A/N: I said it was going to be November, and it still is (technically)! And even thought it's really the last DAY of November I have still kept my promise! Bwahahahaha (God bless the loopholes…XDXDXD) Well, in any case, I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving. I really had two because I have two separate families XD Argh, I got fat; I just know it… -pokes stomach-

Oh, it has come to my attention that yes, I am using the same title as Linkin Park's album Hybrid Theory. Darn, I have been found out. Although it is MUCH belated I think I should still make this because it just feels right. So, mini-DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the title Hybrid Theory; obviously (as stated above) it belongs to the rockin' group of Linkin Park .When I angst, it is you I listen to X3

Enjoy.

Fact: Emotions Don't Help the Mind

It was just going to be one of those evenings, Zexion surmised. He was already at Demyx's house – not inside mind you, but waiting dubiously at the front door.

Finding the house had been the easy part. Zexion didn't find it at all surprising when he discovered Demyx's house was the only one whose lawn was overgrown and bushes in dire need of a trim. And for some queer reason, there was a wreath of daises hung on the door – as if the fact this was Demyx's house wasn't ominous enough. Zexion had a sinking feeling he'd lose a drastic amount of brain cells here.

Okay, yes, melodrama aside…

He knocked one, twice, then waited. Nothing. He knocked again, firmer this time. Still nothing.

"You invite me against my will and yet you haven't the initiative to even be home?" Zexion fumed in agitation. Then he heard something – it was very vague; perhaps he had imagined it? No, there it was again, faintly. It sounded like…

The slate-haired teen pressed his ear against the door. Yes, the sound was definitely there and it was…a piano? Zexion strained to hear. That was a piano being played – quite well actually even though the tune sounded simple. Then there was a voice. The words – lyrics, perhaps – were incoherent behind the wooden door, but Zexion could tell it was a woman.

Alright, now wonder no one could hear him. He spotted the doorbell and immediately pressed it firmly. The bell echoed in the house but the pianist continued on. Just as the teen growled in frustration, he heard footsteps run frantically down stairs.

"Hey Mom, was that the bell?" Ah, that would be Demyx. Zexion knocked this time and stood back a bit.

"Hmm?" the responding voice was faint but the music stopped abruptly. "What did you say?"

"Ma, no one can hear the door if you're playing," Demyx explained impatiently, his voice getting louder as he approached the front entrance. Locks clicked and turned and soon Zexion was staring up into bright aqua eyes. "Hey, you made it!" the swimmer exclaimed with a wide smile.

"Evidently," Zexion replied flatly, hugging his binder to his chest. "And I must congratulate you on your punctuality."

Demyx snorted. "So is the sarcasm just a package deal with you?" Not bothering for an answer, he stepped aside. "Well, come on in now. Sorry I didn't answer you earlier, but Ma was practicing in the music room."

And then as if on cue, a woman who had a striking resemblance to Demyx entered the entranceway. Her skin was fair, her hair straight and the same dirty blonde as her son. Her lips were a bit fuller, but anyone would be able to spot the same childish glint in her apple-green eyes. She smiled sincerely and extended a hand. Zexion noted her perfect pianist fingers – long and thin.

"Hello, I'm Demyx's mother, Iri," she greeted in a chipper voice, not at all fake like other mothers seemed to use.

Tentatively, Zexion shook her hand and nodded tersely. "Zexion Anderson. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Watera," he replied politely, releasing her hand. To his surprise, she chuckled.

"Demyx told me you were well-mannered," she commented through her unwavering smile. It was then Zexion noticed the laugh lines around her eyes. "But if it's all the same, Iri works fine."

The slate-haired teen nodded, giving his signature neutral answer. Iri looked down at him in apology. "Sorry about my playing, but I didn't expect you so soon. Did you come right after school? You still have your uniform on," she noted, scrutinizing the THS uniform. Demyx had probably long since changed, now decked in baggy jeans and a weird tie-dye shirt.

"Yes, well, I have a curfew," Zexion explained tersely, hugging his binder even closer. Luckily, Demyx saved him from further conversation as he said,

"Okay Mom, stop pestering the guy. We're gonna be up in my room now studying."

Iri chuckled. "Now there's a word I don't hear come out of your mouth often," she murmured. Offering another smile, she said, "Well alright. Be sure to tell me if you need anything, okay, sweetie?" To Zexion's astonishment, he saw that the question was directed at him.

He frowned, not exactly used to being addressed as 'sweetie'. "Um…I'll make sure to comply when the time comes," he replied quietly, fidgeting slightly. Zexion was never shy, yet he felt incredibly meek all of a sudden. He surmised it was the maternal feeling in the air.

Iri smiled and waved them off. "I'll be on the piano for another few minutes, so close the door if you'd like, Demyx."

"Gotcha," the blonde replied, suddenly taking Zexion's arm and dragging him upstairs. When they made it to the second landing, Demyx released him and sighed. "Sorry about that, Mom can get overfriendly sometimes."

Instead of retorting with a comeback, Zexion found himself asking a question. "Is she…always so happy?"

"Please, this is her in a bad mood," Demyx informed with a roll of his eyes. "She's a piano teacher and really loves music. So I doubt she actually like, meant it when she says 'another few minutes'. I think she's the one I get my ADD attitude from…" He went down the hall to an open door. "Well, this is my room in here. Take a seat wherever you find space. And er," he flushed slightly, "sorry about the mess. I tried to clean-up before you came, but since you came early and all, I didn't get very far on it…"

And as soon as the slate-haired teen stepped inside, he found himself immediately agreeing to the lack of cleanliness. Amongst the litter of clothes, DVDs, CDs and paper, there was really only one small space to sit in. The swimmer's bed was also occupied with a weird stringed instrument and his uniform (let's not also forget the bed was additionally unmade). There was a closed closet that Zexion suspected held more than clothes and to his right was a tank, within it a large mud-coloured snake. The teen widened his eyes upon seeing it, which Demyx noted.

"Oh, don't worry. Beat's harmless," he assured, clearing away as much space as he could. "Actually, he's pretty mellow – happy just looking around at things around him. Oh see? He's checking you out right now."

And of all the outlandish things that had happened to Zexion, being studied by a snake was topping the weird scale. He nodded in reluctant acknowledgment, not bothering with words.

After making a reasonable amount of space, Demyx smiled. "Do you want to play with him? He really is calmer than most snakes."

Beat, as if listening in on the conversation, burrowed deeper in his terrarium until most of his self was hidden beneath rock and sand. Quite honestly, Zexion couldn't have rejected the idea any better.

"I believe we're here to study?" the teen reminded, holding out his binder. "Math, preferably, since that is your weakest point."

"You don't believe in wasting words, do you?"

"I don't believe in wasting efforts, either," Zexion added as a retort. Sighing, he put his binder down and rubbed his temples as if agitated. "Let's get this straight now, Demyx Watera: I'm not here to be your so-called 'buddy'. I do not seek friendship. I'm not here so you can waste my time. I'm here to simplify your education so that you may understand the material to go on with your life so that I may go on with mine."

The swimmer's brows furrowed in what looked to be hurt, to the teen's surprise. But the emotion was only present for a moment before the blonde gave an upbeat smile. "Sure, whatever you say," he said. Translated into jock terms (the language that Zexion was almost fluent in now), the statement meant something along the simple lines of, "Hell" and "no".

Oh how plentiful were bad omens today…

"You really don't take me seriously, do you?" Zexion asked incredulously.

To this, Demyx countered with, "Do you take me seriously?"

Why would I take you seriously? Give just one good reason now. Honestly, just one. But Zexion didn't answer; he knew when he was cornered. Not responding, he merely sat on the floor next to Demyx and opened his binder. Surprisingly as he did so, the swimmer got a notebook and textbook out from under all the junk and mess. (It seemed like an amazing thing in and of itself that such things existed in the room..)

Seeing Zexion's stunned expression, Demyx smiled smugly. "We're starting with math, right?"

"…" Zexion swallowed his witty retorts and scowled. He hated being one-upped. Especially by a water-brained jock; especially by Demyx.

"…Then by using basic operations to solve the remaining values, the answer will be negative 3 plus or minus 17i over 2." Zexion put down his pencil and looked pointedly at Demyx. "Understood, yet?"

The swimmer's brows were furrowed in either deep concentration or severe agitation. He looked from the textbook to Zexion's somewhat complicated equations (at least to him they were…). Finally, he twisted his lips in a grimace and shook his head. "Ah…no. That's pure gibberish to me right there."

Zexion sighed – not bothering to hide how weary he was becoming. The two had been at this for almost two hours and the most progress made was Demyx being able to open the textbook to the right page. This, the teen concluded, was utterly pointless. And if Demyx possessed any shred of intellect, he'd come to the same conclusion as well.

And apparently he had. "Listen, I'm sorry," he apologized, looking down. "I want to learn the material, but I…I just never get it. And even with you here explaining and breaking down for me like I'm a fucking retard…it's still hard."

Zexion blinked incredulously. Never before had he witnessed a jock so…self-dejected. Pissed off, all the time. Lusting after cheerleaders, just as often. But the crestfallen expression on Demyx's face was something utterly new. It made Zexion feel a little awkward.

He sighed again and brushed his bangs out of his face, knowing they'd only fall back into place. "Okay, um…look, we can just try again tomorrow. It was first day and I think I went too fast…" Zexion grimaced, trying to feign actual concern. He began placing his papers back inside his binder. "So don't…mentally kill yourself over it. We still have the whole semester."

Demyx looked up in surprise, but didn't say anything.

"What time do you what me to come tomorrow?" Zexion asked slowly, trying to pretend that Demyx wasn't staring at him so intensely.

Finally whatever had the blonde so zoned out went away, as if a bubble had been popped. "Huh? You still want to do it tomorrow?" he asked, almost incredulously. "I mean, you don't have anything else to do?"

"I was under the impression it was my obligation to help you pass your classes," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "In any case, I need to be going home now. Thanks for the…hospitality."

Demyx's face lit up. "No problem! Come by anytime you want!"

"You…" Zexion murmured to himself but loud enough for the swimmer to hear, "you're just going to milk this for all its worth aren't you?"

"I'll get you to come around at some point," Demyx agreed with a confident smile. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Oh hey, I'll walk you to the door," he offered, beginning to get up.

Zexion held up a hand in protest. "No, that's fine, I can escort myself," he assured hastily, starting to back up blindly, which was a really bad thing to do when you're in Demyx's room. He stepped back and began to stumble on what felt like a cord around his ankles.

"Whoa!" Demyx exclaimed, grabbing Zexion's flailing hand only to go down with him with an uncomfortable thud. Zexion groaned in slight pain, not expecting it to hurt so much when his head landed on the ground. And then there was something heavy over him… "Hey, are you okay?"

Zexion's eyes widened quickly, his cheeks starting to feel really hot. I mean, for God's sake please don't say that Demyx was really on top of him! The swimmer shifted until he was hands-and-knees above the slate-haired teen. Oceanic eyes frantically scanned Zexion, probably checking for nonexistent bruises or bloody messes. "Sorry, oh crap, are you okay, Zexy?"

The teen put his hands on the body above him but only flushed further when he unconsciously noted how smooth Demyx's skin felt, even underneath the clothing. Trying to maintain his regular persona, he mumbled sheepishly, "I told you it's not 'Zexy'."

That caused Demyx to laugh, but only for a short moment as he no doubt felt the pair of hands over his chest. Tan cheeks immediately flushed red. "O-oh, sorry! Sorry! I'll get off now! Sorry!"

"Stop apologizing," Zexion ordered, but it probably lacked the sharpness his words usually had. He sat up and rubbed his smarting head as Demyx rolled off him. "Ow, are your floorboards…made of steel or something?"

"And here I thought you were a hard-head," the blonde countered, still looking like he was trying to shrug off the awkward moment of their position. "Um…I'll clean up better next time so something like that doesn't happen again."

"Most advisable," Zexion agreed, picking up his binder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Demyx."

Bright aqua eyes lit up in what was undoubtedly happiness. "Dude, that is the first time you've said my name!" he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face. A highly obnoxious yet contagious smile that nearly had the corners of Zexion's lips perk upward as well.

Frowning, he mused, "Is it? I hardly think that is a celebratory experience."

Demyx chuckled. "It is to me!"

"…" Zexion turned around and slowly walked down the hallway, trying not to picture that (incredible) smile in his head. "Good-bye Demyx."

"You said it again!" came the excited reply. It took a lot of Zexion's willpower not to chuckle.

It was already night when the front door to the Anderson residence clicked open, shrieked on its hinges, and slammed closed. The autumn air slipped in, momentarily surrounding Zexion in a cool draft. Not even glancing up from the book he was reading. He said softly, "You're a bit tardy coming home. Get into another one of your fisticuffs?"

"…" Fuu didn't say anything in reply, not that the teen had expected her to. Her footsteps echoed in the empty and deathly-quiet house, though they were slightly…irregular. And Zexion quickly caught on to that.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, trying to keep his apathy in check; trying to sound as sincerely worried as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, like her brother, Fuu wasn't easily tricked. She scoffed, code for, Don't act like you care. And who was Zexion to deny a demand like that? His younger sister was in gangs for goodness sake; the teen's strength was in his brain, not his brawn.

Gingerly, he turned a page, knowing that even the slight crackle of paper could set his sibling off. "I made some dinner and left some in the refrigerator. Help yourself to it." Wearily, he added, "Father isn't home yet. I suspect overtime is to blame."

Fuu made another sound of displeasure. "Of course…" she murmured tersely in her usual monotone of a voice. It lacked about the same kind of feeling Zexion's did. Who knew that one of the (and probably the only) things they had in common was their indifference? But Fuu was a bit worse – she never spoke more than two syllables. Hadn't in years.

Zexion spoke before he could stop himself. "At least he's contributing to society instead of deteriorating it with meaningless violence." It was silent for a long time, the meaning of the sentence lingering painfully in the air. Zexion grimaced, knowing he'd hurt his younger sister in some way. He sighed guiltily. "Listen, Fuu-"

Ptoo! A dark flash of red flew across the room and landed on the previously flawless white carpet. Zexion stared at the crimson blot in shock but he was even more stunned at the state and expression of his sibling's face. Like her brother, a veil of short hair covered one of her eyes, but the one that was visible had a clear sign of resentment concealed within them. Blood slowly ran down her bruised lips and her clothes were blotched with smeared marks of red – her plasma or someone else's, Zexion didn't really want to know.

She tore her gaze away and began limping down the hallway to her room. A million unsaid words lingered in the atmosphere, many of them cruel, but no one voiced them. No one wanted to waste words like that. At least, not in this household. Zexion waited until he heard the final slam of a door before bookmarking and closing his book.

When he was in the comfort of his own room, the slate-haired teen gently closed the door, making it a little audible so that his sister knew that he was confined within his own walls. His chest rose and slowly fell as he took a quiet deep breath. This was actually a typical day: a delinquent younger sister coming home marred, a father too busy to notice how there was something wrong with his children…and one slate-haired boy who surprisingly gave the situation little notice.

A queer memory came into his head all of a sudden. A woman with locks of periwinkle looked down at him with sad eyes as she whispered shakily, "Why did you both turn out like this? Why don't you ever tell me what's wrong?"

Zexion looked across at the vast darkness that night had given his room. He walked towards his bed and lay down with the tentativeness of a panther. He waited until closing his eyes to mull the memory over, musing the parting words and disappointed looks of his mother. The woman who had been out of his life for the past three years.

The teen opened his eyes, the air suddenly seeming way too hot. Warm chills went down his spine like desert winds. He shot up form his bed and went over to the desk that took up a corner of his room. Shakily, he opened a drawer and removed a sheet of paper. Turning his lamp on, Zexion settled onto his chair and removed a pen from a set of them held in a cup. He closed his eyes and tried to let the words flow into him as they always did.

Thought of you once today

But once was too much to remember…

There was a somewhat familiar clogged feeling in his chest, but Zexion ignored. Just like he ignored all his feelings. Writing was only to put a lid on the human emotions that had built up inside him – it was like pacifying a demon, knowing it'd come back later. But…Zexion didn't know how to completely exorcise these devils of feelings within him. But why? Feelings didn't help you in life. Love and hate only threw the world in controversy. That was a fact.

The weight in his chest eased up a little. Yes…fact, that's right. The one safe-zone of the world. Simultaneously thinking up new facts and writing down his burrowed feelings, the teen began to feel better; newer…

…number.

For some odd reason, he wished Demyx was there.

Xelruna: Alright and here's to a new chapter! I thought this would be easy to write, but before I knew it I was typing more and more until the chapter eventually formed into this. I hope it's not bad. But I felt that we should know more background info on Zexion's family as well as delve deeper into him. Zexion really isn't as cold-hearted as this; that should become apparent as the fic goes on. Actually, the plot should really be going faster now. Should.

In any case, I know its been awhile, and wow a LOT has happened. But you can just check my profile if you want to read what's been up with me (readers: just get on with it; we don't care about your miniscule life). T.T

So, am I still worthy of a review?