Author's Notes: Hey look, it's not a story that took me another two years to update! Only like, four months this time, which is a lot better, imo. Plus, I wrote the majority of this in the last few days because I've started trying to dictate certain fics, like this one. It works a bit better since Demyx is a little more train-of-thought than most other people that I've been writing, so.

Dedications: All of you, but especially the guys from the Zemyx Network on Tumblr. Y'all are fantastic and I love you.

Chapter 12 - it's always raining in my head

Demyx stares at Zexion, so surprised that his mind is a blank slate, washed clean except for one, panicked thought.

What is he even doing here?

Demyx can't figure it out even once the fading panic frees up his thoughts, his mind racing with too many possibilities to sort through, not the least of which is how Zexion even found him. It's too much, and for a long moment, Demyx is frozen. Staring.

"We are not having this conversation out in the cold, however," Zexion says as though several moments had not passed since he spoke last.

Pushed to action, Demyx grabs his keys. Or tries to anyway, fumbles them, laughs nervously. And Zexion looks on, impassive. Zexion shifts, moves out of the way of Demyx's door, the motion somehow deliberate and almost … angry. Not almost, if Demyx pays attention to how wary and hostile the water around him is, but he flinches away from that.

Zexion is silent behind him as Demyx steps forward and shakily pulls out the correct key, and he is impossible to ignore. Every bit of Demyx is wound up and thrumming in Zexion's very presence, eagerly attuned, and Demyx's relief would be welcome if it wasn't swamped by the knotted guilt and dread sitting heavily in his stomach. His hands are trembling. The key scratches around the lock as he tries to get it in.

It takes Demyx way too many tries to push the key into the lock, and when he finally does, he has to bolster himself for a moment, taking refuge in the warm water that is now sloshing up against the edges of his mind before he breathes in deeply and pushes the door open.

Oh god.

His apartment is a fucking mess.

Everything is a disaster. There are clothes and trash and dishes everywhere. Demyx abruptly wishes he could crowd Zexion back outside, but the idea of touching him again makes Demyx panic, and he's not quite sure what to do about that. He steps in regardless, enough to let Zexion in behind him, and he tries to discreetly shove aside a few of the piles of trash. It doesn't quite work; he ends up making it worse.

Zexion surveys his apartment with an expression of disdain, ripples of unease trembling against Demyx.

"Would you like… something to drink?" Demyx offers, when it becomes obvious that Zexion is going to continue his silence.

Zexion looks from the living room into the kitchen, then back at Demyx, raising an eyebrow. He stops himself before he even speaks, shaking his head. It appears not to be a dismissal when Zexion says, "Yes, I would like something to drink. Tea, if you have it," he adds, flicking another doubtful glance at the state of Demyx's kitchen.

Demyx bobs a nod, and picks his way over to the kitchen, Zexion following in his footsteps. Once they arrive there, Demyx busies himself with the electric kettle there, filling it up from the tap with enough water for two mugs of tea as Zexion shuffles aside some of the trash, moving it just enough to clear up a bit of room on the faux-wood floor.

They are silent as they wait for the water to boil.

Demyx finds that his breathing comes harder and harder as the anticipation and anxiety builds.

What does Zexion want?

What is he doing here?

What does he want?

The sound of bubbling and faint whistling from the kettle spurs Demyx into action again, and he busies himself with that for a moment, glad to not have to look at Zexion for a moment. Demyx pours two glasses of tea, sets one down in front of Zexion, pulls forward a stool. Gingerly, Demyx blows on the surface of his tea and watches Zexion for any hint of what he's going to try to talk about. Words bubble under Demyx's tongue, and he swallows them, nervous.

Eventually, Zexion breaks the standoff.

"Alright, Demyx, care to explain why, four nights ago, I found you half-delirious and mostly out of your mind and then woke up the the most blinding pain, alone and in my apartment again?"

Oh shit.

Shit, what should Demyx even say?

He opens and closes his mouth time and time again, trying to think of something, anything plausible, and he just comes up blank. What should Demyx say? Maybe that … Demyx had gotten mixed up in something bad? And had just been coming down from a bad high or something? Demyx knows he looks enough like a drug addict to pull it off, but he is pulled out of his thoughts when Zexion sets his mug down with a distinctly stern air. He's still standing, looming a few scant inches above Demyx in a way that has to be deliberate.

"Do not," Zexion says icily, "lie to me right now. My head has felt like it was backed over repeatedly by an eighteen wheeler for three solid days, worse than any migraine I have ever had the misfortune to experience. If it was some form of blunt force trauma, I would have been able to find some kind of wound, but I know, somehow, that you're part of this. You should be glad I haven't already gone to the authorities. Now, tell me. What did you do?"

Demyx doesn't quite know what to say to that. He closes his mouth, worries his lower lip with his teeth until he can taste the coppery tang of blood. Alright, so direct evasion was out. But. The truth is…

Demyx doesn't know if he can do the truth.

Not that Zexion can't handle it (and not that Demyx thinks that he can, either), but what if Demyx can't? What if Demyx can't stand to tell someone the truth?

He takes a deep breath.

"Zexion? Do you… believe in the supernatural?" Demyx starts weakly, then buries his face in his hands, dragging them down his cheeks roughly. "Oh god, I already sound insane."

Zexion gives him an unimpressed look. "I believe, Demyx, that the supernatural has no bearing on the real world. It's fiction."

"But…" Demyx draws up a little bit closer to himself, stung. Under his breath, he mutters, "It's not so supernatural if you're the one living it."

If Zexion hears him, he gives no indication of it. Instead, he's begun pacing, working back and forth over the clear space. He keeps kicking things aside as he goes, picking things up here and there to give himself more room to traverse.

Gathering together again, Demyx takes a moment before he speaks again.

"Zexion," and that draws him up short, stops him from pacing the lone clean stretch of Demyx's floor. Demyx tucks his feet up onto the low bar of the stool he's sitting on, shoulders tight, and he hugs the mug of tea close to him. "Try to think. How did you know where I live?"

Zexion's eyebrows scrunch together. Confusion about the question ripples through the empty space between them, confusion and the low-level frustration that Zexion has been carrying with him this entire time. "You mentioned it to me," he says. "When we were in the hospital."

Demyx shakes his head. "I don't talk about things like that while I'm at work. I don't have your number. I don't have any method of contacting you. So how do you know where I live?

"It's not like you couldn't have found out by asking. But you didn't, otherwise someone at work would have mentioned it, and besides, none of them know my apartment number, and you were waiting right outside of my door."

Zexion swallows. That, more than anything else, seems to have unsettled him.

"I need your honesty," Zexion says, quietly. "I understand that this isn't an easy topic of discussion for you, but I had been under the impression that you had…"

"That I had…?" Demyx finished, trailing off expectantly.

"I'm not sure. I was heading home when I saw you in an alleyway, and when I went in there…" Zexion shakes his head, and confusion and a complete inability to comprehend what happened pushes at Demyx's mind. "But then I woke up again in my room! I thought it was all… just a dream."

"Well," Demyx hedges. "You're not entirely wrong? You weren't awake. Afterwards, anyway. What did you think I had done to you?"

Zexion flushes a dull, dark red. "Honestly, I thought you had drugged me."

"Oh."

It's hard to suppress his laugh, and from the wave of irritation that swamps him, Zexion isn't exactly appreciative of that. Demyx brushes it off. "Don't worry, I didn't drug you. Just. Violated your mind. A bit. I think. You know."

"You what."

"I. Um. Well, I…." Demyx can't breathe. He has to say it.

It's the first time he's going to say it.

Out loud, to someone else, and he squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath.

"I'm an empath."

And he looks up at Zexion through his lashes, his heartbeat and the vague hum of the heating unit all he can hear. Zexion's face is blank and unhelpful, and his emotions have pulled back from Demyx, evaporated inwards as Zexion thinks, and Demyx looks back down at the mug of tea between his hands. He runs a finger around the smooth rim of it.

"I can feel other people's emotions," he tries again. "I just sort of follow yours a bit too much, I think. I may or may not have kind of gone into your mind a little bit, but I'm not too sure what I did myself, so I'm just as lost as you are. Only not. Except I know I massively invaded your privacy which isn't cool at all, and that's shitty-"

"It's impossible," Zexion says, almost to himself.

Demyx winces. "Not, really. It's really, really not that impossible. I've been like this for as long as I can remember."

"This is quite the elaborate hoax you have going on here, Demyx-"

"Hoax? This isn't a hoax, Zexion, I would give anything-"

"-but I'm afraid that I will not suffer being made a fool of like this-"

There's a slam, skin against solid surface, and the sudden fury that boils up inside of Demyx makes his hands throb only harder. Zexion's mouth snaps shut, surprised, as Demyx hisses into the sudden quiet, "Do you know what I would give to only have people's body language to rely on? I live with people in my head, and it fucking hurts, Zexion. You're the only one that doesn't hurt, and I'm going insane with it. I want to be normal, I don't want this, but it's what I've got. I would kill to be normal. I think I almost might have."

Zexion's head cocks. "What do you mean?"

Letting out a long sigh, Demyx picks up his mug again, cradling it against his chest. "I was unconscious when you found me. I don't know how I got there, but I only woke up when you touched me. I don't remember anything. I woke up alone in my bed the next morning with the vaguest memory of dragging you back to yours, and afterwards, I felt great."

He lets that sit for a bit, as Zexion sips at his tea cautiously. "I'm afraid I'm missing a few puzzle pieces here," Zexion says finally, carefully neutral in tone. Demyx can feel a similar sort of hedging from his emotions, and he sighs.

"Feeling other people's emotions hurts, okay? Like. Pressing on a big open wound sort of hurts. A lot. And I don't understand why, but your emotions don't. Don't hurt at all. You're not easier to read, but you hurt a whole hell of a lot less than everyone else I've ever met, and you make other people hurt less too, which is great for me."

"So why do you think I know where you live, if you're the empath here?"

Demyx shrugs. "Transference. You got something from me, same as I got something from you. I've never been that deeply inside someone unless I'm at the club before, so."

There is a long, long pause, and Demyx can feel Zexion thinking through all of the information he has been provided. "I can't believe I'm actually considering this," Zexion mutters under his breath, sitting down at the other stool in Demyx's kitchen, and even that small admission eases the iron bands restricting Demyx's breath. Leaning back, he fixes Demyx with a curious, blue stare. "Alright, assuming you're telling the truth, and assuming that I believe you -which I don't-, what exactly are we going to do? Because I don't want to be mugged in the middle of the night like that again."

"I don't usually mug anyone, so I don't really know." Relaxing now that he has Zexion's tacit approval, Demyx looks down at his feet, swings them idly, muffles a smile. "I've never done that before, not even when I got really bad."

Zexion makes a small noise, and Demyx takes it as the query it is. Leaning back, he waves a hand idly, mentally dispersing some of the waves of curiosity welling from Zexion. "I always had sex or like, suffered through it for a week or so to get myself back on track. It worked, before. I tried it, the night I uh," and Demyx waves a hand between himself and Zexion, "you know. Tried going to the club."

"I take it that didn't work as well as you had hoped," Zexion says wryly.

"Not really, no."

"Hm. Have you ever considered seeking help?"

"And what, just walking in and telling them, hey, yeah, so I'm an empath, can you fix me up with some mental walls or something to keep other people out?" Demyx shakes his head. "I'd get locked up."

Zexion's mouth ticks to the side. There's a guilty sort of approval swirling about, and Demyx swallows roughly. Okay, so Zexion thinks he's a little crazy. Good to know.

Demyx waits, but Zexion doesn't say anything else. He shrugs, continuing on as if Zexion hadn't sort of suggested that Demyx is insane. "But yeah, I mean, the club wasn't always a perfect fix, even before I met you. It was like… tearing off an itching scab? Sort of? And you're sutures? If that even makes sense."

"So, you believe my presence helps you," Zexion says after a few long moments of silence, the water tapping down between them in even, steady beats. "Just my being around you makes it easier for you to not get overwhelmed by other people."

Demyx nods. "Not believe, it really does. It feels like there's a sort of film after you leave? Sort of like… Gloves, you know? It keeps people just that much more distant, which is apparently a distance that I need."

Zexion hums under his breath, fingers tapping together. Then he lets out a long sigh. "This is the longest and strangest set-up I have ever experienced."

"I'm not trying to set you up, Zexion," Demyx says quietly, fingers tight around the warm coffee mug. "You asked for an explanation, so I gave it to you."

Zexion stills at that, then nods once, quick and apologetic, before he lets out a long, long sigh. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Drugs would have made more sense than this."

Demyx's mouth ticks to the side, almost humorous. "Drugs would have been easier for me."

"I'm not quite sure of that," Zexion says, " And you'll have to excuse me for my, ah, disbelief, but you do understand that claims of being an empath are, well, quite impossible to acknowledge. There's no scientific precedent, there's no sure thing…."

Demyx takes a moment to let Zexion peter himself off, and when Zexion finally reaches the end of his sentences, shrugs, his scowl tight across his face, mouth bowed in a small, unhappy line, Demyx shrugs.

"Well, Zexion, if there was anybody here who how impossible it is, I'd say it would be me. Not you. I'm not exactly looking forward to this. I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for this at all." Demyx swallows, rough. Tears are suddenly prickling at the corners of his eyes, and he shakes them off.

A long moment of silence stretches between the two. Demyx watches Zexion. Watches him closely and carefully. Zexion holds his mug up to his mouth, eyes distant as he thinks. He is unmoving except for his fingertips, which tap idly on the table and rim of his cup, and Demyx notices now that he is not completely relaxed either, a furrow forming between his brows. If Demyx reaches, he can sense the sigil lotus, see its colors shifting with each new thought of Zexion's.

Early morning sunlight finally tilts through the blinds and brushes across the pale bridge of Zexion's nose, making his eyelashes seem almost translucent over his vibrant eyes.

(Demyx's heart beats quicker, almost painfully so.)

Zexion finally nods, breaking the stillness that he had carried with him like a shroud of armor, and the tenseness around his shoulders dissipates. Demyx, hopefully, pokes his senses out again. It's a relief to find the water that surrounds him more welcoming now, less like a stranglehold around his neck, waiting to drag him down.

"I'm going to need some time to process this," Zexion says, and Demyx nods immediately.

Of course.

Of course he does.

Demyx understands that. If it had been Demyx is Zexion's shoes, he would have probably run out screaming by now. He's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since Zexion has run away yet.

(No, instead Zexion has sought him out, and isn't that just peculiar.)

Demyx and Zexion finish their drinks in a companionable sort of silence, one where Demyx can quite clearly Zexion thinking about something. The turn of his thoughts is oddly transparent, Demyx being able to tell that Zexion is musing things over, dismissing certain ideas and plans for various unknown reasons. His eyes flicker up towards Demyx time and time again, considering. Unlike other times when people have given Demyx these kinds of looks, he doesn't mind, closes his own eyes, and enjoys the fact that someone is giving him any kind of attention.

The fact that, finally, after twenty-four years, somebody knows.

Demyx is just able to notice that some decision has been made from some change in the feelings around him. He delights in this, delights in knowing these kinds of things, and Demyx opens his eyes again just as Zexion puts his drink down.

"This is what we're going to do," he says. Calmly and authoritatively, just enough that Demyx doesn't think of anything other than to nod. "I am going to need a few days. Sort of to still wrap my head around this, and to figure out exactly what it is I can do to help you."

Demyx nods. "That's about what I expected, yeah. I didn't-. I don't-." He sighs, frustrated, and tries again, organizing himself. "I don't know what to do, so I can't exactly expect you to be able to figure it out."

Zexion looks up at him, and there's almost a smile curling the corner of his mouth. "In the meantime, I need your assurance on a number of things. One, please do not seek me out. I have no doubt that you know where my apartment is, just as I know where yours is. Two, for my sake, try not to get yourself into any trouble. I will come to you, when the time is right."

Demyx swallows. He doesn't know how long that's gonna be from now, and suddenly all of the ease he has is quickly evaporating. What if it's days, weeks, even months from now? What if Zexion forgets?

But regardless, he nods. "I can always go to the club or something, if things get too bad before you make up your mind about what to do."

He is surprised, almost immediately, by the sudden snap of anger and determination flooding him. Maybe not quite anger, but something closer to simple authority. Zexion quickly follows it with a simple, "No."

Demyx blinks.

"Demyx, that doesn't help. You told me that. It's only a temporary reset, and it didn't work last time after you met me, remember? Do not go to the club. Please. I have a feeling it's only going to make you feel worse. You shouldn't want to do that to yourself."

There's a long moment where Demyx. Doesn't move. And Zexion watches him, eyes focused and narrow. Slowly, achingly slow, Demyx nods.

Zexion's right.

He shouldn't want to do that to himself.

Demyx's agreement seems to ease the last of Zexion's unease, and he leans back in his chair. (Demyx hadn't actually been aware that he had leaned forward in the first place.) But Zexion stands and heads towards the door with a short nod. Demyx scrambles up after him.

"I'll… see you in a few days?" Demyx says hopefully, trying not to let too much of his anxiety show through, but that clearly doesn't work. Zexion turns around, the sudden eddies of his mind reassuring and warm again. Gentle caresses of comfort, amusement, and something akin to fondness brushing up against him.

Demyx is almost certain that Zexion isn't quite aware of what he's doing, but either way, it feels amazing, and he isn't going to tell him to stop.

"Yes, Demyx, I will see you again in a few days." And Zexion nods at him, looks over the apartment once, mouth firming again, nods once to himself this time, turns around, and walks out.

The door closes behind him, taking the sense of water further and further away.

Demyx stretches as far as he can, presses himself against up the door, eyes closed, feeling the cold from the outside only as a passing sensation in comparison to Zexion's mind, receding like the tide. He stretches and stretches, reaching further than he knew he could. The sigil lotus in his mind glows faint and faint, but no less fond, and in the final moments before he is left alone again, Demyx thinks that maybe, just maybe, it is turning back towards him.

He breathes out, holding onto that memory.

Slowly, Demyx pushes himself away from the door, and he turns quietly, his muscles weak and shaky from nerves. He crouches, sits down, lets his head hit the door with a soft thump. His apartment is still in shambles around him, and Demyx's head is wrung out and tired.

But he's not in pain.

"He said he'd come back," Demyx whispers. An incredulous smile fights its way to the surface, and Demyx doesn't try too hard to stop it as he curls his knees to his chest, circles his fingers against each other to feel the drag-catch of his own skin. "He'll come back, so I won't hurt him or anyone else again."

Demyx looks around his apartment, breathes in, and for once, feels light and easy.

Demyx smiles, hopeful.

.end chapter 12.

Once more, if you'd like to read a scene that happens later in the story, please, feel free to check out the story "Only Light You See"! It's set later in this story and may (or may not) increase your interest in the eventual plot of this story! (and yes this will show up on every chapter until we get to that chapter, at which point I will wildly pimp it out, and then you'll be free of this. You still have a while to go.)

Notes for this chapter are: Don't worry yourself too much about Zexion's reaction to all of this. Hopefully more will be explained as time goes on.