Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.
Um...yeah. It's a little (a little?!) confusing...but yeah...it was fun to write, in any case.
If you still believe...
...that this can have a happy ending...
Zexion watched silently as the fog shuddered in disarray. His eyes were cold, distant; he could see things that were there but not there all at once. He felt the iciness of the night air around him as it violently bit at his skin, but it was not so difficult to ignore when he didn't think about it. Because he was watching the world with his dark, beady eyes again; the eyes that did not look at the world, but through it. Because there was something beyond the Earth to see. Something else to watch, something else to examine. Something far beyond the reaches of normal eyesight.
It was when – and only when – his feet were finally enveloped in a sleeve of tingly numbness that he went inside. But he hesitated at the door, closing it slowly as if paying some form of polite mannerism to the darkness that slept before him. His eyes lingered for as long as they could; they were only averted when there was nothing to see but the dark red door. And, contrary to popular belief, Zexion could not see through closed doors.
He knew from the moment he woke up and glanced at the wretched clock that screamed 9:06pm at him with blaring red letters that something was wrong today. It wasn't because of the screaming letters, and it wasn't because of the eerie mindfulness he appeared to have tonight. It was because he had woken up. It's not to say that Zexion did not want to wake up, it's to say that he should not have been asleep to wake up in the first place. Zexion didn't sleep. Well, he slept, but only three hours a night at most, and only because of pills. Zexion had a wonderfully loyal insomnia that promised to follow him to the ends of the earth; Zexion never got tired or drowsy. Didn't matter if he was watching the most boring movie in the history of movies (which, to Zexion, they all were a repetitive, colossal waste of time) or if he'd been studying for hours and hours – he did not get tired. He wasn't proud of it or ashamed of it, really. It was just how things were.
But when he was tired…and when he fell asleep in the middle of the day while Demyx was over…
…something was very wrong.
Demyx hadn't seemed to mind. In fact, he didn't seem like he noticed at all. By the way Demyx had been bouncing all over the place, Zexion might say the blond absorbed all the energy from the room and that's why he'd fallen asleep. And since Demyx had way too much energy and Zexion was left with none whatsoever, the blond had found himself being shoved out of the house to go to the movies or wherever it was he'd been babbling about.
At least, that was the reason Zexion reiterated in his mind for a very long few minutes as he stood out in the freezing, almost-zero temperature. The real reason Demyx had left without Zexion was because Zexion didn't feel like seeing Xigbar hit on the innocent blond all night. Zexion really didn't feel like watching Xigbar "subtly" snake his arm around Demyx during the movie (Zexion was almost certain the word "movie" had come up in the jumble of words Demyx had so enthusiastically spat). Because, you know, Zexion was being a protective best friend. He had the right to be angry with Xigbar, right? And he had the right to refuse Demyx's happiness because of his own selfish drowsiness, right?
Wait…
Well, he wasn't refusing Demyx's happiness. Demyx was always happy. And Demyx would be happy with all the others. Zexion knew it made no real difference if he were to go or not. Because although Demyx said he wanted Zexion to go, he really just wanted to go with all his friends. For whatever reason, it always hurt Zexion to know he was just a tiny speck in the genre that was all of Demyx's friends. It always hurt to know that Demyx would be equally happy with everyone else as he was with just Zexion. Because, as Demyx had so delightfully put it, they were all "very important" to him. They were all his friends. He cared about them all the same.
Even Zexion. Zexion was loved only as much as Xigbar or Luxord or Axel or Roxas. And as fantastic as that was, it simply was not enough. It was enough for everyone else, maybe, but not for Zexion. Zexion wanted something more than just that…
…but what exactly did he want? Why exactly did he even care?
And so, it was around the time Zexion was pondering this, stumbling down the hallway absentmindedly as he tried to find the living room, that everything because fuzzy. It was a gray wake-up call; Zexion now noticed everything around him. Now he noticed, as a silver haze was enveloping everything. But opening his eyes wider did him no good, as the world around him appeared to be blackening steadily. He wasn't feeling faint; he wasn't going to drop in a whirl of drowsiness. He could still see. It was just everything was turning black. It wasn't long before he could no longer discern the floor from the walls or the walls from the ceiling.
"I don't believe that anymore…"
There was a voice. It was floating, floating…swimming in the black. It found the ears of the pale boy, but only in slurred mumbles. The words were ones that Zexion knew he'd heard somewhere but couldn't place exactly where. The more he thought about it, the more voices floated around him, different voices saying all the same words. They were whispers, and whispers only. But they were whispers he knew he'd heard before. Somewhere…
…spoken by a dying woman. A woman so alive to the eyes but so dead inside. A woman with dark, ebony hair and black eyes that no longer shone with a radiant happiness that nothing could touch. Does a dark room illuminate if there is no light in which to do so? No. It becomes darker and darker, further and further out of reach. Until, one day, the woman decides she doesn't want to live anymore. And painted there, in Zexion's mind, is an image so grotesque it sends shivers up his spine. A dying man, lying in the warmth of blood, light leaving his eyes…and a dog, gray and battered, tired and hungry, gives up everything if only to sit by his master's side. The dog just sits there, at the side of the man's corpse, staring into those eyes praying that maybe, just maybe, they'll light up again. The dog knows the man will not rise again. He knows it. But he sits there, as if it's all he knows how to do. And he watches the corpse of his beloved master, the only one in the whole world who showed him any image of love, until he dies, too. Then they're both dead, and what has been accomplished? Nothing. So when the raven-haired woman stares at the flowers beneath the gray stone, hating the flowers with everything that she is, hating the stone, hating the earth, hating everything, clutching the hand of the boy at her side, she is truly dead. And Zexion remembered the cold of her hand so vividly, as though she were dying right where she stood and her body was reacting swiftly to the feeling in her heart. He remembered it so well it was like he was seeing it. It was playing out before his eyes, once again, all the pain of that single moment worse than when his father died and worse than when his mother died; because it's not either death that haunts him, but the moment in time when his mother decided she would die. He knew, even as a boy, that even though she promised to stay alive because she still had her baby boy, her weakening body told otherwise. Zexion knew she loved him. He always knew. She just loved his father so much that it literally killed her. She was unable to live without him there. Zexion never hated her for it. He was never bitter. He always understood. He always knew. Never once did he stop loving either of them. But what he did hate…
…were those words.
"I don't believe that anymore…"
And then he realized that something was very, very wrong. He was seeing it again. Reliving the moment, as it were. The look on his mother's face was as clear now as it had been that very day, so very long ago. For a moment, Zexion wondered if time had never moved on past that point and he had dreamed everything up. But then he thought of Demyx, and he was suddenly seeing Demyx standing there, head tilted to the side, blond hair falling in his face. The shining eyes that glistened with a never-ending benevolence to anyone and everyone, the face that seemed to be asking a question that only Zexion knew the answer to…
"What don't you believe anymore, Zexy?" A question asked in a voice that was most assuredly Demyx's. But the lips of the Demyx hallucination did not move, although the expression on his face was evidence that he was indeed asking something. "What is it you want?"
And when Zexion found he had no answer for his hallucination, he felt very dizzy. The black began to spin. His heart sped up, rushing at such an incredible rate that he didn't know was even possible. It felt like it was going to simply burst from his chest altogether or claw its way up his throat. And he was scared. With every single fiber of his being, Zexion was terrified.
Then he was in bed, sitting up, breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room. His eyes – now so very alive with excitement – were radiating confusion and anger and fear. His whole body seemed to emanate pure, raw fear. But he was in his room again, and there was no more black and there was no more Demyx and no more mother and no more flowers by a tombstone.
He stood up, cursing under his breath, and made his way to the bathroom. It was a longer trip that he remembered, but he made it to the planned destination either way. He turned on the sink, grabbed handfuls of water, splashed his face, and composed himself. Just a nightmare, he said to himself. It's just a nightmare.
But Zexion didn't have nightmares. He didn't dream at all.
He left the bathroom, but his room was now filled with mirrors. Mirrors of all different shapes and sizes. He'd never seen them before, he was sure. He certainly hadn't purchased them. Ever. And they certainly weren't there just moments before. But they were there now, reflecting widened, baffled black eyes to match his own.
But then something caught his particular attention. One of the mirrors was especially large. And on it, in a dark red slimy substance, were the words: Did you forget?
"Forget what?" asked Zexion. He hadn't really expected to ask it aloud. Actually, he swore he hadn't asked it aloud. But there were his words, bouncing off the walls in an ominous echo.
"You honestly don't remember?"
And that voice was easy to place.
Believing he was staring at Xigbar, however, was a completely different story. Because there was Xigbar, standing all tall and smug, watching Zexion's reactions carefully. Xigbar. Observing. Carefully. It just didn't fit all together at once. But it was happening, and it was there. And as Xigbar waved his left hand around for Zexion to see, Zexion remembered.
For around Xigbar's ring finger was a simple golden band. Simple? It seemed to be. Yet Xigbar was flaunting it as though he'd just won the lottery. Smirking at Zexion, winking at him with a triumphant glaze in his eye, Xigbar flipped his hand this way and that to show off the stupid ring.
And Zexion remembered.
A thirteen-year-old boy with dark hair, eying a golden ring through a window, watching it for hours and hours, came to mind. Because that was him, and that ring…he remembered watching that ring for a very long time, not saying he wanted to buy it yet not letting it out of his sight. The day turned to night and it grew colder, and only when the cold made his feet numb did the just-made-teenager step inside the jewelry store, demanding that he had to have that specific ring. Only that ring was good enough. Sure, he could afford so many other, nicer things, but he needed that ring. Needed it. With all the need and want of a thirteen-year-old.
Then he was seeing it; his memory was flashing in front of him, and he recognized the fantasy he'd had as a kid. Demyx was there, and Zexion was there, just younger. They were both younger. And Zexion took Demyx's left hand and slid the ring on his finger and whispered, "Now you have to be my friend forever." But that hadn't been what the younger Zexion wanted to say. The younger Zexion wanted to ask, "Will you marry me?" but he couldn't find the words to say it. Zexion knew this. He remembered it. That stupid, ridiculous…
But Demyx had never taken it off.
And it suddenly made Zexion angry that Xigbar was there now, still flaunting that ring. In fact, Zexion was so angry that it was almost a complete blur what he did next. He could hardly stop himself from gripping the pair of scissors in his hands tightly and holding them over Xigbar and letting them slip into him, tearing apart his body and coloring it a pretty red color. But then Zexion wasn't angry anymore, and he was sliding the golden ring off the other man's finger and onto his own. Then he stood up and realized what exactly he'd just done, and before he knew it, his legs were carrying him out the door and down the stairs and down the hall –
He stopped at the hall.
There, at the end, sat a red door. A dark, red door. A door the color of blood, staring back at him, telling him there was no escape. A red door that made him afraid again; a red door that made him want to turn and run in the opposite direction.
"I think I'm dying, Zexy," said a voice. Suddenly Demyx was there, at the end of the hall, standing in front of the door, staring at Zexion with a strange look about him. He was sad, pleading…lonely. "I think I'm really dying."
Zexion ran. He turned and he ran back up those stairs and back through that doorway and he slid to a stop as his eyes widened again in that terror. Xigbar wasn't there anymore. There was no blood. No body. No mirrors. No Demyx. The only remaining evidence of the past scene was the golden band that still rested on Zexion's finger. And even his hand wasn't bloody anymore.
"…because he's not just a friend, is he?"
"What don't you believe anymore, Zexy?"
"…because you love him, don't you?"
"I think I'm dying, Zexy."
"You've always loved him."
"I love all of you, Zexy. You're all my friends."
"Idiot."
"I want you to marry me, Demyx."
And there he was. The thirteen-year-old Zexion, staring down at his confused elder self. He was glaring, angry; his eyes were filled with a murderous rage and his hands were clenched at his sides. His anger made Zexion afraid because they were both sharing that anger. The anger was a part of both of them and it was screaming and shouting.
"You love him, don't you?" demanded the hallucination Zexion. Zexion flinched, shaking his head fervently.
"I don't know, I don't know, what do you mean!?!" he screamed.
"You know what I mean!"
"I don't know I don't know I don't know!"
"You DO know! Do you love him!?"
"I don't—"
"You love him you love him you love him you idiot!"
"I don't! I don't!"
"Yes you do you idiot! You care about him more than you have ever cared about anyone!"
"I know! I know!"
"SAY IT!"
"I can't!"
"SAY IT NOW, ZEXION!"
"I love him!"
"Again!"
"I love him! I love him I love him I love him!" And now he was standing, screaming out loud, screaming to no one in particular, screaming to an empty room as he grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He was crying, he realized idly. Crying and screaming, screaming and crying. Then running. Running for the door as a smile spread across his face. Grinning as he pulled on a coat and grabbed his car keys. He had to see Demyx – that was all his mind could manage. He had to see Demyx and tell him everything. He had to tell him everything. Zexion threw open the door, smiling like an idiot, and stopped.
"Uh, hey, Zex."
Xigbar.
And something was very, very wrong. Xigbar was pale. He was fidgeting. His eyes kept darting everyplace except Zexion. He didn't smile. He didn't smirk.
"What is it, Xigbar?" Zexion asked breathlessly. He could hear the sound of breaking. Breaking. Something was breaking. Something was falling down all around him. Something was shattering to pieces.
"Zex, he's dead. Demyx is dead."
"I think I'm dying, Zexy."
"He was in a car accident."
"I think I'm really dying."
"He was just on his way to the theater and…god, Zex, he's dead."
"I don't believe that anymore…"
"Believe what?"
And then Zexion was sitting upright on his bed, breathing heavily. Demyx was staring into his eyes worriedly. "Are you okay, Zexy? You were…um. Talking in your sleep."
Zexion stared intently at Demyx for a long time. Demyx didn't say anything after that; he waited patiently. He waited and examined Zexion, not freaking out or bugging him with "ARE YOU OKAY!?!?" And Zexion thought it was all okay. It was all okay. He'd been dreaming. This time, he'd really been dreaming. But only because some part of him had something to say; some neglected, shunned voice in the back of his mind was finally fed up. With a sudden movement, Zexion had his arms around Demyx, and was holding him tightly. Demyx squeaked in surprise, but did nothing to deter the act.
"I love you, Demyx," whispered Zexion. Demyx laughed nervously.
"I know."
"I don't think you do."
"Are you alright, Zexy?"
"Yes. I'm fine. I'm okay. And so are you."
"Yeah…and since you're fine, wanna go to the movies?! Xiggy just called and they want to go see—"
Zexion didn't allow him to finish; before he could really think about what he was doing (but then, thinking about it might not be the best idea, all things considered) he was kissing the blond, allowing every single emotion he had within himself to fall away. Because, if it was possible, Zexion wanted to give every single bit of himself to Demyx. Everything. Everything in his heart, everything in his soul, everything…
"I'm in love with you, Demyx."
"I...heh. I think I already knew. It's 'cause I'm in love with you, too, Zexy."
"And there's no way in hell you're going to the movies tonight."
"I don't believe that anymore…"
"Believe what?"
"That this can't have a happy ending."
If You Still Believe -- End
And so. When Zexy broods, he broods.
And I suck at writing. So it's not Zexy's fault.
So...like...review? 'Cause it was either really crappy or really SUPER awesome, yeah? xD
And I gave you the happy ending. I was SO going to use the tragic/messed up ending. But I didn't. Feel loved.