I'm not sure this really goes anywhere or concludes at all. It's a drabble at its most drabbley-est. From Vexen's point of view again, I've been trying to write more from his point of view since I do a lot with Marluxia without really planning it that way.


Feel


Before Vexen had lost his heart…before he'd really been Vexen at all really…he'd felt a great many things.

Even was a nervous person by nature, anxiety was something he'd felt almost constantly as a Somebody. It could be almost crippling at times, and he'd actually been pleased to find that while he hadn't lost it completely…anything that could be caused by something other than emotions tended to stick around…it didn't affect him quite as much as it used to.

Even was a fearful person by nature as well, especially of those he knew were more powerful than he was…fear, he'd decided, was more instinctual than it was emotional.

He still had quite a lot of fear. Fear was what had gotten him into the mess he was in now. Fear of Xemnas's wrath…fear of Marluxia's reckless youth and fear that his promises to harm him were not carelessly made…

Fear of…things he would rather not understand completely.

Even had, often times felt alone. Xenohart and Dilan both tended to keep to themselves, Braig was impossible to talk to without being constantly insulted…Aeleus and Ienzo were constantly together and Even had never been sure if he'd really wanted his suspicions about just how together confirmed.

Because of that he'd been very much so alone, even when interacting with the others. He liked to tell himself he preferred it, but the overwhelming freedom that came from no longer being concerned with it when he became Vexen made it more obvious than he would have liked that it actually had bothered him.

Despite having told himself he preferred being isolated, Even had, on the rare occasion felt attraction beyond that of occasionally unavoidable arousal that came with being male and a young man at the time, usually just a glimmer of something, easily quashed and forgotten. Nothing ever came of these particular feelings and they were also ones he decided he was glad that he no longer had.

Lust though, lust was not an emotion and Vexen was still capable of it. Perhaps more so in the absence of the things that had previously cluttered his senses.

That he was not pleased about. Lust was just as capable as fear when it came to getting him into trouble.

Though this time it had less to do with Xemnas.

He couldn't help but wish it had a bit less to do with Marluxia though.

He knows that there are certain things he has in fact stopped feeling for certain…joy in his scientific discoveries for example. There's a sort of smug shadow of the exuberance he used to display whenever he successfully completes something, but the delight he used to find in his work is gone.

He cannot properly feel sadness either, though it does have the habit of echoing in his memories on particularly bleak times, such as this one. He should have slept hours ago, even if he hasn't done so properly in years. He should have slept simply to keep himself from doing this. From thinking so intently on Xemnas' belief that their emotions are truly gone. By all means, he should be exhausted. He's managed to wear out the younger man curled next to him thoroughly enough that he lost all concern for keeping up appearances and is now snoring quietly against Vexen's side, his mouth hanging open, a little puddle of drool collecting on his pillow.

How attractive…he mumbles every now and then as well, a sated smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.

If only lust would remain and not come and go and waves, perhaps he would not be so acutely aware that repulsion apparently has nothing to do with having a heart either. Whenever they come to this, it's happening more frequently now that Marluxia has something to hold against him, initially there is no remorse, as loathe as he is to admit it. Marluxia feels wonderful when he's actually enjoying himself and as much as he despises the man in the light of day, he's almost bearable when his selfish actions are providing Vexen just as much benefit as himself.

After though, when Marluxia feels no need to speak…it's almost worse when he wants to, once the moment has passed Vexen really doesn't want to hear from him at all…Vexen is left to his thoughts and his slanted notes written in tiny, concise letters across pages and pages of whichever worn notebook he's carried into the bedroom with him that particular night.

He hates times like this.

And hate…hate is most certainly something that can be felt. Hate is something that a lack of a heart amplifies, not mutes. It has replaced almost everything else he used to feel with any real sort of consistency and at times like this…times when it's so strong he can literally feel bile rise up in his throat and he has to turn away from the slumbering form beside him to keep him from mashing his hand into his pretty, lying face and making him bleed just to alleviate his own suffering…that he desperately misses his crippling anxiety, his naïve insecurities, his sullen loneliness…even those desperate fleeting moments of aching want for the companionship of another living, loving human being.

Anything would be better than what's been left for him.

Were Vexen left to wallow in his own thoughts and miseries in times like this, it is entirely possible that the Darkness would swallow him whole, finally taking the rest of what it had staked claim to all those years ago.

He supposes the fact that Marluxia manages to wake each time, just in time, to take the notebook and pen away, set them aside and pull Vexen against his chest, whispering pretty little nothings into his ear should be something he's thankful for.

Thankfulness though…was not something he'd ever truly felt.


Review Please.

Also, I forgot to mention last time, if you have any words for my one word prompts, give them to me please. I'd like to do one entirely from words suggested to me.