I really have no excuse for my laziness, but I would like to thank everyone who sent me a review, because they really spurred me on! (And by that I mean I felt guilty, haha.) Anyway, this chapter is the longest yet, and hopefully I won't be such a slacker in the future. Usual disclaimers apply. Apologies for the second post. The ending was awkward and I wanted to clean it up a bit. I'm trying my hardest to make this all reasonable. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a donation in the box if you have any comments or complaints!

There was no way to tell how long he'd slept or even what time it was, but the way his face was stuck to his pillow was quite unpleasant, and there was an odd smell in the air. Kind of like chlorine. Exactly like chlorine.

Half of him, the responsible half, was issuing orders to his brain in an attempt to drag his ass awake, and it was having a hissy fit about the alarm clock not going off like he'd told it to. The other half, however, was content to lie there in his own un-showered, disgusting skin and fantasize about the pancakes he could have for breakfast.

'Breakfast' seemed to the be key word; the moment he thought it he sat straight up in bed, hair a crumpled mess around him, with his mouth wide open. Breakfast. He was supposed to be meeting Demyx for breakfast.

"Shit." Even his responsible side was startled by the amount of action that followed. His wiry frame nearly flew out of the bed and bolted to the bathroom, where he took in his appearance with extreme displeasure before rummaging through his towels and toothpaste for his shiny, fake platinum watch. "Shit!" Breakfast stopped being served at eleven thirty. It was ten forty-five. Hopefully Demyx wouldn't think he ditched him, and after making his first (and most likely only) friend on board Xigbar was not in any hurry to screw it over. Of course, he'd acted like a complete girl last night, swimming with him and everything, so maybe it was good not to seem overly eager to arrive in the dining hall…

But there really was no excuse for the tangled wad of his dark hair and the heavy scent of unclean chlorine that seemed to hurl itself at his ankle and never let go. It wasn't the nice, summery kind of pool smell, either. It was a turn-your-hair-green, haven't-showered-in-days smell. Neither of these things would go away without a shower, a shower he had no time to take. And he had yet to find his eye patch; he'd fallen asleep without taking it off, overly tired as he was, and it was now nowhere to be found. Like hell he was going to walk out on deck with the scarred wreck of his right eye out for everyone to see. Like hell.

"Like hell," he decided firmly.

He was not new to the experience of being pressed for time and strung out. It was impossible to count the times panicked employees had called him at three in the morning about a desperate situation, but this was not as serious as work. Somehow, though, that made it all the more serious, in the end.

The brush stuck abruptly in his hair and a deep growl issued from his throat at the same moment he bizarrely considered leaving it in there and claiming he'd gone retro. Right-o. Not going to happen.

Screw the shower. The brush made minimal progress as he threw himself down to look for his eye patch. It was ten fifty. There were a million curses swimming in his head, most of which would make even the saltiest sailor blush, but he couldn't be bothered to speak them out loud. By ten fifty-three he'd just snapped his patch over his somewhat agreeable hair, thrown on a dark blue shirt, and slipped into his ugly flip-flops. It made him glad he wasn't a woman; it would have taken longer. Women have to do things like apply makeup and…brush their hair…which he'd done…

Well, whatever, none of it mattered now as he flew down the corridor, trying to look as though he wasn't in a hurry, some long hairs caught under his shirt itching him the whole way until he yanked them out and forcibly opened the door to the dining hall, which was considerably brighter and noisier than it had been the previous night. The patrons, many of whom had left their children to separate dinner banquets, were forced to bring them to breakfast, and it was difficult to tell how many were eating their pancakes and how many were wearing them. That was kids, for you.

With his sharp eye Xigbar scanned the room, squinting in the sunny haze from the skylight and trying to discern Demyx's hair from everyone else's bedhead. There was a fine line between the two.

At last he found him, sitting at a white-clothed table with his head in one hand, the other drumming a meaningless tune on the tabletop, and as Xigbar approached from behind he admired Demyx's thin arms and his dexterous fingers. He wanted to reach out and greet the boy, as he would do to a good friend, but he abstained at the very last minute; they'd just met. That was improper. It was best to slide into the opposite chair and hope Demyx hadn't been waiting too long, which is exactly what he did. Blue eyes fixed upon him immediately, heavy with sleep. "G'morning."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Xigbar replied with a crafty smile. "How's the weather in dreamland?"

Almost automatically Demyx opened his eyes wide, grinned easily, and signaled for a waiter over his shoulder. "You think I'd have remembered to put on pants if I was that far in dreamland? Nah, I've been awake for a while. Since six, actually."

Ah, six. Around that time Xigbar would be three quarters of the way to the office, sorting out his mental to-do list and cutting people off in his snappy Nissan. What on earth someone as laid back as Demyx was doing up at that hour, though, Xigbar couldn't begin to fathom. He searched Demyx's face for any sign of remaining tiredness and was unable to find any.

"Er…" the younger man said awkwardly, and Xigbar knew he'd been caught. "Is there something on my face?"

"Nope," the other replied just as the waiter, a black-haired man in his thirties, arrived and handed them the thin breakfast menus, which Demyx had barely handled before telling the man what he wanted. Obviously he dined here often. Every morning, it would seem. Xigbar would have to ask him about it.

After he'd sent the waiter away with his order, he did ask.

Stretching his legs as far as they'd go without touching the other man, Xigbar threw up a mask of nonchalance. "You eat here a lot?"

Demyx sighed, stretching his arms high in the air confidently. Xigbar couldn't believe that his eyes automatically travelled down the musician's white t-shirt for the possibility of a sliver of exposed skin, but the other didn't seem to notice. "Yeah. Not at this ship, specifically, but within the cruise line, yeah. I've been with them for, uh, almost a year?"

Their coffee arrived. Xigbar bolted it down like a dog would its food, and, like that dog, looked up a moment later, wondering who had eaten it all. Or, in his case, drank. The dirty blond sneered at his mug. "I hate coffee. Don't you feel how it sticks to you? To your teeth? It's like snorting down toxic sludge. No thank you." He pushed it away, and once it was within Xigbar's perimeter the older man seized it as well. Once the cravings had abated, however, he returned to his cool and collected self, watching the other diners with a narrowed, yellow eye. It was startling to look at, almost frightening, especially paired with his smile. If Xigbar was indeed a businessman like he said, then Demyx had no doubt he frequently scared the pants off anyone and everyone in his path. Nothing so much as a single staple would fall out of place when Xigbar was around. For some reason, though, he didn't feel that fear. He felt respect (and, twined with it, longing to know the story behind all those scars) and affection, because Xigbar was wound up so tight it was just about the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

When Demyx had first started, he'd been fairly strung out, himself. He was fresh from the pressure of others to do something productive with his music, but his productive and their productive differed greatly. He'd auditioned for the dinner band on a whim, utterly unsure of himself. It was his greatest flaw: he completely fell apart in situations that required him to be an adult. That's why it had been such a relief to sail away from his home, out on the middle of the beautiful aqua sea, where he had no choice but to grow up.

It was hard, but he looked back on it and knew it was worth it.

It was surprising to him that he and Xigbar were getting along so well, because the latter was leaden with responsibility and experience, whereas Demyx was the complete opposite. He wondered if it wasn't because there was something slightly mature in him, and something slightly immature in Xigbar, that made them click. Xigbar needed to learn to loosen up. Demyx needed to learn to stand on his own.

Not that these were proper thoughts, this early in the morning. Despite being past eleven, it was still too early for him. His obligations were at night, during dinner, and occasionally for the final fling the ship threw at the end of each of its cruises, and sometimes the band would have to get together during the day to practise new music or reattune themselves with the old. He wasn't lying about being up at six, but that was for totally unrelated reasons.

Xigbar had not replied to his comment about the coffee, so he struggled for something worthwhile to say. Finally he settled for, "Would you like to go swimming after this?" The glare Xigbar gave him sent chills down his spine.

"Swimming, again?"

"Well, sure. And tomorrow, when we dock in Kite Island, we can swim with dolphins."

"Why would anyone want to do that?"

Demyx's jaw went slack. "You've gotta be kidding me. It is so much fun." At Xigbar's skeptical glance, he went on. "Do you know how dolphins feel? Have you ever touched one?" He hadn't. He had touched a sting ray, once, in an aquarium, and he had to confess that it wasn't all that bad, but he wouldn't admit it to Demyx. "They're amazing. And they're intelligent. And the water is so clear near the shore."

"Don't you get to do it enough?" Xigbar asked gruffly. "Aren't you tired of it yet?"

He might have struck a nerve, the way Demyx lowered his eyes and chewed his lower lip.

"No one will ever go with me, and I feel stupid doing it alone."

"It's more stupid that you'd cut yourself off just cuz no one will go with you."

It was so contrary to his previous statement that even Xigbar was surprised at it.

"I only did it once. I'd like to do it again. I'm going to quit this fall, you know. Got to get a real job."

"What, you got a whole list of things to do before you leave?" It was said only somewhat bitingly, Xigbar's frown giving away that he understood the melancholy radiating off the younger man. He rubbed his chin. "All that talk about breaking away and doing your own thing and loving your job, that was all just nonsense, was it?" The tone was exactly the same he used on his employees when they did something particularly thick skulled. You have to be a shark if you want to succeed in the corporate world. There is no time for dolphins.

The tense, ensuing silence was interrupted by the waiter arriving with their breakfast, handing Demyx a plate with two scrambled eggs and bacon while Xigbar received his beloved pancakes, at long last. The strain between them slowly dissipated as they carved into their breakfasts rather than each other, and finally Demyx replied. "It's not that anyone's telling me to do it, I just feel like it's time for a change. When we play, I can tell, no matter how stuck up and crazy it sounds, I can tell that I'm better than the other guys, and I'm not that important to them. You don't hire a lion tamer to babysit kittens, you know?"

"Well, if you're sure."

"That's the thing, though," Demyx added with a melodious laugh. "I'm not."

They looked at each other, mutually forgetting their food for a moment, and then Xigbar glared at his plate once more. "Whatever, alright," he told the other grudgingly. "Let's go swimming."

Demyx grinned. "Good. I haven't showered since yesterday, so I don't feel guilty messing up my hair again." Xigbar almost choked on his pancakes.

"You haven't showered either? Doesn't that…disgust you?"

"It was only last night," he scoffed. "It's not like I got totally filthy between then and now—"

"No, I mean, the chlorine doesn't make you sick?"

"No way. I love the smell. Reminds me of my childhood. Ha." Xigbar could not believe Demyx was so flippant about it when he'd spent a very trying morning fussing over the fact that he was unshowered.

He was still angry about it twenty minutes later when they were on the deck, leaning over the railing and watching the sea fly beneath them. The sky was obscured by gigantic, puffy clouds that looked nearly edible, and the sun fell in a perfect, dimmed way over the pool. The undulations of the waves were making Xigbar eager, for some reason, to jump in. Looking at the water below, however, almost made him want to dive overboard, but he was sure whatever enjoyment he would find in that would be quickly cut off as he was ground into pieces by the ship's engines.

Lovely.

Demyx laughed for absolutely no reason and pulled him through the gathering crowds until they'd found empty chairs by the blue pool. Happy people, ranging from old couples to honeymooners to small children, loitered about, playing cards, having races, and reading novels. Rather, sleeping under novels. For once Xigbar felt at ease about them being there, until it came time to strip down for the swim.

"What's wrong?" Demyx asked, fixing him with his worried eyes, the pupils so small that the bluish green was astounding. "I've already seen the scars…"

He pointed to the crowd. "But they haven't." He sounded like a petulant, immature child. No, scratch that, he sounded like a teenage girl, the kind that buggers everyone else with her irrational low self esteem.

"Mm." His shirt was already off, smooth skin gleaming in the light. "I say screw them. If anything it'll empty the pool out for us."

"You don't understand." This was the most frustrating thing in the world. Him, never having made these excuses in the past, trying to explain his phobia, his stigma, to someone who had never dealt with it before. Demyx might be having a career crisis, but he'd obviously never had to worry about his looks, being attractive no matter what he did (seemingly), even if he wasn't entirely aware of it.

Xigbar was shocked out of his mind when Demyx started to reach for him or, more specifically, for his shirt, and it would have been a funny, awkward moment if he wasn't trying to calm a raging inner tornado. When he twitched, the younger's hands fell short and brushed his thigh. "Would you stop it?" Demyx admonished. "It's none of their business what you look like. How many ugly people have you seen on this vacation so far? How many old guys in thongs is it gonna take for you to realise that you are by no means the worst person here, and that I think your scars are pretty goddamn cool, and anyone who doesn't is a moronic wussy who doesn't deserve to be in our club?"

"We have a club?"

"Yes. It's the super amazing wonderful cool club," he replied, sinking to his knees before Xigbar and sliding his hands underneath the other's shirt with no warning at all. Surprisingly, his hands were warm, and Xigbar forgot that he was being violated as those hands skipped up his back and led his shirt away from him and over his head. "And no one can get in if they're going to hate on scars." To emphasize, he dragged a finger down one of the white streaks between Xigbar's collarbone and shoulder while his eyes followed the one that had brutally ended the vision in his right eye.

How had no one seen this display? The dark-haired man's head swiveled around, looking for someone who would point at the two men and laugh and announce to everyone that they were being touchy feely and soul searchy together, but no one did.

"Come on." Demyx dragged him to the pool's edge, the very same pool they'd shared the night before, only now they were sharing it with a host of other people. Xigbar's shoulders slumped self-consciously. The sun peeked out from between the clouds and cast them both in sharp relief against the tan deck. He felt spindly and discomfited and obvious.

"Okay, Sergeant Nervous, get over here." Demyx yanked him down so they could dip their legs into the water and test it. Demyx wasn't surprised that Xigbar's legs were thinner than his.

"You're a freak," he grumbled, irritable.

"I thought you were the freak." He chuckled. "Think about how weird I am and maybe it'll make you feel better. Hey, the point is that you've got to accept the fact that you look like you got mauled by a tiger, but you're still appealing."

"Gee, thanks," Xigbar replied sourly. "Am I supposed to just take your word for it?"

"Come on, you look tough! You look fierce! You want me to sugarcoat it? I thought you were tougher than that." He grinned darkly. "You've got to project it! You need to suck it freaking up and jump in this pool with me, or so help me I will shave off your eyebrows while you're sleeping."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, cupcake."

With that, Xigbar yanked the younger man's arm and flung him into the pool, where he bobbed up a few seconds later, sputtering and laughing with vengeance. The unexpected splash had startled a few of the kids playing with sinking rings nearby, and when they saw Xigbar sitting on the pool, he cringed and waited for them to say something, to turn away, or for their parents to call a subtle warning for them to keep their distance. Nothing of the sort happened. In fact, one of the boys raised his hand and shouted "Good one!"

For a second he fought back the smile, but finally it broke through. I look like I got mauled by a tiger, he thought wryly. But I'm still attractive. And fierce. So says this weirdo. He wanted to laugh with the ridiculousness of the situation and his uncharacteristic timidity (of all the weaknesses, huh?). It was safe to say he was cured…for the moment, at least.

"What did I tell you?" Demyx asked breathlessly.

Xigbar replied, "I don't know whether to hurt you or pay you."

"Pay will be fine," the boy laughed, and backflipped into the water.

Doesn't that just warm the heart, hmm? Even people like Xigbar can be self-conscious woobies. Doesn't give much hope for the rest of us.

I've been meaning to add that this story shares its title with a poem I wrote in third grade (good times, good times) which was published in the district poetry magazine, and of course it swelled my little heart with pride despite the fact that I'd never actually seen the sea at that point...but, uh, you didn't hear that from me. Thus concludes our broadcast.