Once again, thank you for all your reviews! I apologise for the last chapter's shortness, but I figured I would have another chapter out soon enough to make up for it, and here it is! I hope you enjoy!

"Here you go!" the short man said, handing the two of them a pair of light blue paper bracelets. "Don't lose those, now. They're your ticket to getting back on." Demyx nodded and they made their way down the boardwalk towards a gathering of short buildings. The weather on Kite Island could only be described as tropical, but it was early enough in the season that the air was fresh and salt-laden rather than humid. The man giving the bracelets away had been attaching them to people's wrists for them, until Demyx and Xigbar were next in line. Xigbar hoped it was because the man knew they were both grown and could do it themselves, but it might have had something to do with his appearance, too.

Not that he was fearsome that morning. In fact, he felt better than he had in a very long time. It was early, eleven o'clock, and he knew he must have been enjoying this vacation if eleven was becoming early to him. There were birds, creatures not often seen so far out at sea, and there was sand, which felt wonderfully hot even though it stuck in his sandals.

The sun shone as though the earth was simply a dark ball that someone had stumbled upon with a flashlight, and the young female tourists who'd gotten off the Highwind behind them were giggling and polishing their overlarge sunglasses and reapplying lip gloss. He couldn't be buggered to care about them.

There were shops up ahead, and he and Demyx stopped to look at a large sign designed for tourists to find their way along the beach. The island, in its entirety, was shaped somewhat like an apple, but the part they would be able to explore during the day was a much smaller fraction shaped like a semicircle. The beach was the sharp, straight side, jutting diagonally down, with points here and there along it designating snack bars and attractions (one of which might have been dolphins, Xigbar surmised), and the stores and the strip were the arc, clustered according to their purpose. The fancier stores were tucked away behind the commonplace shops, and the aquarium, brand new and highly publicised, had been tossed down directly in the centre of the other nonsense.

He was still fiddling with his bracelet (inferior plastic, that's what; they don't make things like they used to), and it was doing its best to remain unclasped. Unaware of this, Demyx was plotting a line they could follow down the beach.

Waking up to Demyx, rather than the alarm clock, was also responsible for promoting his good mood. His first thought upon seeing Demyx's tousled appearance was a nightmarish one; he thought he'd had a lay and forgotten to tell them they weren't welcome to stay the night. Slowly, surely, he realised it was not that at all, that it was only Demyx shaking him awake by the shoulder. "Get ready," he whispered, "and meet me outside C block. I'm going back to my room."

Xigbar didn't sit up, which was probably a mistake, and he was drifting into sleep again. "Hnurh? Why?"

"Cuz I can't use your toothbrush, sunshine. That's gross."

"Like that's the only thing you've got to brush," the older man muttered, rolling over onto his side. Through the walls, the waking commotion of the other travelers could be heard. The bed was very warm.

Oblivious to his bedhead, Demyx narrowed his eyes. "You say something?"

"Nope. Get lost, will you?"

At that moment he opened his eyes, but he wasn't sure what had jolted him completely awake. The dirty-blond was already pulling on his shoes without untying the laces, and Xigbar watched him bow his body and slip them each on while standing on one leg. The glow of the previous evening was captured in the electric lights, and it gathered in the light strands of Demyx's hair and in the pit of Xigbar's stomach. Oh. He remembered now.

It was like remembering something vitally important but unlikely, uncommon, like remembering it's your birthday. It felt exactly like that, and adrenaline shot through his wrists.

"See you!" Demyx waved and opened the door as Xigbar's bare feet hit the floor. He held the door open while the other left and leaned into the frame, sticking half his body into the hallway to watch Demyx's retreat. When the boy had gone, he turned back to the room that suddenly seemed emptier and began to dress.

Anyone would have felt the same in his position, wouldn't they? He stumbled through the logic. Anyone would have reacted the same way to someone like Demyx hanging all over them all the time. But what the hell was he talking about? Demyx wasn't hanging all over him at all—he only sought friendship, a break in the boredom of a job that paled next to what he wanted to do. Xigbar himself hadn't always wanted to be at the head of a company; it just happened that way. Demyx truly wanted to be a musician, but that was as good as being unemployed these days.

So what did that all mean? He wasn't denying that he had started to see Demyx differently. What freaked him out the most, he realised, was that Demyx would probably not return these feelings (might even find them weird and take a few uneasy steps back) and it could ruin what they had (and wasn't that always the damn problem with things like this). The worst thought, far worse than the previous two, was that he'd spend the rest of week developing feelings for Demyx, and then he would have to get off and go home and deal with the fact that he'd wussed out and passed up something real. More real than other 'romances' he'd been involved in, at the very least.

What if Demyx had never even so much as had his first kiss? What if he only liked girls?

"This sucks!" He threw shirt after shirt behind him, looking for something proper to wear.

It really sucked because Demyx wasn't the root of the problem. Really, being so open and breezy, Demyx probably wouldn't have a fit about it. It all came down to Xigbar's hesitance to take it anywhere.

Did he want to take it somewhere? He wasn't planning on having a brief fling with anyone when he'd boarded the ship. And, if he fucked things up, the week would end eventually, and he could escape it all, maybe pretend it had never happened.

As soon as the thought came, however, guilt slunk into his chest. That would be impossible, not to mention disrespectful. Not to mention impossible.

Although the chances of him fucking up were pretty good. That was always a sure bet. The thing was, when he messed up at work, he could just scare the knickers off everyone and make a full recovery. Demyx wasn't scared of him.

"Okay then." He exhaled and looked at himself in the mirror, fully dressed at last. He'd meticulously brushed his hair and his teeth. He'd put his eye patch on three different times before he was satisfied with it. He'd walked around for five minutes in one outfit and spontaneously swapped it for another. He'd—

The point was, he was being a girl about the situation. He told his reflection in the mirror as much. It stared back at him with a confused expression.

Demyx, on the other hand, had snuck back into his room, where his roommate was dozing. Said roommate was approximately thirty five years old and a fellow member of the evening band. As the band stayed on the ship permanently, they were forced to share rooms to preserve space. Demyx didn't care much where his roommate went, and thought the opposite was the same, but the lanky black-haired man cracked his eyes open as Demyx crept in and rummaged through his drawers. He said, "Where've you been?"

"Out." As friendly as he sometimes was, Demyx was not the kind of person to make excuses for himself. Xigbar was meeting him outside in a few minutes; he didn't have time to explain himself to someone whose nose was too far in others' business.

"Dude, I thought you'd fallen overboard or something." Demyx snorted, eyes narrowed. I doubt you were that worried.

"I was hanging out with someone else," he stated simply, hoping to end it there. As he stuffed his toothbrush into his mouth, however, the questioning went on.

"Oh, like a girl?"

Without thinking he answered, "No." (With the toothbrush, it sounded more like "Moawr".)

"You were with another dude? Sick. That's like a sleepover." His tone demonstrated quite clearly what he thought about sleepovers, especially those that took place between two grown men.

"What the fuck would you know about it?" The dirty-blond threw a bag onto his unmade bed and tossed as many things as he could into it, all the ingredients for a good beach day. The roommate might have been saying something again, but he wasn't listening. He grabbed the bag and walked out, slamming the door on the other man, mid-sentence.

He met up with Xigbar, and they made their way towards the docking area.

Xigbar could never have guessed what kind of morning Demyx was having, because he was his usual self—calm, optimistic. Over his shoulder, a bulging navy bag was slung. "What's in the bag?"

"Hmm? Oh, the usual stuff. Sunscreen, towels, a bag to put seashells in."

It was weird.

Well, the first weird thing was that Demyx was expecting the same things from the beach that might be observed in a child, but the way he went about it was anything but childish. Collecting seashells was simply something everyone did at the beach, no matter what age, in Demyx's eyes. Ladders are there for climbing. Trampolines are there for jumping. Beds were there for sleeping (or, depending on who you are, keeping all your junk in). Beaches, therefore, were there for seashell collecting. And swimming. And running. And tanning. And sometimes, unfortunately, burning.

The other weird thing was that Xigbar had been staring at nothing but the sea for the past three days and had seen the coast as they walked onto Kite Island, yet he was still anxious to see the beach. The air smelled of it, the sound of crashing waves was audible, and Xigbar felt the sort of excitement children feel before a major holiday, sometimes weeks in advance. He wanted to get to the beach.

They walked down the strand and took a right down the path leading to the public beach. There was a cement area with showers for washing off the sand, as well as large changing booths, and large clumps of tan beach weed that swayed in the ocean wind. Along the way they'd seen strange, pineapple-like trees, the bark of which looked like it might impale someone if they came too close. The sky was azure blue, the sea faintly aqua, and before Xigbar knew it Demyx broke away and began running onto the sand.

He sighed, then smiled, then took off after him.

The grit was everywhere. It made putting on sunscreen exceptionally hard, but Xigbar was fighting his best, long abandoned by Demyx. The latter was already neck-deep in the waves, choking on salt and loving every moment. Once he'd gotten the initial sea-hysteria out of his system, the younger man ran back to their towels, where Xigbar was stretched on his back in his trunks, pale, skinny torso exposed under the shade of their somewhat ugly lemon yellow umbrella. His abdomen muscles were lightly defined, as he was slimly built. Demyx made a point of shaking off all the water he possibly could on him.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!" he laughed. "Come on in!"

In the bright sun Xigbar had to shield his eye to look at Demyx. The boy was wet and glittering, sand encrusted on his legs from mid-calf down. He was holding a few seashells, which he dumped onto his towel to dry. Before long he stood back up again and offered his hand to Xigbar.

All around them happy people were running and laughing and swimming and eating, and the breathing of the waves wrapped them all in perpetual clockwork, and Xigbar didn't even think before grabbing Demyx's hand and letting him drag him to the tide, where foam collected with each sweep of the waves onto the shore, depositing bits of sea shells and gathering up others. The sand was burning hot, but it felt wonderful to stand in the waves. Demyx pulled him further in until they were battling the tide with all their strength, salty water going up their noses and getting in their eyes. Somehow, Xigbar only felt more and more thrilled as they went deeper until they could tread water.

"Are you sure there aren't any sharks out here?" Xigbar growled, looking down at the thick, grey-emerald water. His ponytail had come loose in the process, and his hair was soaking wet, floating like ghostly seaweed around him.

"Nope. You can never be sure of that." The younger man lifted up and floated on his back, letting the waves pick him up and push him down again.

"Isn't that kind of dangerous…?"

Dazed, staring up at the clear sky, Demyx only smiled. "I think it's worth it."

The adrenaline rush that followed this was a surprise, but it coursed through Xigbar's veins as forcefully as it could, coiling somewhere in his stomach and throat until he couldn't distinguish it from the burn of salt. And, like the salt, it made him feel alive, and he realised, with a start, that the feeling had a name—affection.

As his feet lifted gently off the sandy ocean floor with a passing wave, Xigbar surrendered to the light feeling and let the emotion seize control of his body. All he wanted in that moment was to have some kind of contact with Demyx. It could have been perfectly friendly, platonic. He didn't care. He didn't go to bars with 'the guys', he didn't have anything beyond one night stands—hell, he didn't even have an animal to pet at the end of the day. And for the first time he thought he would trade away everything (the fluorescent lights, the prestige, the money, the coffee) if he could have more than just a fleeting connection with someone.

Why hadn't it happened for him? Why did it always have to be those who were attracted to his dangerous appearance but never anything beyond? Since college…no, no, since high school, Demyx was the only person to hang around him for so long. Why was that?

A seagull shrieked. It startled him into action.

He didn't think; he simply let the waves carry him on a small jump until he was within reaching distance of the floating brunet. His hands fixed to the slender edges of Demyx's waist, and then they were falling down into the salty sea. Under his hands, Demyx's muscles worked as he sputtered a little, caught unaware, but soon his own hands latched onto Xigbar's shoulders to retaliate. They floated to the surface, playfully struggling. Demyx didn't even ask what had prompted the spontaneous scuffle, but he was eager to play along.

They kept close quarters, neither wanting to upset the water too much or slip under the waves and lose the advantage. Demyx kicked a leg between his and he caught it at the knee, pulling him closer, and the scarred man felt a hand pressed flush against his breastbone as the other tried to push him off, laughing. Xigbar couldn't find it in himself to laugh; he was happy, make no mistake, but there was something much more complicated behind the happiness that was showing through his gold eye in dangerous glints.

There was something distinctly juvenile about the competition, similar to the way teenagers play-fight as means of flirting, the careful moves of two people who like each other, want to touch each other, and are too nervous to admit it, so they mask it all under the pretense of a battle.

If Xigbar was straight with himself, that seemed to be exactly what was going on, at least on his end of it. He wasn't sure what Demyx felt.

Demyx, in fact, was looking up at him, glance scoping from Xigbar's eye patch to the sharp eye that was still intact, to the cruel scar on his left cheek, to his fierce, narrow shoulders. His hands found their way semi-accidentally around Xigbar's hips to his back, and his fingers skipped over the smooth grooves of scars, scars he would have to ask about later. The eye, too. He liked to think that Xigbar would trust him enough to tell him someday.

Said man's rough hand at his forearm jerked him from his reverie with a gasp.

"Play nice," Demyx warned sternly. "Don't make me regret bringing you out here." Xigbar felt breathless and dizzy.

The trip to Kite Island was one of the only ship-scheduled activities that Xigbar had thus far participated in, and he wasn't about to blow it. He could have spent the past three days playing silly games with people on deck or dancing after dinner. He hadn't. He'd spent them with Demyx, and he realised that the only reason he was here now was because he was with Demyx, and the only reason he would ever go anywhere for the remainder of his vacation was because Demyx would take him there.

It wasn't that foreign of a thought to Demyx, who admired the older man's streaked hair as it adhered to their skin by way of the salt and the way Xigbar's physical actions seemed so sure of themselves. Demyx could lead him around all he wanted to; it didn't change the fact that Xigbar was stronger. Still, he'd already come to terms with the knowledge that Xigbar couldn't have gotten rid of him even if he'd wanted to.

Where did that leave them, then?

Xigbar gulped and swallowed heavily when Demyx's arm looped around his neck in surrender, allowing the older man to support most of his weight. Maybe his roommate was right. Maybe this sort of thing was ridiculous—two men, sleeping in each other's beds, going swimming together, tussling in the water.

The warm jolt settled in Xigbar's stomach once again as he held the other man against the waves, touch lingering on his hip unconsciously. The blunt, watery pressure of limbs, another body, against his was comfortable. Alright, it was more than comfortable. It made him want more, want to press completely against the brunet and test whether he was feeling the same things. He'd seen Demyx happy, angry, sleeping, eating…now he wanted to see a needing Demyx, a wanting Demyx, a Demyx who was overpowered by desire.

He gulped again.

They weren't the kind of thoughts he should have been thinking, with Demyx so close, but the sea green eyes just looked up at him in complete casualness. The boy's thumb pushed against a pressure point in his neck, making his back go rigid, quite a feat in the weightlessness of the warm water. They'd stopped fighting. It might have been awkward, but Demyx didn't believe in awkward. What are you thinking? he asked Xigbar mentally.

"Are you alright?" is what he said.

"I'm fine," Xigbar answered, but it seemed that something had been caught in his throat, for it took him a moment to reply. "Why don't we go find some more seashells?"

"That's a good idea," Demyx giggled, pulling himself straight, using Xigbar's neck as a balance. His arm travelled down Xigbar's until it met with his hand, and then the older man was being pulled along again towards the shore. It was easier, with the waves at their back.

Among seaweed and cracked fragments, the two men laboured in the sun to find whole seashells, stumbling upon a shark tooth or two as they worked. When Demyx could carry no more, he settled for sitting in the tide, carving meaningless symbols in the sand and watching them wash away again and again while Xigbar stood behind him, hands in his pockets, and watched the distant people floating on the waves with the blue, blue sky overhead. Neither of them spoke.

Xigbar was slightly embarrassed. He wondered if Demyx had seen right through him, and known about the electricity bubbling in his system when they touched even in the slightest way. Had he noticed Xigbar focusing on his salt-swollen lips for a moment too long?

He was being a moron. He'd done dirtier things than stare at someone, for goodness's sake, but this wasn't like that. He really might have been in—

Well, he thought, I'll jump that bridge when I get to it.

And Demyx leaned back and smiled at him, holding something white in his hands. "Look," he said, "It's a wentletrap."

"Amazing," Xigbar replied mildly, but he wasn't talking about the seashell.

Hmm, Demyx really isn't brunet, and he isn't really blond, and he's not exactly dirty-blond. I hope you'll bear with me about that, because I'll probably call him all of those things at some point in time. XD The chapter name, by the way, is the name of the Destiny Islands fighting music. I thought it was appropriate.