I was slumped on the bed. Panicking. When was he going to get here? Was he going to even come? What would happen if he did come? I took in the room, for the first time, ever. Before, Mr Slater or his letter distracted me, and now I could tell I was standing in an elaborately furnished bedroom. However, things were dusty, and the corners of the room were clogged up with cobwebs. I eyed one warily: I hated spiders. The room looked like it belonged to a woman with its expensive trinkets and dressing table, but the open wardrobe that Mr Slater had been searching through when I caught him with its men's clothing told a different tale. The general theme for the room was a burgundy maroon, and the bedspread upon which I lay was no different, if you got past the thick grey coat of heavens knows what.
Suddenly I heard a creak, and sitting up, and pulling my foot over onto my thigh, I watched the door, waiting for it to be pushed open. It took teasingly forever. The creaks of the wooden staircase seemed to slow down, as the tempo was slowly shifted to my thundering heart.
Eventually the paint-peeling door was pushed oh-so-slowly open. Mr Slater, exactly as I remembered him (save for a new outfit, as perfect and befitting as the last) strutted majestically into the room. I didn't speak.
"Good evening, Demyx." He smiled at me, the clean-shaven corners of his mouth creasing. Still, my mouth was shy, as each syllable of 'evening' was crisply enunciated.
"Hi, Mr Slater." With the suited man, now sat rigidly upon yesterday's armchair, and in the same manner, came inexplicable warmth. Trying not to give the same fool's smile as last night, I wriggled my toes with pleasure, finally able to feel the soles of my feet. I'd failed. In the mirror behind the armchair, I could see my reflection with that goofy, dreamy grin. I could tell Mr Slater noticed, and his chuckling only made me feel even more self-conscious.
"How has your day fared?" He asked me. Though it took me a second to respond, I was ready for the question, and didn't look quite the idiot as last night.
"Unsuccessful. Number ten and I searched the town, for a large Heartless, but couldn't find it. Hey… you haven't seen the Guard Armour, have you, sir?" I don't know why I called him sir. But it suited him, and he seemed mildly pleased with it.
"Actually, indeed I have." I resisted starting forward in surprise, because that would lose any cool I had left. Instead, I raised my eyebrows quizzically, and he continued. "I saw it, and attacked it. The Guard Armour is no more. Now wonder you didn't find it."
He chuckled to himself, and I parroted, even though the light joke was not really up to much. I was still freaking out, trying not to squirm where I sat. His eyes locked into mine, after one quick dart to the door. His mouth was moving, and I tried to concentrate on what was coming out, but it took a few seconds to register.
"Which must mean you'll have many more opportunities to 'search' for it." The mouth was now a wicked grin, but I didn't quite understand why until I'd had time to dissect the words and put them together. I grinned back.
"And why is that such a good thing?"
"That is for you to work out." Both smirking at me, we stayed as we were and carried on speaking. Tonight, he was dressed in a sharp three-piece pinstripe suit, with a tie and all sorts. Scanning down his body, I spotted his wearing the same shiny shoes as last night ,and found myself just staring at them, again. His silver earring and wavy brown hair didn't occur to me, as I was lost in the obsidian black leather, answering questions without thinking. I didn't notice him following my lack of attention. My brain only kicked into gear when the Organization was brought up again, and my eyes flicked to meet his.
"How are things within Organization… XI, as I am to understand?"
"We're not exactly supposed to talk about it, sir… Well… I dunno. The new guy seems all right, but I only really have one friend, and he's busy trying to show the newbie the ropes, so I'm left on my own to go on missions with bloody Luxord." He tensed as the word 'bloody' was mentioned, and I made a mental note not to swear in front of him again.
"What's wrong with Luxord?" I hadn't been able to discuss this with anyone. Not before. This had been coiling inside me for so long, and now Mr Slater had opened the box for it to spring out.
"Well… we used to be friends, Mr Slater." I didn't tell him it was a little more. "But yesterday, I said something in front of The Superior about my heart, and he shouted at me. Luxord took his side, and said some horrible things."
"What things?"
"I don't want-"
"To tell me."
"No…"
"What did you say about your heart?" he asked. This could be explained. I wanted to. Maybe it would give the suited man an idea.
"He doesn't seem to understand that I have one." I was staring into his eyes, as he into mine.
"And you do?"
"Of course!" I shouted angrily, and wished I hadn't. His eyebrows rose sternly, before I quickly apologized and he settled once more.
"Then…" He said slowly, "You and I may be similar." I was curious at this. What did he mean? But asked, he waved the topic aside. "I don't really know, myself."
The evening went on. He was curious about the Organization, but soon realized I wanted the questions ceased.
"Mr Slater?"
"Yes?"
I thought how to word this without firing my volatile friend off again.
"Why are you so interested in The Organization?" He thought on this.
"You're interested in me. And so I'm interested in nobodies like you."
"Like me? I thought I was like you?"
"I don't know. Sometimes, Nobodies are so desperate to have hearts, they kid themselves with emotions they think are real." My blue eyes became stony, and they glared at his, as unblinkingly and as coldly. The smile faded from my face.
"My feelings are real, Mr Slater."
"I never said they weren't." I remained silent, so he continued.
"Sometimes, your feelings need to be proved. What are they?"
I thought. And thought. There they were. I could see them: A man in a suit with dark brown hair and shiny shoes floating around. Somewhere behind him, behind twisted oceans and musical notes was a black-clad figure whose face was hooded, so I ignored it. My eyes couldn't meet his anymore, and sloped back onto the boots.
"I have feelings." I said quietly. The atmosphere had become tenser than my own jumble of my thoughts. He, too, spoke hushed.
"And?"
"You. My feelings are you, sir."
