"You. My feelings are you, sir."

My head hung. I was now staring down. I couldn't look at Mr Slater, and I couldn't see his reaction. It was as there was nothing but my own breath, and the footsteps that would carry him from the room. I knew he was leaving. What had I told him? Any chance I might have had was now dashed by my recklessness.

Suddenly, I heard a creak of the bedsprings, and the mattress I was sitting on sank irregularly. I looked up wildly, and to my left was Mr Slater, sitting right up next to me.

"Why are you so worried?" He asked me, quietly. I'd turned to face the floor again.

I thought for a moment. "Because everytime I tell people what I think, I ruin things."

"That won't happen with me." With an internal gasp mingled with a sigh of sheer pleasure, I felt his long thin arm reach around behind my back, and the intricate spindly fingers gripping my shoulder gently, yet tightly. He was still silent, despite his slender breath.

My head descended slowly onto the soft linen of his fine suit's shoulder, a sweet cushion against the firmness and strength of his body. I expected him to shake me off, but did it anyway. He didn't.

My eyes rolled back so I could see the profile of his pale unblemished face. He was looking straight back, his stone eyes now a more kindly blue. I couldn't help but squirm with delight, and he chuckled deeply, his mouth barely opening. The beautiful merriment made me giggle, and I made him chuckle all the more. It was perfect, our laughing at the other's laughing…

I don't remember whose idea it was. I think it might have been mine. I daringly craned my head upward, not caring about the poke of his shoulder against my neck to reach up to his face. It wasn't sensible. But I did it anyway. My lips pursed and pushed forwards against his smooth cheek, and I pulled back quickly. This was easier said than done: his free hand was now busy, pushing my head back up from behind. He too was leaned toward me, and his lips met mine. Somewhere along the lines, I became laid across his lap, facing him, and our tilted heads kissed, our lips opening and closing in perfect synchronicity. It stopped long before I wanted it to.

He was looking deep into my eyes. "You're definitely not kidding yourself?"

"Of course not!" I started, affronted, but warmed when I understood what was happening.

"Just as well."

He closed in again, and the best kiss of my life was long forgotten, put to shame by what followed. I could taste slight spearmint on his lips, and it went on and on and on, only increasing in perfection. We stopped only when we wanted to: my reason was the exceeding soreness in my mouth.


I woke up beneath the burgundy duvet. I looked around, unsure of where I was. Then I remembered: the boutique. I'd insisted on going to bed there and then because I was exhausted (hunting the Guard Armour was the first 'menial' work I'd had in a while), and sure enough, around the room lay my clothes which I'd left around. Suddenly, sitting up and looking in the mirror, I spotted a post-it note on my head. On it was written, "I'll be back in the morning. Sleep tight."

I could still barely make sense of what had actually happened last night. He'd… kissed me? Why? What interest was I to him? He was so perfect, and even more so in his noting my heart. Not even my best friends could see my heart, yet he was able to love it.

I didn't want him to see me in my dolphin briefs (and I hadn't last night), so I quickly scooped up my clothes scattered across the room, teeth chattering, and pulled the wrinkly garments on, scowling as the dust rubbed against my skin, and as my medium-length hair announced that the pillow had given it a lot of static, and that it wasn't going to be a Mohawk today. Just as I was about to pull my boots on, my 'fancy man' strolled through the door, scaring me from my skin.

I tripped over, and fell back onto the bed. Mr Slater looked at me, and then looked with distaste at my clothes. He was wearing the same as last night, only probably not. It was all still pristinely clean and flat, but today he had a bulging briefcase with him. I looked at him quizzically, and he returned the stare benevolently, with a big wide smile, swinging the briefcase onto the bed, and unfastened the golden clips. I was very surprised by what was on it. A pair of black trousers, a beautiful black shirt, a pair of black socks and gloves, a coat not unlike my own and a shoebox sat inside.

"A present." He said simply, but then added "The case, too." I looked up at him; my eyes wide open in shock. It was all the finest silk or linen available, and when I opened the shoebox, I saw a pair of formal brogues, glossier even than Mr Slater's pair shining in the dodgy light.

"Why? And thank you, sir!" I spluttered, looking at each garment in turn.

"Do I need a reason? But I saw that some water ruined your boots, and that your clothes weren't the best fitting, so… well… I just felt like you deserved a treat." He said, simply. I hugged him tight. This was possibly the first thing anybody had given me as a present that I could remember. He laughed, a hearty jovial noise, and asked, "I guess this makes you my boyfriend?"

I nodded, smiling encouragingly. I'd never thought of it like that.

"I like your hairdo, 'boyfriend'." He pointed at my frizzy beehive, and then patted me hard (harder than I'd have liked) on the back.

"I'm sorry the shoes aren't quite what you're used to: I don't go shopping at the same place as Xemnas." In my delight, I didn't question how he knew The Superior. He looked almost worried, but I gave him a smile.

"It's perfect." Then felt a bit cheap. "I didn't get you anything…"

"I don't need anything. But then, it's the thought that counts… could you 'improvise'?" I kissed him hard on the lips, and it became tonsil tennis once more. We stood in the middle of the room, hugging and kissing, slowly turning, like a rather lustful ballroom dance. It was at this point exactly that I knew it wouldn't last. But I dismissed the pessimism, and enjoyed my happiness while it lasted.

Eventually, he broke the kiss, and I looked at him as though he'd just bludgeoned my puppy.

"I'm sorry, Demyx. I have to go."

"Why?"

"'Busy, busy, busy', remember?"

"Okay…" He pecked my cheek once more, and left the room. I tried to follow him, but he disappeared from the door, and checking outside yielded no clues to where he had gone. I looked at the briefcase and clipped it up, before returning to the World that Never Was.