I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its subsidiaries. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.

**This chapter is not safe for work (NSFW).**

XXIV.

Intense

There were some things that the summer still held onto.

Ienzo stopped avoiding Demyx. Started making errant conversation in the hallways, hesitantly, like that might break Demyx even more. He knew it wouldn't be much longer before they had to start working together again.

Plans started getting drawn up for his date of exodus. That's what they kept calling it. "Exodus." It made him feel sick.

He realized, quite painfully, that he must be falling in love.

It happened one summer Thursday afternoon. Demyx had gone over to Yuffie's. He hadn't been since the memory had come up. Any semblance of casualness had faded between them, and he didn't know what to call what was left behind.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He felt weak, curiously bleached from the inside out.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"…Okay," she said uneasily. "Well, come in. Aerith's out. I don't think she'll be back for a while. I just got back myself. I'm fucking exhausted."

He sat gingerly on the couch. He couldn't make sense of how he was feeling. Just seeing her had made his heart race. She knew everything about him now, or at least, about as much as he knew himself. How willing would she be to go forward? What did "forward" mean?

She unlaced her boots and let them hit the floor with a graceless thump. "You're staring at me," she said, with a trace of amusement.

"Sorry," he said.

Her smile slipped. "Don't be," she said. "Do you want to come in the back?" She leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her hip.

He looked away. "Sure."

The room was the same that it ever was. She took off her headband and wrist braces and flopped onto the bed. He didn't get how she could just let herself be seen like this, so easily. "What a day," she continued. "Huey, Dewey, and Louie were at it again. Got it in their heads that they were going to investigate a Heartless nest. I swear they think this is all just some kind of game. I told Scrooge about it, and you know what he did? Gave them pointers for next time! Donald would have sorted them out, but of course he isn't here, so now I have to play babysitter."

He perched at the edge of the bed. "That sucks."

"Something's on your mind," she said.

He hesitated and pressed his hands between his knees. "You ever feel something and you don't know what it is?"

"All the time." She sat up in a strangely fluid motion. "What is it? Talk to me. Dr. Kisaragi is in."

He didn't know what he needed to say or how. "You said you liked me."

"Yes, that's been established." She laughed.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" She thought about this. "Do I need a reason? You know, when a girl likes you, you're just supposed to roll with it." She touched his hand.

"I just—"

She waited, but he couldn't get the words out. "This is all kind of new to you," she said, as though repeating. "You've caught feelings for me. That's so adorable."

He turned away. His eyes were hot.

"That memory made you question things, didn't it?"

He tried to hold back the tears. He covered his mouth.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay. What you feel is normal. It's good. I wish you wouldn't be so ashamed of it. None of this is your fault."

She'd already seen him in worse situations, but somehow he felt even more exposed than before. He could feel an idea building, a knowledge of what this thing he was feeling really was, and it was terrifying.

She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt her kiss the back of his neck and a soft, creeping desire began to tamp down the panic. He tried to let himself feel it instead of fighting it off.

He turned. She pulled away from him. He went to brush away the tears but her hand caught his. Her fingers on his face, while they meant to be gentle, were callused and scratchy and he laughed weakly. She drew her hands up into his hair and for a moment pursed her lips, trying, he knew, to find something to say. "I want you," she said finally. She was close enough that he could feel her body heat.

He kissed her. For a moment it was just that, holding one another so tightly it almost hurt, his hands at her waist. Her lips against his collarbone, unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. "You mean that?" he asked breathlessly.

"You tell anyone and I'll kill you," she said, and he laughed. He slipped his hand under her shirt and immediately felt her tense.

"Sorry, I should have asked—"

"No, it's not that." Rather unembarrassed, she took off the tank top and then the faded gray sports bra like they'd done this before. "I get it. Why you freaked out about your scars."

He couldn't see very well in the semidarkness, but he saw the scar, a thick old clawmark, across her left breast, right near the heart. "How close was it?"

"About two centimeters," she said. "Two more and it would have gotten me."

He traced it lightly, and then touched one of his own scars, something he usually avoided doing at all costs, even in the bath. He didn't like being reminded of it. Neither did she, probably.

"There are more," she said, "but they're not nearly as badass. Or as interesting."

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "You've… done stuff before, right?" She was breathing hard, her hand tracing his thigh.

"Yes. And so have you."

"Yeah. But are you sure?"

He had a feeling that whatever ended up happening would be impossible to take back. He waited for the fear to swallow him whole, but it seemed to be at bay. She squeezed his arm gently. He felt safe with her, or safe enough. "Yes," he said at last.

She barked a weird little laugh. "Well all right then."

They fell gracelessly back onto the bed. She pushed the blanket down, out of the way. He tightened his arms around her, feeling the thinner scars along her back. She unbuttoned his jeans and suddenly he was embarrassed again.

"You're shaking," she said. "Did you want to stop?"

"No, it's just that I—I'm. Well."

"That... that's supposed to happen."

"I-I know, but—" He was trying hard not to fight it, to let it just go on, to be normal for a few more minutes, but he couldn't help but think, lying there, about what would happen if he let go and let himself be vulnerable. He'd always been taught that it meant destruction, every day in the Organization. The last time he'd opened himself to her all it had brought up was that memory. What if there were something else, something worse?

"I want you to do this because you want to, not because you feel like you have to," she said. He could feel her weight pressing into him and it was not helping. "If you're not ready—"

"I want to," he said.

"But."

He was tired of being lonely and unloved and so fucking— "No buts." He kissed her and felt her trying to awkwardly take off his pants. It was going to be fine. It would have to be. He tried to focus on his crappy burnt out body and what he was feeling.

He reached for the clasp of her belt. He wished he could feel half as comfortable with himself as she was. She was back at the scars again, kissing, her rough scratchy fingers against his back. It was hard to breathe, he was so dizzy, he couldn't tell if this was just being very turned on or if it were some bizarre shade of panic. He'd never felt like this. He slipped off her shorts.

She looked up. "Can I touch you?"

"You already are?"

"No." She smiled, and then canted her head slightly. "You know."

A hot flush broke out over his body, borderline unpleasant. "Well, I—" It was suddenly very hard to stay still.

She didn't break eye contact. "Is there a certain way you like to do it?"

The flush grew hotter. "Um, no, I don't usually… do that."

"Why not? I do."

He laughed suddenly, a strange and involuntary sound. "Oh god, I'm just so nervous."

"Don't be," she said. "It's not that scary, I promise." She kissed him more gently this time and he felt her hand skim along the waistband of his underwear. He knew he could say no but all fears aside he wanted this. The first touch sent something like a shock through him and he couldn't help the sound he made. She did it a few more times and he tried to relax. He let her take off the underwear, all too glad for the semidarkness in the room.

"Do you have something?" he asked from below the waves of feeling.

"Yes—let me just—" She got off of him briefly and he heard her rummaging in the bedside drawer. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. She pressed the packet into his hand and for a moment he traced the serrated edge with one finger.

"I never asked you what you wanted," he said.

"Me? I'm just glad to be here." But her breathing was still off.

He rested his hand on her hip and realized that she'd lost her underwear too. She took his hand and brought it up against her scarred breast. She was shaking too, a little bit, and the relief was staggering because she was nervous too. This made it a little easier to sit up and kiss her, to press his lips against the scar, to bring her down with him.

After an uncomfortable moment dealing with the birth control they struggled to find one another in the dark. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating.

Initially it was awkward and a little difficult and she nearly lost her balance, accidentally elbowing him in the solar plexus. He was tempted to just call the whole thing off.

"Sorry," she hissed. "God, I'm so…"

"It's fine," he said, though he was still struggling for breath.

She laughed, a strange nervous sound, and the tension in him broke a little. He chuckled weakly. "Maybe we should just… take things slow," she said.

"Okay."

She got back on top of him. She slipped her hands between his legs to better guide him inside of her. He ran his hands down her back, finding a small web of scars, and wondering what else she must have been through. For a moment she held his gaze. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and felt like he should say something, anything, even if it was something stupid, anything to draw his attention from the fact that he was doing this. He kissed her and felt her move down tentatively against him. He didn't know how to describe the feeling other than warm. His breath was ragged and he rested his head against her shoulder. She pressed her lips against his throat and asked, whisper close, "Are you okay?"

His voice was breathy and a bit embarrassing. "Yes."

"How does it feel?"

He fought against the gripping consciousness. He'd wanted this, it was normal, it was good. There was nothing wrong or bad about enjoying making love. He hated having that same stupid memory stuck between them— "It's nice," he admitted, shaking a little. He tried to push all the thoughts away and focus on what he was feeling. There were a lot of things happening at once. One of her hands had slipped up into his hair, the other holding onto his waist. He bucked up against her, more instinctively than anything, everything again intense and borderline overwhelming, something small and tight in the pit of his stomach.

It became a bit less reserved, a bit less gentle. They were both breathing hard. He felt feverish, almost giddy, still clinging to her shamelessly, everything so bright and soft and sharp at the same time, again dizzy, her mouth along his scars, his along her breast, and it felt like something was being fixed and broken at the same time—

She made a small noise against his throat, her nails digging into his side, and she tensed, and he was pretty sure he knew what had happened. To a degree he could feel it too, all over, bringing him closer to an edge.

"That was you?" he asked in a strange voice. It seemed odd to be talking again.

"Must have been," she answered equally as shakily, and slipped off of him. He felt her hand between his legs and he hesitated, wondering whether or not to let go, at the point where thought was barely possible. When he came the intensity broke over him in little waves and he gripped her other arm. She kissed his forehead and threw away the condom.

A rather protracted moment of breathlessness. He was still trembling, waiting for the bad thing to happen, for some memory to come, but it never did. Something warm, tender, and needy was stuck under his breastbone, the same feeling that he had been trying to figure out when he showed up. He knew now more than ever, his heart full and aching. He loved her.

"See, that wasn't so bad," she said, her voice thick. "I fucked up your hair pretty badly, though."

"I'll live," he said. He was exhausted, reeling from the realization and a whole lot else besides. It was done, the worst of the fear gone, leaving him feeling relieved and strangely raw, like he might cry. "Was it… good for you?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughed a bit convulsively. "Towards the end I was… I was shaking, I still am."

That made him feel a bit better. "Can I hold you for a while?"

She kissed him once. "Feel free. I'm okay with not moving for a bit."

He drew his arms around her and felt a short, sharp, sudden pain under his breastbone, near where she'd elbowed him earlier. Just as quickly as it began, it was gone, and he allowed himself not to worry about it until later. Instead he lay there and nursed this tender realization and wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.

Yuffie and Aerith had a shower. He couldn't remember the last time he had used an actual shower. It was this he thought about as he stood there, in the bright piercing bathroom light, and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. Still, he noticed faint scratches and the pale beginnings of bruises where she'd touched him, kissed him. The softness of the breath, in the dark. Despite the awkwardness he'd never experienced anything like that, anything so intense. He'd clung to her desperately. His hands shook as he bathed. Even though he still had to put on the same dirty clothes, he was less unsettled afterwards, and a little more real. He'd hoped this would return him to himself, but instead he just felt confused and stunned and his heart ached.

When she had showered too, she came back to bed and rested her wet head against his neck. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugged vaguely. He couldn't put it to words. Now that the dust was settling, he wondered briefly if Lea were right: if this were a bad idea, if they were going too far.

"You look sad," she said. "Geez. Am I that bad in bed?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm just… I like being here. With you."

"And?"

"And." He bit his lip. "What if I don't come back? What if I'm not… the same? I thought…" His voice caught and a few tears trickled out. "I don't think it's fair, to you."

"No. We're not going there. End conversation. You're going to sit here and cuddle with me and we'll both shut the fuck up. Okay?"

The tears kept coming. "Okay."

Demyx didn't get back until well into the next afternoon. He had to leave, of course, eventually; the others would get worried. He thought about the phrase "walk of shame", and while he didn't feel ashamed, exactly, he could feel the shopkeepers' eyes on him as he passed through the marketplace. He knew he needed to decompress this mess inside him at some point. He had to stop thinking about them, together. And how easy-normal, almost—it had felt to wake up next to her, despite Aerith's pointed glance when she'd woken both of them up.

He met Aeleus in the hallway heading up towards the living quarters. A painful relief swept through him; Aeleus would not put him through the third degree. "Hey," he said.

Aeleus nodded.

"I didn't mean to stay out," he continued. "It just sort of happened."

He shrugged. "You seem capable enough."

"I hope nobody worried."

"No more than usual."

A pause. He was so hungry. He hadn't been properly hungry in a long time. "How's your arm?"

"Seems to be better." He flexed his hands. "Aerith gave me pills. Pain's almost gone."

"I'm glad. Though I don't think Even will like that you're cheating on him."

If he wasn't mistaken, Aeleus almost smiled. "You?"

"Me? I'm not hurt," he said.

"Are you doing better?"

Oh. "I think," he said.

"Go see him," Aeleus said. "Ienzo."

His heart choked him. "I don't really want to."

"They talked about it in the meeting," Aeleus said. "They don't want you vulnerable."

With the emotions leaking off him like this, Ienzo would know in a second what had happened. "Do I have to?" He asked. "I'm… I'm really tired, all right?"

Aeleus shrugged. "You don't have to. But you should."

He bit his lip. "Think I'll pass."

"Nine," he said. "Vulnerability comes with a price."

"I know!" The anger was hot, sharp, and brief. "Believe me, I know."

"It is also a tool that you can use," Aeleus said. He shrugged. "I'll take my leave."

The library. The curtains snapped in a hot, dry wind. He was shaking again and hugged himself. He saw Ienzo, head bent over some books. It took a long time to find the strength to climb the stairs, one by one. The handrail was dusty to the touch.

"Nine," Ienzo said. He flinched. "You're back."

"Hey."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and dense like a wet sponge.

"Aeleus told me to come see you," Demyx said.

"Ah. Yes. Right." He shut his book. "I truly am sorry, Nine. I shouldn't have looked through your memories without your consent."

"You said it's what they'd do anyway."

"Yes. Well. We hope to strengthen you against that."

Silence. Demyx was thirsty. Most of him wanted to make up an excuse to leave the room.

"Where were you?" Ienzo asked.

"Oh. Out. I crashed at Yuffie and Aerith's."

"You seem to be getting along well with them."

"Sure. I guess." He scratched at his neck, at the bruises only barely covered by his shirt collar. "Lea… Lea said we don't get to be people yet," he said. "What do you think about that?"

Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think there's some merit in it," he admitted. "Don't you agree? I know your offenses are… different than ours. But you had said that the guilt drove your decision."

A rather tense moment. All of this work, all of this time spent investing in bonds with these people, was it really just an attempt to ease the guilt? No, he thought instantly. It was a life he wanted, but one that he hadn't yet earned. He exhaled—a short, sharp, painful sound.

"Sit," Ienzo said.

He perched on the hard wooden chair. He thought he might cry, or worse. "Look, it's been a long few days."

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"So what do we do?"

"We begin where we left off."

Silence. Demyx waited to feel the crawling numbness of Ienzo's power, but it didn't come. He wasn't meeting his eyes. His lips were pursed. "You can do it," he said.

"Try not to think," Ienzo said.

Not thinking had become increasingly easy. Not feeling, on the other hand, was impossible. His heart was still beating erratically and the fog approached steadily in his mind. He tried to crush down each emotion in succession as it battered him. Guilt, fear, anxiety—these, on their own, were difficult to manage.

Embarrassment. Shame. He couldn't tell if he were the one neatly categorizing or sorting these feelings, or if it were Ienzo. Emptiness. A loneliness so deep and profound he thought it might strangle him. Lust. He exhaled and opened his eyes. Love. "I knew I shouldn't have come here," Demyx said. "I knew this was going to happen—"

Ienzo stared at him, wide-eyed but calculating. "Nine," he began.

"Lea already gave me the speech. About not getting in too deep here. And Aeleus was telling me not to be vulnerable. I know, okay? I was stupid."

"They will use this against you."

"I know." Another hot pain shot through his chest and choked off his breath. He clutched at his scars. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" Fear rose in Ienzo's eyes. "I barely touched you—"

"No, it feels… different…"

"'Different' doesn't mean 'better'," Ienzo said.

"It's already going away," Demyx said. "It's probably just a nerve pain or something…"

"Your nerves regenerated. You shouldn't feel any intense pain anymore."

He felt woozy.

"Let me see," Ienzo said, reaching for Demyx's chin. He jerked away.

"I'll be fine—" His voice was weak and breathy and not at all assuring.

"I think I rather liked more it when you complained all the time," Ienzo snapped. "How do you feel? What's happening? Is it a memory?"

"No, my chest, it—" His hands were tingling and he was feverish.

"I'm sorry, Nine, but I have to," Ienzo said. He touched Demyx's forehead and stared at him. "Hang on."