Disclaimer: Saïx and Xemnas are copyright to Square Enix.

Warning: Rated T for suggestive themes.

T H E A T R I C S

1

We don't really hold conversations. I just tend to talk, and he just tends to listen. I discuss reports, findings and items that require attention; he nods if he agrees and shakes his head if he doesn't. I stamp his approval and he merely watches. If he wants something, he never goes beyond four words.

"Drink, please."

"Pass me a pen."

"Sit over here."

"Keep going."

If we talk more, we'll disrupt the thin ribbon that binds us. If I learn too much about him, I might change my mind. If he learns too much about me, he'll have me killed.

I'm careful. I treat him with as much care as I can muster. Every morning, I dress him in his coat without letting us touch unless he permits it. I brush his hair with my fingers, let him do the same to me when he needs to think. On his particularly draining days, I soothe him as he seethes, let him as he hurts and punishes, too smart to flinch or protest.

When he stares at his hands for a fraction too long, I put my lips to just below his ear and pull him from his troubled thoughts. When he rubs the inside of his left wrist, I ask him if tea will do. When he drums the table, I sit right where he's drumming and move the hand to a far better place.

I let him lead, and then I follow. I carry books and papers and lies and responsibility and trust; he carries nothing. I serve, advise and inform; I also kiss, bite and grind.

I'm useful, indispensable, meticulous, punctual, relaxing, efficient, easy, convenient, his.

It becomes normal to have me around, so natural and usual that he knows I'm there, but never wonders why.

Nobodies save the theatrics for the unsuspecting.