Thin
Thin
Demyx is getting thinner and thinner and thinner, and Zexion’s the only one who notices. He notices because no one else touches Demyx like he does, no one sees him as intimately. No one else takes his shirt off at night and drops kisses down his ever-more prominent collar bone like he does, and no one traces his ribs the same way, remarking how they stick up and up and up, like mountains capped by the snow of his pale skin.
Demyx is getting thinner and thinner and thinner, and Zexion’s the only one who notices. He notices because no one else touches Demyx like he does, no one sees him as intimately. No one else takes his shirt off at night and drops kisses down his ever-more prominent collar bone like he does, and no one traces his ribs the same way, remarking how they stick up and up and up, like mountains capped by the snow of his pale skin.