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The setting sun had dyed the sky violently sherbet colours, and it was difficult for Xigbar to tell you exactly when the air began to smell different. It felt as though, for the first time since The Highwind left port, they'd really left. He liked it, even if it made him a little nervous. His company could be a smoldering pile of ash for all he knew, and this thought made him jerk in an unconscious move towards his computer, which had been safely tucked in his room for at least twenty four hours, untouched.

Demyx was perched on a beach chair to the left of him, plucking at his guitar and swearing heavily. The band was going to introduce a new song to their lineup, but it was somewhat influenced by country, which Demyx seemed to be resisting with all his might. "I would throw up," he said matter-of-factly, "if they played that drivel while I was eating."

It was nice, though, because the waves were mesmerizing and there was chlorine in his hair again and he didn't give a damn. Nice. Even with Demyx's increasingly lewd language puncturing the atmosphere. Xigbar could barely even hear it as he eyed the horizon, watching the curved earth collide with the sky who-knows-where, trying to gather the bigger picture. The ocean was doing strange things to him.

The next day, however, the ship would dock at a small island situated between points A and B, and he was looking forward to stepping on dry, solid land again. The kind of land that didn't move. Demyx asked him about tectonic plates when he expressed this desire, and the earth's rotation, and Xigbar was sure there was a difference. He turned to look beside him.

The wind was blowing the longer, blonder strands of Demyx's hair across his face, and it glowed in the sun the way Xigbar's dark hair never would, and his skin seemed to sparkle with sandy grains that were permanently embedded there. The younger man felt Xigbar's eyes and glanced up, the sun catching the bottom rim of his blue-green eyes. "Huh?"

Xigbar narrowed his eye and looked at his watch, which didn't exist at that point in time. "I would go clean up if I were you."

"Yeah, I guess it's time. You're going to be there, right? We can meet up afterwards, maybe catch a drink or two."

"Sure, kid."

"Kay." He smiled cheerfully and left.

Brooding in his absence, Xigbar stared back at the ocean, chin in his palm. He wondered if Demyx had some sort of obligation to him; maybe he was encouraged to be overly nice to people who weren't having a good time, to raise ratings. That didn't seem like him. What was it, then, that made him hang around so much? He never so much as asked Xigbar if he had other plans. What if he didn't want to hang out with him? Nevertheless, the pathetic truth was that he did, he had nothing better to do, and for the same reason he trudged along to dinner, retying his ponytail on the way.

When he was Demyx's age, he was thinking as he sat down at his table and ordered, he was in the company of other boys, engrossed in his own business and thinking he was hot shit, he never would have noticed someone of his current age moping about, and if he had, he probably would have assumed him to be some kind of hobo. Why on earth was he being so attentive? Not that Xigbar minded, it was just that the logic completely escaped him.

Demyx must really have been that bored.

The stage was already full with instruments, and soon the band filed on. It was very early in the evening, much earlier than Xigbar would have preferred to eat, but he had unconsciously followed Demyx, no matter how indirect a following it was.

He listened to the lively tunes as he ate his shrimp ravioli, which made him feel a bit like a sailor, though he was sure sailors weren't so liberal with alfredo sauce and rosemary.

When he'd finished this, he ordered coffee and dessert (tiramisu) so he would have something to occupy himself with until Demyx took his first break, which came at approximately eight. Maybe he should have brought the paper to read, though he'd never really liked reading it; besides, they were probably at least a week out of date, as delivering papers to a moving ship was impossible without large sums of money and perhaps a helicopter. He was putting too much thought into it.

At eight, a well-dressed blond man came on stage to read announcements, covering everything from tomorrow's menu to Kite Island, the port they were docking at the next day, and procedures for doing so. The blond made it clear that there should be no shenanigans, because people are sometimes left behind.

"That's scary shit," Demyx whispered as he took a seat at Xigbar's table for two. Without asking he lifted Xigbar's half-eaten dessert away from him and helped himself, unconcernedly using the fork Xigbar had already eaten off of. "The island isn't that big, so I hope there's no way we can get lost."

"Haven't you been there before?" he asked doubtfully. He was going to be completely useless, he could already tell. As a child, he'd hated vacationing with his family. Something about being away from home tired him out. He didn't feel tired now, though.

"Well, sure, but I went to the beach and that was it. There's a market strip close to the port, but it's there just to get tourists to buy useless junk, preserved puffer fish and all that, so I didn't bother. I think the food's over there too, so if we got hungry we'd have to go."

"So we're in this together, then?"

"If we weren't, you'd stay in your room and pout."

"Pout?"

"I know for a fact there's no porn to order on the T.V., so I can't imagine what else you'd do."

They stared at each other, Demyx's fearsomeness diluted by the cake he'd stuffed in his mouth and hadn't had the time to chew yet.

"Well, whatever. There's a beach, and you said swimming with dolphins."

"Yeah, but that costs a lot. We could find our own wildlife. We don't need those dolphins." Xigbar had a feeling 'wildlife' meant 'jellyfish', and the 'fun' that would ensue would be more like 'severe stings'. "And they wait until it gets dark to leave, so everyone can stay and watch the sunset." Someone called his name suddenly, one of the band members, and he shouted back to them. "My break's up. You don't have to wait here for me or anything. Go swim or something."

"I don't think I can swim any more," Xigbar replied, lazily stretching his thin arms back. It was true—he couldn't, and his limbs were aching everywhere. "I'm going to my room."

"Will you let me in?"

For a moment, Xigbar gaped at him. The thought had never occurred to him; he figured this would be the end of the night for them, and they'd start again tomorrow. Apparently not. He wasn't even sure what he could entertain Demyx with if he did show up at his room. Stupidly, though, he said "Yeah, sure. It's number 213."

"Cool. I'm going to come get you, and then we're going to go swimming!"

Xigbar groaned. "Can't you do that by yourself? You're a big boy."

Demyx simply smiled and walked back, humming under his breath.

Xigbar made his way to his room. He could hear children pounding down neighbouring hallways, muffled voices through the walls, and the distant creaking and groaning of the ship's metal insides, and reminded himself for the hundredth time that he was moving and on water. It was easy to forget.

When he opened his door, he was struck by how quiet it was inside, and still. He almost said lonely, but that seemed silly. His apartment back home felt the same way sometimes, but he had never noticed it before now, never had a name to put to it. He let his hair down and combed it in the manliest way possible, then sat on his bed and started at his laptop. Not stared in the sense that he was deeply engrossed in anything on it; the thing wasn't even turned on. It was across the room, on top of the dresser. He got up and sat on the chair near the desk. Then he sat on the floor and stared at the ceiling, arms behind his head and the calf of his right leg resting on his left knee. He was bored out of his skull.

He worried a bit over what he and Demyx would do once the latter arrived; if he was bored among his own things, Demyx would be doubly so. Maybe he would jump on the bed. That made Xigbar laugh. Maybe they really would go swimming, and the water would ripple on the floor of the pool the way it does only at night, and maybe there would be no one else there so they could have a race. He wasn't sure what he liked better, himself winning the race or Demyx. Demyx was the better swimmer, so in reality he'd probably win, and he'd gloat and smile. Xigbar could picture it, Demyx framed in the fuzzy yellow of the pool lights. Or, if he won (by some miracle), Demyx would be coolly pissed off, and maybe he'd jump on top of him and under the water they'd struggle playfully, legs meeting one another, Demyx's hands on his chest, skin sliding and slick with water—

He sat straight up.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

As it turned out, the two did go swimming, but not until after they'd had a drink at the bar and attempted to play blackjack at one of the card tables, which both of them were appallingly ghastly at. Eventually they settled for playing war, and when that got tiring (half an hour passed with no clear winner), they played go fish, and Xigbar won. The bar was quiet, the bubbling aquarium backlighting everything pleasantly in blue, and Demyx's face was soft and tired as he smiled and urged Xigbar up so they could hit the pool at last. Apparently Demyx's way of transitioning between activities was to swim, the way someone else might have a snack or read a book. He just had to do it, or he couldn't go about his day or sleep at night.

As they walked, Xigbar mentioned times during his life when he'd spent the day in the water and felt as though he was still rocking on it as he lay in bed that night. The same thing had happened with roller coasters. Demyx disliked roller coasters, and had only been on one (during which his nose had collided with the thick plastic safety belt, and after which he swore off roller coasters forever), but he did know the watery feeling and said it still happened sometimes. He liked it.

"I like to be moving when I'm resting," he told Xigbar as they undressed in the hot, breezy night air. "If I could," he laughed, "I'd replace my bed with a hammock."

"I would toss my cookies," Xigbar replied confidently. There was an elderly couple in the shallow end of the pool, but otherwise they had it to themselves, and Xigbar pressed his back to the pool wall, holding onto the ledge with his fingers and letting the water lift his legs as he watched Demyx back flip into a handstand. He let his gaze fall upwards, to the sky, where countless stars were winking.

Suddenly Demyx was right next to him, grinning and dripping, hair flattened and dark. "Are you gonna hang there like a girl or are you gonna swim?" The scarred man pushed off, simultaneously seizing Demyx's head and pushing it under, releasing it as he floated away. Sputtering and vengeful, Demyx got his revenge a few times over, and when they finally tumbled down the hallway to Xigbar's room, both men were tired and waterlogged. Xigbar wasn't even worried about them being bored anymore.

"I need a shower," he told the brunet, who nodded and collapsed on the bed without ceremony.

He showered nervously, the water colder than it might have been on any other night simply because he'd been in water for the past hour, but as the streams plastered his hair against his back and he reached his bony hips with the washcloth, he thought there might have been an even better reason for the water being cold. There was warmth in him, on him, everywhere, as though he was sunburned despite it being nearly eleven thirty at night. His cheeks were flamed, like he'd been smiling too much, and perhaps he had without even noticing. There was tight pressure building in his temples, and an equal but duller feeling developing between his legs that might have become something more pressing if he'd given any more thought to it, which he was desperately trying not to do.

There was no reason for it. He could not be attracted to Demyx; the very thought was surreal. Even though Demyx was friendly and fiendish in perfect balance, and even though his skin was soft and glowed a little from sun exposure (especially near his shoulders and collarbone as the muscles and bones beneath the skin flexed and moved), and even though he was showing too much interest than what was due for an old, scarred up company shark, there was no way Xigbar could find him attractive.

Or had he just thoroughly proved himself wrong?

He toweled dry and slipped into sweat pants and a black cotton tee he'd left in the bathroom that morning and entered the room again to find Demyx fast asleep on the left side of the bed, still wet and dressed.

"Dumbass," Xigbar chided softly and affectionately, debating whether or not to wake him up. It seemed a crime, however, especially with the younger man looking so comfortable. As quietly as possible he turned off all the lights save the one directly above the night table and slid onto the mattress, knees first. The movement awoke Demyx, but not entirely, for his eyes seemed to be having trouble staying open and he smiled dazedly.

"Sorry. Should I go to my own room?"

Resting on his knees and knuckles now, almost leaning over the boy, Xigbar shook his head, sending his loose hair over his shoulders a bit. "Nah."

Another sleepy grin. "Good. I don't feel like moving." His eyes found a streak of grey hair and followed it down to where it graced the mattress. He touched it, working it between his fingers. Wet from the shower. Smelled nice. Xigbar watched, his eye sharp as a hawk's.

"You're such a pretty princess with your hair like that," Demyx joked, and Xigbar growled halfheartedly. All of a sudden, Demyx reached up and traced the scar that ran down his left cheek with a gentle finger. "Except that, though. Still pretty." In another dimension somewhere a smart, coherent, and righteously angry Xigbar would have snapped something in return about 'pretty' being the last word any person should ever use to describe him, but he couldn't even breathe. He, who had fired people face to face without batting an eye (the one that was capable of batting, that is), found the words ripped right out of him, focusing sporadically on different points of Demyx's face: his small, pointed noise, his sharp chin, and the mild curves of his cheekbones.

Demyx seemed proud of himself, for some reason, and when he smiled again Xigbar realised with a start that they were within what could be kissing distance, and that thought opened a whole new Pandora's box of things he wasn't ready to deal with, and he pulled away.

"I promise I don't move around a lot in my sleep," Demyx said, as though nothing out of place had happened, and maybe it hadn't. Maybe Xigbar was looking too far into things. But even as he settled into the sheets, allowing Demyx to slip under, his heart was pounding faster than he ever remembered it doing. Compared to the corporate dangers he faced every day, this seemed like nothing, and yet it was doing everything to him.

"I do talk sometimes, though," the other continued thoughtfully. "Wake me up if I say something embarrassing."

Oh gods, it was like having a sleepover. Even in his youth he'd never shared his bed (and, in his less innocent days, he had shared the bed, so to speak, but never allowed anyone to sleep there overnight. He wasn't cooking anyone breakfast), so it was strange and unsettling, but in the darkness the sound of Demyx's legs sliding under the sheets was reassuring, and the younger man was merciful enough not make him talk.

He wasn't lonely when Demyx was there. When he knew all he had to do was turn over and there he'd be, it was…

Ugh. Listen to him go on like a schoolgirl.

But it was, really, like having happiness on tap.

Staring into the darkness, lying on his left side with his arm under the pillow, he was overly conscious of every noise Demyx made, from small shifts to his shallow breaths. He thought he'd be awake forever; it would have surprised him, then, to learn that he was asleep within minutes. When he started to snore softly, Demyx laughed to himself until he, too, fell under.