora. I know that I haven't been the best person to have around…but…"

Leaning heavily against the blond, allowing him to trail off as he struggled for words, the brown-haired youth nodded, finding immense comfort in his kin's half embrace. Of course, it must've seemed odd, to see two boys who resembled each other collapsed against the wall in a business district, one looking severely discomforted, the other looking too tired for his youth, but, at the present, Sora didn't care. His heart ached, his head hurt, and his eyes itched with tears he wouldn't let fall, and still Roxas was there, was being his pillar of strength willingly for the first time since the brown-haired boy had walked back into his life, and, momentarily, that was enough to wash clean his deep-cutting wounds.

"Thanks, Rox," he murmured in relief, closing his eyes as he slumped further against the blond's frame, eyes fluttering to a close.

And as his cousin tightened his hold around him, perhaps needing the new comfort just as much as Sora presently did, the darker-haired boy lost himself to his surroundings, drifting off into a dreamless kind of sleep.

-- - --

It had been an experiment; simply that, no strings attached. He'd wanted to know if sleeping with the exotic musician would be enough, if, by doing so, he'd successfully force those sea green eyes and that infectious smile from his thoughts. He'd hoped to rid himself of this strange kind of desire for the dirty-blond-haired youth who was so persistently cheerful, argued that one small fling and numerous passionate kisses would be enough to satiate him so that he could move on, unaffected, without regrets.

In the end, the experiment failed. The hypothesis had been shaky at best; there had been no trial and error; he'd simply moved ahead without thinking first of the consequences. He'd given in to temptation without weighing the cons – for the pros were immeasurable – and now he was paying the price.

Standing where he was now, hand locked in the grip of the sitarist at his side smiling so hopefully and looking so obnoxiously happy, he found that he couldn't meet those sea-glass gems that sparkled with such vibrancy as Demyx looked about, enthusiastically chattering away. He felt disgusting, guilty, his insides raw and aching as he pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze in contempt, not used to such persisting feelings, unaccustomed to any remorse. Because he always thought before he acted, he walked away without any regrets; now, he'd made the biggest mistake he ever could have imagined, for he was leaving tomorrow, nothing in his path to hold him to that shabby hotel his eyes were tiring of seeing, and Demyx had attached himself to his side with the utmost trust in his heart.

Even worse, he'd grown comfortable around – fond of – the unbelievable idiot, too. Two weeks; that was all that it had taken for him ease into the comfort of the sitarist's life. And he was unnerved by such a revelation.

"Hey, Zexy?" Flicking dark eyes to sea green, he narrowed his gaze dangerously, no doubt appearing furious outwardly. Truthfully, he rather liked that the ridiculous twist of his name rolled so musically off of Demyx's tongue, it sounding pleasant to his ears when normally, should anyone else say it, the nickname would make him cringe; and that he was so fond of it, that he so longed to hear the musician say it repeatedly, terrified him. "U-um…" he fumbled under the unrelenting stare, biting his lip as he tried to conceal his grin, and then finally he glanced away, profile and elegant curve of his neck still visible to Zexion's eyes. "What…what're you doing? You just keep…glaring at one spot."

Grunting, rolling his eyes as he closed his eyes and twitched his hand latched in Demyx's grip, he shrugged his shoulders. "Thinking. Most likely a foreign concept to you." If not under scrutiny, he would've cringed. His words meant nothing, but he doubted it seemed that way.

"Aww, don't be mad," Demyx laughed, a thing that startled Zexion into glancing over at him. He both regretted the action and reveled in it once made, because when his dark eyes flicked onto his companion's shining countenance, he quickly became lost in the swirling stare that immediately connected with his. Gentle smile curving those elegant, musical lips upwards, the dirty-blond-haired youth stepped in front of him with exaggeration, letting loose his hand to link both arms around the dark-haired scholar's neck. Jumping at the touch, which sent electric shocks through his body so that goose-bumps coursed his skin, he attempted to narrow his stare imposingly, conveying that he didn't want to be affectionate in public – or at all, because just such simple touches were absolutely killing him – but Demyx merely trilled another laugh in amusement. "What's bugging you, Zexy? Really?" And he leaned down gently, capturing his lips in such a painfully sweet manner that he found he couldn't control himself; reaching up, tangling his fingers once more into those dirty-blond locks, he deepened the kiss as his partner willingly submitted, arms moving to cling to his waist.

Growling as he parted from Demyx's mouth and trailed his lips along his chin and down that neck, he listened to the musician giggle or gasp, those skilled fingers that created such music on his instrument clenching and unclenching the folds of his jacket as he reacted. Memories of passion flooded back, of that night that was such a mistake and yet was the best thing Zexion truly had ever done for himself, and in desperation he returned to Demyx's mouth again, bruising the artistic lips that had sung him his own song on the promontory and had called his name in the dark and had murmured that they would forever be friends as they walked the streets of Hollow Bastion with their hands connected.

But it was only Demyx who believed in forever. This was his good-bye.

Parting, gasping for breath as his frame shook terribly with both desire and regret, he kept his hands holding the musician's face and urged it down to his level, leaning his forehead against the sitarist's as the other male mumbled happily and stroked his hair, every so often nipping at his lips to make Zexion suck in a breath in surprise. Always he kept his eyes down, not meeting Demyx's ecstatic stare when sometimes he'd be brave enough to capture the dark-haired man's mouth for small instances of butterfly kisses, not allowing himself to see the adoring grin the man wore unknowingly, the growing signs that his heart was filling with love. And he wondered grudgingly how he would end this so finally. He'd never had trouble finding words harsh enough to cut the truth into even the most stubborn person; but he'd never had to use the words to deny him the one thing he wanted more than anything he'd ever desired before.

Demyx. He needed Demyx. And now, after claiming him, after capturing that intractable innocence and hoarding that boundless beauty for himself, he had to deny himself the pleasurable company so finally.

For the first time, he could honestly say that he was the closest to happiness that he'd ever been, and in the company of a person, no less; and now he was running away.

"Demyx," he whispered hoarsely now, lifting his chin and his eyes at last to focus on the beautiful face; this was the last time he'd ever observe the musician, and the reality was a searing dagger in his heart, so that his hands slipped from those cheeks, clutching at the fabric over the youth's shoulders to hide their shaking. Cocking his head to the side, the addressed musician merely smiled calmly, waiting for him to continue as he threaded his fingers through his dark hair. "I'm leaving."

Immediately that hand stilled, and Zexion almost groaned in regret, the action so undeniably soothing to him. "What? But Zexy! We've only been out here for an hour!" he complained, and the dark-haired youth gritted his teeth painfully, realizing that he'd been horribly misunderstood. "Please, just a little longer! I know you hate the crowds but---!"

"Dem!" he growled shortly, and obediently the musician fell silent. "Demyx…" he corrected with a heavy sigh, and the dirty-blond tilted his head, smile returning slightly. "I don't know how to put this gently so you'll understand me, but I'm leaving Hollow Bastion. Tomorrow. I won't be here anymore." Shaking his head tiredly as he edged back and pressed his fingertips against his temple, he pursed his lips momentarily and then growled, "Understand?"

"Oh," came the small voice, and hesitantly Zexion flicked dark eyes into his companion's wounded face, smile vanished, gaze downcast. The youth looked absolutely crushed, he pulling away as he fiddled with his hands speechlessly and chewed on his lower lip. Looking off to the side, the dark-haired man sighed in exasperation, the sound dwindling into a growl of displeasure, and he made to go, when suddenly that musical voice claimed brightly, "Oh! Well, of course you couldn't stay forever. I mean, it's not like you live here!" Laughing brightly, Demyx clapped his hands together once, and warily Zexion shot him a glance, suspicious of that genuine happiness on the young male's countenance. "And you can always come to visit! It's not like I'm going anywhere."

He stiffened at the musician's words, perhaps having known they were coming all along. Overly optimistic by nature, Demyx repeatedly failed to grasp his meaning, refusing to see anything but good in his actions, and thus Zexion was doomed to hurt him. The fact of the matter was, while he had choice to stay, choice to be happy, choice to make Demyx happy, he was far too unwilling to remain in Hollow Bastion, to give up being alone, to take a chance at something far more foreign than open roads and empty hotel rooms. He was selfish at heart, unknowing of how to do anything for anyone but himself, and he was a solitary figure who had room in his life for only books and facts and statistics.

He couldn't give up the only life he'd ever known on a mere whim and shift of desire in his heart. In the end, Demyx was only another face in the crowd, another person too unreliable for him to count on, and so he was scared, and so he would run. That's how it always happened, but the musician, caught in his dreams of fame despite a cruel, carnivorous world and lost in frivolous talk of life-lasting friendships and true love, would never understand such a cruel practice.

So he would not escape unscathed from Zexion's words, no matter how gently he'd try to speak the truth.

"Demyx," he stated softly now, words holding no warmth, tone calculating and calm as he lifted his chin confidently but kept his eyes averted in guilt. "I won't be coming back."

There was silence, heavy, unbearable, gut-wrenching in the space between them, clawing at his mind and insides as his jaw tensed, visible eye trained on the figures in the distance hurrying around the pair, unaffected by his words spared to the life-loving musician whose heart was no doubt breaking in the quiet. It was perhaps the cruelest thing, that Zexion knew how much he was hurting Demyx and didn't stop himself; he was aware of every injury he was causing with his carefully-chosen words, and he wouldn't stop, not until the musician was completely shattered, not until that truth finally registered in his mind irrevocably.

"…why?" came the pathetic whisper, the only words Demyx could think to spare him, the only reaction he had at all. It seemed he understood faster than Zexion had given the sitarist credit for. He knew that this was it, that with the flutter of a cloak and his retreating footsteps it would be the last time Zexion would linger in the business district of a town he'd never grown to even like in his two-week stay.

Sighing, finally meeting the musician's eyes, he cringed imperceptibly at the tears brimming in that sea green gaze, knowing full well that he was the cause of such hurt. "I never look back to places I've traveled to," he drawled simply, voice cold, eyes hard as bitter acid burned his tongue with every word. "I don't believe the past to be important."

The pained wince in Demyx's features made Zexion bite his tongue, so that he had to resort to all of his strength so as not to cringe from the taste of blood. "I'm…not important?" he whispered, lips trembling, eyes refusing to shed tears even as his stare wavered and he had to drop it to the ground, right hand pulling on the sleeve of his left arm, shoulders shaking evidently as Zexion watched so masochistically. It was killing himself to see the musician hurt so, and still he watched, though not knowing why.

Stepping back, boots scraping against the cobblestones and calling Demyx's gaze to attention, Zexion felt his stomach flinch at the look of panic in the youth's face, the way he so helplessly reached forward for the dark-haired man's arm and then stopped himself when the scholar pulled more hurriedly back. Hiccupping, biting his lip hard as he watched, Demyx looked on pleadingly, waiting still for Zexion's answer, and in that moment the dark-haired male realized that he loathed himself. To see such a beautifully hopeful person reduced to what he now was, because of him, his words, his decision…it made him sick with disgust.

Yet all he could do was walk away. And, turning from the dirty-blond, closing his eyes tight, he kept his shoulders straight and kept his stare focused ahead, composed for all passersby to see and looking absolutely assured as he stated firmly, "No."

He started walking then, having never meant to lie to Demyx, having wanted to always be honest with any person he found himself in the company of; yet now, he was leaving the musician, a person he admittedly cared for, with only a terse, monosyllabic falsehood that signaled his farewell. Demyx was important, was everything that made Zexion wish he could change his ways just for that lifelong bliss the beautiful boy promised, but nothing could alter the fact that now he was leaving, his words irreversible, his mind made up.

Hair veiling one eye, stare hardened to ice over all remorse evident, he kept his pace calculated and calm, abandoning the musician to his grief as the flutter of his cloak signaled his good-bye, lips mouthing the farewell he just couldn't bring himself to say.

-- - --

End of part two. Please review!