I have the distinct feeling that you guys will hate me for this one... you knew it was coming, goddamn it. There's a reference to Sylvia Plath's poem "Daddy" in here. Can't miss it. There's a lot of stuff I neglected to point out earlier, though... so I might go back and do that later.

As usual, this has been beta'd by the wonderful Mousewolf. Go give props, damnit! She puts up with my shit so you guys can have bittersweet goodness to read! XD

Well, here's to the men we've all come to love so much. They're silly bastards and they both got them some major flaws.

Here goes again... (please, please read and review? And enjoy this one as much as you can... I know it's hard...)

:: October ::

Demyx's purple hair looks good on him… strange in a way, but still good. For some reason, he reminds Axel of grape flavored Jolly-Ranchers. And like a hard candy, he has his mouth all over the kid all of the time, finding ways to explore the gentle curves, hard angles with his tongue, gathered lips.

Demyx is completely willing too, but more and more often his blue eyes are downcast.

The printing press is so depressed.

Demyx feels like shit and Axel can't find the words.

"I love you," he whispers desperately, blue eyes filled with a strange brand of fear. His voice is pleading now, "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

Axel knows there's a whole lot he wants to say, but he can't speak.

"Love me, Axel…" he begs, nothing but a heap of raw nerves and abject misery, "Don't leave me here all alone…"

Axel gathers the former blond into his arms and quiets him with a kiss. He tucks his lover's head under his chin, smothers himself with that vibrant grape hair.

"I love you, Dem…"

But I don't know if I can win this one…

--- ---

It's not blatant touches that turn Demyx on. It's not the hungry kisses, the suggestive touches, the occasional rough ass-grab; it's the soft brushes, the friendly lips on his cheek, the hand ruffling his hair, the gentle hugs. He seeks attention from his lover more and more these days, becoming more and more pensive.

Meltdown is imminent.

--- ---

"Shit happens," Axel said with a shrug. His eyes were like black holes, swallowing the light greedily just like they swallowed that pretty apple-green, leaving cold emeralds. Demyx bristled.

"You're a complete douche!" he screamed, "How could you fucking say that? You completely ignored me, you ran off with Luxord and now you're fucking stoned on the couch telling me 'shit happens' when the car's sitting in some impound lot somewhere minus the fucking whole front end? Do you know what kind of shit you'd be in if I hadn't gotten Saïx to help me pick your punk-ass up?"

Axel remained stubbornly silent. Contrary as ever, picking one of many scabs on his forearm. He's laced with minor cuts and bruises, but otherwise he's fine.

"Mother of fucking god!" Demyx seethed, stomping across the room in his rage. He slipped into the bedroom, through to the bathroom and climbed into the tub. He cried. He didn't want to lose on this one. He clutched at his shattered heart and cried for his sanity. He was slowly but surely dying inside, decaying from the core out like an apple with a worm in it…

And Axel was the worm.

He spent fifteen minutes wondering if Axel would appear in the doorway to comfort him, maybe even apologize, and as pathetic as it was, he knew everything could get better if that happened. He was starting to feel like a beaten wife: angry as all living hell with his abusive lover, but too scared to leave. He couldn't imagine life without Axel.

Well, Axel appeared in that doorway… but the knight's armor was lookin' pretty rusty.

"Move. I need a shower."

It was the final fracture, the tiny seam that shattered the spine of what was left of Demyx's composure. He rose jerkily, strode swiftly toward his lover and landed a perfect roundhouse on Axel's chin. The redhead fell away, landing in a painfully awkward position on the hard floor. He looked up with a mixture of pure rage and shock on his face, kneading a busted lip. Blood dribbled down onto his shirt and only then did he hiss in pain. He was lucky his lip ring hadn't broken his teeth.

"What the fuck!?" he snarled.

"Fuck you, Axel! I can't fucking take this any more!" Demyx screamed, the tears flowing liberally, hands hooked into his hair, pulling hard. "I can't take it. I-I'm going away… forever."

He paused, voice falling to the lowest note; breathing, heart,

(my fucking heart Christ it hurts don't let me ever have one again)

mind finally slowing. Now all he was left with was an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

"Fine. Be my guest," Axel hissed malevolently, "Get your shit and leave."

Demyx stopped breathing completely. He could have sworn his heart skipped a few beats.

"What?"

"You heard me," Axel spoke more boldly, unfolding himself from the floor, eyes bright with madness, "You're not welcome here! Get out!"

And Demyx did.

--- ---

A call is made to the police. Demyx explains the wreck. Not much chance of the redhead getting in too much trouble, what with all his connections, but the boy doesn't care. Demyx will have his revenge in whatever flavor it will come.

All he really gets in the end is a whole lot of pain.

It was all just a waste of time.

--- ---

"Demyx, you have to eat something… anything…" Saïx urged, stroking the distraught boy's forehead.

"It's October… and I'm twenty now…" he replied disjointedly. He stared at the wall, unwilling to move. For god's sake, he was barely breathing on his own at this point.

No will to live.

And no ill will to speak of.

"Demyx…"

"It's October, Saïx," he says again, "I always wanted to die in November. Do you think I can hold out until then?"

Saïx tries to suppress a mournful sob, fails miserably.

"Demyx… stop talking like that!"

"He bit my pretty red heart in two…" Demyx said vacantly, then made a small, empty noise that might have once been a laugh. "Daddy, Axel, I hate you… but… I…"

Demyx writhed in agony. If he hadn't exhausted himself two days ago, he would have been crying. Saïx held the boy gently, stroking that soft, grape-candy hair and silently, he cried the tears Demyx couldn't. If there wasn't some sort of intervention soon, Demyx would most assuredly die. He was so close at this point that it was a frightening reality. But still, in some corner of his mind, Saïx never wanted to see Demyx in a thorazine induced stupor, not knowing who or where he was.

"Tell him…" Demyx gasped, suddenly reaching up to catch Saïx's tear-streaked face in his hands, "Tell him I loved him until the end, Saïx. Tell him he was always my love. Tell him he was my heart. Axel was my heart."

"Tell him yourself… just live a little longer," Saïx pleaded—for the first time in this life or the last, pleaded—the boy desperately, "Just a week?"

Demyx shuddered, finally nodded his consent.

"But, Dem - you have to eat something. Drink some water. You'll die too soon if you don't."

"Oh Saïx," Demyx sighed, a strange smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Can't you see? My heart is dead… I might as well follow."

No will to live.

No point; no purpose.

Funny how we talk in cliché when we're so blindly in love.

--- ---

Axel was a bleeder.

Demyx was a flat-liner.

In that, they were alike somehow.