Fic: The Twilight Between - Chapter 5 - All Hurt and Confusion
Title: The Twilight Between
Pairing: Zemyx
Disclaimer: KH = NOT MINE.
Dedications: to prettypixiechan. Because she is my lovely beta. All other mistakes are my own.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The thing that Demyx wants most in the world is a break from feeling the emotions of other people. He doesn't get that (in fact, it might be the opposite), but what he does get might actually be better. But either Zexion can save his sanity, or be the one thing to push him over the edge.
Chapter Summary: He coughs when he tries to speak, but swallows and tries again, voice still too harsh and raspy. "Over here, Axel."
Warnings: This fic contains dubious-consent at times, and severely distressed mental states at others. I will post warnings on specific chapters, so you know what you're getting into.
* * *
Chapter 4...
* * *
All Hurt and Confusion
* * *
Water.
Soft drips of water sound through his mind, calming and steady and just there in a way he finds so, so soothing, makes him feel so very safe. He looks down and sighs, shivering, as the water flows around him, washing his hands, washing him. It's a strange feeling, all of this gunk and grime that he hadn't even known was there being washed from him, leaving his skin clean like it never touched him to begin with.
He floats for a while, long enough to know that the water is flowing heavier now, the drops more like rain. Opening his mouth and letting them slide in, he tastes tiredness and worry, and the faintest hint of relief under them. Someone has come home and he can rest a little more now because surely Dad can take care of Sora while I'm at school. Thank god. I think Vexen was going to kill me if I had to beg off early again. He's been very understanding during - Sora lying on a hospital bed, small body wracked with coughs, listless and pale in the face of how mobile he used to be - all of this, but lenient he is NOT. It's worth it because my thesis is getting some real progress done on it. A sigh, flipping his hair out of his eyes, and maybe if I work hard enough, I can convince him to let me have some time with my family during the week. Maybe Demyx-
He shudders, shaking some of the water off, closing his mouth and sitting up because wait, isn't he Demyx?
-can let me in while my family's there too? There is some heated rush that Demyx doesn't have enough time to understand, one that's squashed without conscious thought, and then the water is fading around him again, slowly lowering him to land.
Lowering him into his own mind.
Demyx opens his eyes.
And almost immediately regrets it, squeezing them shut with a soft curse as light darts knives into his skull. Slowly, gingerly, he sits up, pavement rough against his palm. Shit, he hurts everywhere. Every inch of skin feels tender and bruised, but his mind at least is clear. After the haze that was the last half of yesterday, Demyx isn't sure he could take much more mind-numbing (not quite the right phrase. His mind was sensitive. Body-numbing fit better, really, because he doesn't remember feeling his fingertips since he left Elena's room) pain like he did then.
Looking around blearily, blinking every second he can, Demyx takes stock of where he is. Outside the bar? He thinks? It looks about right, dim, dark, a little sketchy, smelling a bit too much like trash, sweat, and sex for it to be anything else.
Demyx hears the crunch of gravel under someone's feet and turns his head that way, tensing up to protect himself if he needs to. But a warm wash of worry and exasperation flickers around him and he relaxes.
Axel.
"Demyx? You out here?"
He coughs when he tries to speak, but swallows and tries again, voice still too harsh and raspy. "Over here, Axel." (He doesn't bother getting up; it's useless to try.) He hears Axel walking over, relief replacing the worry and feeding the frustration, hopelessness the fuel beneath it, and Demyx just sighs, rubs his face, waits until Axel comes into sight before he does anything.
"Again, Demyx?"
Demyx looks up at Axel, salt crusted around his eyes and a foul taste in his mouth. "Sorry, Axel," he murmurs without any prompting, and he knows that Axel doesn't believe him at all from the radiating irritation and resignation he feels.
"You say that-" and the lean redhead bites off the rest of his words, looking to the side. It doesn't help. Demyx still knows what he was going to say. 'Every time.'
'Every time' this happens.
'Every time' I try to stop you from hurting yourself.
'Every time' you fuck up.
And 'every time', you do it again.
Demyx hangs his head, feeling tears well in his eyes. Fuck, he shouldn't be crying. He does this every time, this is nothing new. Why is it hurting now? Concern pokes against him, and he hears Axel's voice say "H-hey, Dem… You okay? I didn't…"
"I know, Axel, you didn't mean it." The blonde sighs roughly and he rubs his hand over his face, looking up at the redhead tiredly. "Doesn't stop it from being true. I do say it every time, and I never fucking change." He slams his fist into the ground next to him, wincing when the impact finally registers. Lifting up his hand, Demyx stares at it for a while, mind trying to form coherent thought.
"I hate this."
The whisper is harsh and gouging and Demyx looks up at Axel as the lean man slumps down to the ground next to him. Fury, barely contained and fiery, lashes against him. It is tempered by concern and helplessness; Demyx wonders at the cleansing burn of it. Axel had always hurt before, but now… now it just feels like fire, like the burn of his muscles after he runs, warm and loose and aching.
"I hate watching you do this to yourself, Demyx," Axel continues, looking at his hands as Demyx pulls himself out of his thoughts. "I can't…. It's like you don't even notice how bad you get. And you just … sleep with someone, and the next day, you're hung over, but fine. And I'm always able to think that maybe," and he laughs bleakly, bitterly, (and Demyx jerks guiltily, because he can feel the tears that Axel is holding back, and he wants to curl into his best friend's arms and cry himself into a soft oblivion), "maybe this time you'll get better. This time, you'll stop and realize that you're just hurting yourself. Only then, a month later, you start getting headaches and you look tired and irritable and we go to the club to unwind and you do it all over again."
And now Demyx does start crying, feeling the salt water slide down his cheeks in slick drops, his lips trembling hard, and Axel reaches over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. They share their sadness there like they share their breaths, foreheads resting against each other. The air is hot and wet between them, and Demyx turns to tucks his face in the crook of Axel's warm neck, breathing apologies like confessions between sobs.
"I'm sorry." (I'm scared.)
"I'm so sorry." (I can't do this alone.)
"…I'm sorry…"
(I'm too scared to tell you why.)
They sit like that in a communion of sorts for a while until Axel slowly pulls back, rubbing harshly at his eyes. He looks exhausted, and Demyx closes his eyes, the twisting guilt he feels swallowing him. Axel probably stayed the night at the bar just so he could look for him in the morning, so he could make sure that Demyx was okay.
Axel stands slowly, movements stiff, like every part of him hurts. Leaning back, he twists to the side, lets out a relieved groan when there are several satisfying pops from his back. "Ready for me to take you home?" the redhead asks with a rough voice, straightening.
"Yeah." Demyx swallows, feeling the burn of his throat as he does. "Yeah, I am."
Axel holds out his hand to help Demyx up and Demyx shies away from it, feeling a bit too raw to touch anyone at the moment. He leans against the wall instead, gingerly pushing himself up. For a moment, he lingers there. His breaths come in heavy. Labored. But the flare of Axel's hurt, beginning to sting around the edges, presses in around him and eventually, Demyx pushes himself away from the wall.
He follows Axel out of the alley, wincing at the bright sunlight. Blindly, Demyx tails after his friend to the car, praying that he doesn't step on a patch of ice as he does. (The bruises on his side ache tightly at the reminder, and he bites back a small groan.)
Squinting one eye open, Demyx manages to get to the car and he settles into the passenger seat with a grunt. He closes his eyes again, feeling Axel's weight shift the car before the redhead closes the door and starts the car with a quiet rev of the engines. The silence is heavy but comfortable for Demyx, even though he can tell that Axel has so many questions he wants to ask. He rests his head on the window, soaking up the weak warmth from the sun.
Unfortunately, that small measure of peace doesn't last long.
"...Why do you do it?" Axel asks quietly, like the words are torn out of him. "I don't... I don't get why you have to keep doing this."
Demyx listens to the squeeze and shift of Axel's hands tightening on the steering wheel and lets out a sigh. "I can't really explain it, Axel," he murmurs, shifting slightly without opening his eyes. "It's just something I need to do sometimes."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah."
"No, I mean, really, do you have to do it? Because I'm sure there are other ways to ... unwind." Demyx can feel the car turning and swaying through traffic, and he can feel the confusion and vague irritation pouring off of Axel, but he just can't muster up the effort to play nice right now.
He's just so tired.
"Look, Axel, can we... can we not talk about this?" Demyx asks, voice flat. "I really just want to go to sleep."
Silence.
Axel takes a deep breath, and the flare of anger and frustration batter hard against Demyx's meager defenses. They are restrained after a few irritated breaths but Demyx hunches into his window until they pass, swallowing hard because they still hurt even if he was feeling smooth and protected. Fire singes him at every turn and he can't escape, can never escape.
"Alright."
And like that, the fire is gone.
Demyx cautiously lets out the breath he was holding.
Maybe the club worked after all?
(But this is nothing like the raw relaxation he feels normally, because normally it is like someone took steel wool to him and scoured off all the rust. This is different, and he's not exactly sure how different it is yet.)
The car stops.
Demyx opens his eyes, looking first at his apartment building, then at Axel. The building is grey and squat, nothing too exiting or good-looking, and Axel's face is hard, mouth bitten into a stern, repressed line, jaw tight with everything he's choosing not to say.
"...Axel...," he starts, but hesitates, unsure of what to say next.
Axel sighs roughly, rubs the twin reversed teardrop tattoos under his eyes with his thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Just... Demyx, I can't keep looking after you, you know that. I just want you to be safe, but there's only so long I can do this, because I can't keep watching you do this to yourself if you're not going to get any better."
Throat tight, Demyx nods, a heavy panic setting into his bones. Axel has been the only one for years who has given any sort of damn about him. For him to give up now... "I'll try, Axel," he promises, and he means it. He does.
(But in the back of his mind, he knows that if his only options are the club and Axel's disappointment, or facing the raging whirlwind inside him again, he will always pick the club.)
"Sure, Demyx," Axel says. But he shakes his head and drags up a tired smile. "Just go rest. You have work tomorrow, right?"
Demyx grins weakly back and nods. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow for dinner, right?" He opens his door as he speaks, setting his feet tentatively out on the icy pavement. Axel shivers as the cold air hits his skin. (Demyx blinks at that, because he didn't even notice the air temperature.)
"Yes, I'll see you then, jeez, Demyx, you're letting in all the cold air! Shoo!" Axel waves him out of the car, grin widening.
Demyx gets out of the car fully and closes the door. He watches as Axel drives off, the tension bleeding out of his frame the further away the car gets. For a moment, he enjoys the relative silence. But he slowly staggers up the stairs to his apartment, leaning against the wall and railings for support. His legs tremble now that he can relax them, now that Axel's not here to mother-hen over him and worry and hurt him unknowingly.
Fuck, he hates himself when he's like this. It had been better, but now he needs rest and real sleep, because he still doesn't feel as good as he normally does after a night like this. He didn't have to go all the way with anyone, so he shouldn't be feeling this weak and dejected and lonely.
(He woke up fine. He woke up surrounded by water.)
Demyx wonders if that means that Zexion was nearby. And if he was...
He could have seen Demyx.
The thought is nauseating, and Demyx sags heavily against his door, pawing absently at his pocket for his keys. Zexion should not have to see Demyx like that. To him, Demyx is like a hero, helping him see his brother when he otherwise couldn't.
(It matters to him, but he has no idea why the idea of Zexion seeing him, used and abused in a back alley near a bar, upsets him so much.)
Through sheer force of focus, he opens the door. Demyx slogs through the disorder on his floor without bothering to turn on a light, late afternoon sunlight drifting in through the slats on his window blinds. He is just intent on heading to his bedroom and getting some sleep immediately.
But his mind buzzes and whirls and he knows that he won't be able to get to sleep like this. Groaning, he turns to circle the living room agitatedly, unable to stop moving even though his body shakes and shivers with the need to drop.
Demyx wanders, paces around his mess of an apartment, nudging trash to the side with his shins and feet when he encounters them. He clears a track for himself and keeps walking around. Darkness presses in around him, and despite the relaxation he got at the club, he can feel the tension building up underneath his surface again.
"Fuck," he mutters, scrubbing furiously at his scalp, fingers catching and pulling knots in his hair. He storms towards his bed, fully intent on concentrating so hard he has to go to sleep. Sweeping the covers to the side, he flops onto the bed, draws the blanket over his shoulder, closes his eyes.
Waits.
The apartment creaks around him, the footsteps of people living around him echoing and shifting and moving the floor. His mind can't stop thinking, spinning widely out for things to worry about, like his job, like Axel, his only friend, how his family is even doing anymore since he hasn't seen them in, wow has it already been four years because it doesn't feel that long, no, can't sleep, wonder how Zexion's doing.
Demyx clenches his teeth. He hates this. He closes his eyes tightly, willing himself to slip into the grayscale of sleep.
Everything is just so loud. He can't just make it stop because his mind just won't stop.
But between one breath and the next, he sleeps.
He dreams of pain.
He dreams of pain, he cannot wake up, he dreams of-
-rending, screeching pain, terrible and vast. Flashes of color, of noise, careen into him, landing and drilling through his skin with their razor points. Demyx twists to get away from it, but it's no use, it's everywhere, it's in him. The world is a roaring rush of noise and he hates it, god he is so scared of it because it never just leaves him alone the way he wants it to, just follows him incessantly.
But there, ahead, there is a safe spot. He darts towards it, instincts screaming "less noises that way go go go". A column of light. Ahead of him.
(The tearing pain is catching up, digging barbs into him, and he runs faster, terror making his breath catch.)
He knows not to look behind him, he knows because it's a place full of secrets of other people, and he wasn't meant to know them, he isn't supposed to know any of it, it's not fair that he does know, so he keeps running, eyes fixed on his destination. A shape begins to form as he gets closer, light glinting off of soft petals that are opening to him, beckoning him in, and he, god, he doesn't stop moving, lungs heaving, unable to breathe until he is there in the midst of it, cradled in the center of a blue-petal lotus that hovers over murky, dangerous waters.
Demyx has nothing to fear here. The lotus will protect him. Already it is drawing its petals up to guard him from outside dangers. He sinks to the ground with legs that can no longer hold him, wraps his arms around his body, buries his head in his skin and shakes with fear and exhaustion. The smooth touch of the lotus flower brushes his back, his hip, his thigh, noncommittal and serene. Just letting him know that it's there, solid and reassuring.
Only…
It's not.
It's there, but it's not.
Looking between his arms, Demyx tilts his head at the petals surrounding him. Something… isn't quite right. It's not quite the right shape. There is something missing from what he's really supposed to be seeing here.
As though it can hear his revelation, the lotus flickers.
Panicking - he didn't mean for it to go away, he was just trying to figure out what isn't right about it! - Demyx scrabbles for a handhold, the petals that were soothing and solid now half-transparent and fading. But a bare second later, they reform back into their flower shape, glowing blue, swirling restlessly, bright sigils taking place of their lines, holding him up even more gently than the petals of before. (He knows he has been here before and that he should try to remember where, but sleep is catching up to him even in the dream and Demyx is so tired of fighting.)
He lets go.
And he is surrounded by-
-Water.
* * *
Chapter 6...
Insomnia is good for some things. Finishing fics is one of those things.
Pairing: Zemyx
Disclaimer: KH = NOT MINE.
Dedications: to prettypixiechan. Because she is my lovely beta. All other mistakes are my own.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The thing that Demyx wants most in the world is a break from feeling the emotions of other people. He doesn't get that (in fact, it might be the opposite), but what he does get might actually be better. But either Zexion can save his sanity, or be the one thing to push him over the edge.
Chapter Summary: He coughs when he tries to speak, but swallows and tries again, voice still too harsh and raspy. "Over here, Axel."
Warnings: This fic contains dubious-consent at times, and severely distressed mental states at others. I will post warnings on specific chapters, so you know what you're getting into.
* * *
Chapter 4...
* * *
All Hurt and Confusion
* * *
Water.
Soft drips of water sound through his mind, calming and steady and just there in a way he finds so, so soothing, makes him feel so very safe. He looks down and sighs, shivering, as the water flows around him, washing his hands, washing him. It's a strange feeling, all of this gunk and grime that he hadn't even known was there being washed from him, leaving his skin clean like it never touched him to begin with.
He floats for a while, long enough to know that the water is flowing heavier now, the drops more like rain. Opening his mouth and letting them slide in, he tastes tiredness and worry, and the faintest hint of relief under them. Someone has come home and he can rest a little more now because surely Dad can take care of Sora while I'm at school. Thank god. I think Vexen was going to kill me if I had to beg off early again. He's been very understanding during - Sora lying on a hospital bed, small body wracked with coughs, listless and pale in the face of how mobile he used to be - all of this, but lenient he is NOT. It's worth it because my thesis is getting some real progress done on it. A sigh, flipping his hair out of his eyes, and maybe if I work hard enough, I can convince him to let me have some time with my family during the week. Maybe Demyx-
He shudders, shaking some of the water off, closing his mouth and sitting up because wait, isn't he Demyx?
-can let me in while my family's there too? There is some heated rush that Demyx doesn't have enough time to understand, one that's squashed without conscious thought, and then the water is fading around him again, slowly lowering him to land.
Lowering him into his own mind.
Demyx opens his eyes.
And almost immediately regrets it, squeezing them shut with a soft curse as light darts knives into his skull. Slowly, gingerly, he sits up, pavement rough against his palm. Shit, he hurts everywhere. Every inch of skin feels tender and bruised, but his mind at least is clear. After the haze that was the last half of yesterday, Demyx isn't sure he could take much more mind-numbing (not quite the right phrase. His mind was sensitive. Body-numbing fit better, really, because he doesn't remember feeling his fingertips since he left Elena's room) pain like he did then.
Looking around blearily, blinking every second he can, Demyx takes stock of where he is. Outside the bar? He thinks? It looks about right, dim, dark, a little sketchy, smelling a bit too much like trash, sweat, and sex for it to be anything else.
Demyx hears the crunch of gravel under someone's feet and turns his head that way, tensing up to protect himself if he needs to. But a warm wash of worry and exasperation flickers around him and he relaxes.
Axel.
"Demyx? You out here?"
He coughs when he tries to speak, but swallows and tries again, voice still too harsh and raspy. "Over here, Axel." (He doesn't bother getting up; it's useless to try.) He hears Axel walking over, relief replacing the worry and feeding the frustration, hopelessness the fuel beneath it, and Demyx just sighs, rubs his face, waits until Axel comes into sight before he does anything.
"Again, Demyx?"
Demyx looks up at Axel, salt crusted around his eyes and a foul taste in his mouth. "Sorry, Axel," he murmurs without any prompting, and he knows that Axel doesn't believe him at all from the radiating irritation and resignation he feels.
"You say that-" and the lean redhead bites off the rest of his words, looking to the side. It doesn't help. Demyx still knows what he was going to say. 'Every time.'
'Every time' this happens.
'Every time' I try to stop you from hurting yourself.
'Every time' you fuck up.
And 'every time', you do it again.
Demyx hangs his head, feeling tears well in his eyes. Fuck, he shouldn't be crying. He does this every time, this is nothing new. Why is it hurting now? Concern pokes against him, and he hears Axel's voice say "H-hey, Dem… You okay? I didn't…"
"I know, Axel, you didn't mean it." The blonde sighs roughly and he rubs his hand over his face, looking up at the redhead tiredly. "Doesn't stop it from being true. I do say it every time, and I never fucking change." He slams his fist into the ground next to him, wincing when the impact finally registers. Lifting up his hand, Demyx stares at it for a while, mind trying to form coherent thought.
"I hate this."
The whisper is harsh and gouging and Demyx looks up at Axel as the lean man slumps down to the ground next to him. Fury, barely contained and fiery, lashes against him. It is tempered by concern and helplessness; Demyx wonders at the cleansing burn of it. Axel had always hurt before, but now… now it just feels like fire, like the burn of his muscles after he runs, warm and loose and aching.
"I hate watching you do this to yourself, Demyx," Axel continues, looking at his hands as Demyx pulls himself out of his thoughts. "I can't…. It's like you don't even notice how bad you get. And you just … sleep with someone, and the next day, you're hung over, but fine. And I'm always able to think that maybe," and he laughs bleakly, bitterly, (and Demyx jerks guiltily, because he can feel the tears that Axel is holding back, and he wants to curl into his best friend's arms and cry himself into a soft oblivion), "maybe this time you'll get better. This time, you'll stop and realize that you're just hurting yourself. Only then, a month later, you start getting headaches and you look tired and irritable and we go to the club to unwind and you do it all over again."
And now Demyx does start crying, feeling the salt water slide down his cheeks in slick drops, his lips trembling hard, and Axel reaches over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. They share their sadness there like they share their breaths, foreheads resting against each other. The air is hot and wet between them, and Demyx turns to tucks his face in the crook of Axel's warm neck, breathing apologies like confessions between sobs.
"I'm sorry." (I'm scared.)
"I'm so sorry." (I can't do this alone.)
"…I'm sorry…"
(I'm too scared to tell you why.)
They sit like that in a communion of sorts for a while until Axel slowly pulls back, rubbing harshly at his eyes. He looks exhausted, and Demyx closes his eyes, the twisting guilt he feels swallowing him. Axel probably stayed the night at the bar just so he could look for him in the morning, so he could make sure that Demyx was okay.
Axel stands slowly, movements stiff, like every part of him hurts. Leaning back, he twists to the side, lets out a relieved groan when there are several satisfying pops from his back. "Ready for me to take you home?" the redhead asks with a rough voice, straightening.
"Yeah." Demyx swallows, feeling the burn of his throat as he does. "Yeah, I am."
Axel holds out his hand to help Demyx up and Demyx shies away from it, feeling a bit too raw to touch anyone at the moment. He leans against the wall instead, gingerly pushing himself up. For a moment, he lingers there. His breaths come in heavy. Labored. But the flare of Axel's hurt, beginning to sting around the edges, presses in around him and eventually, Demyx pushes himself away from the wall.
He follows Axel out of the alley, wincing at the bright sunlight. Blindly, Demyx tails after his friend to the car, praying that he doesn't step on a patch of ice as he does. (The bruises on his side ache tightly at the reminder, and he bites back a small groan.)
Squinting one eye open, Demyx manages to get to the car and he settles into the passenger seat with a grunt. He closes his eyes again, feeling Axel's weight shift the car before the redhead closes the door and starts the car with a quiet rev of the engines. The silence is heavy but comfortable for Demyx, even though he can tell that Axel has so many questions he wants to ask. He rests his head on the window, soaking up the weak warmth from the sun.
Unfortunately, that small measure of peace doesn't last long.
"...Why do you do it?" Axel asks quietly, like the words are torn out of him. "I don't... I don't get why you have to keep doing this."
Demyx listens to the squeeze and shift of Axel's hands tightening on the steering wheel and lets out a sigh. "I can't really explain it, Axel," he murmurs, shifting slightly without opening his eyes. "It's just something I need to do sometimes."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah."
"No, I mean, really, do you have to do it? Because I'm sure there are other ways to ... unwind." Demyx can feel the car turning and swaying through traffic, and he can feel the confusion and vague irritation pouring off of Axel, but he just can't muster up the effort to play nice right now.
He's just so tired.
"Look, Axel, can we... can we not talk about this?" Demyx asks, voice flat. "I really just want to go to sleep."
Silence.
Axel takes a deep breath, and the flare of anger and frustration batter hard against Demyx's meager defenses. They are restrained after a few irritated breaths but Demyx hunches into his window until they pass, swallowing hard because they still hurt even if he was feeling smooth and protected. Fire singes him at every turn and he can't escape, can never escape.
"Alright."
And like that, the fire is gone.
Demyx cautiously lets out the breath he was holding.
Maybe the club worked after all?
(But this is nothing like the raw relaxation he feels normally, because normally it is like someone took steel wool to him and scoured off all the rust. This is different, and he's not exactly sure how different it is yet.)
The car stops.
Demyx opens his eyes, looking first at his apartment building, then at Axel. The building is grey and squat, nothing too exiting or good-looking, and Axel's face is hard, mouth bitten into a stern, repressed line, jaw tight with everything he's choosing not to say.
"...Axel...," he starts, but hesitates, unsure of what to say next.
Axel sighs roughly, rubs the twin reversed teardrop tattoos under his eyes with his thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Just... Demyx, I can't keep looking after you, you know that. I just want you to be safe, but there's only so long I can do this, because I can't keep watching you do this to yourself if you're not going to get any better."
Throat tight, Demyx nods, a heavy panic setting into his bones. Axel has been the only one for years who has given any sort of damn about him. For him to give up now... "I'll try, Axel," he promises, and he means it. He does.
(But in the back of his mind, he knows that if his only options are the club and Axel's disappointment, or facing the raging whirlwind inside him again, he will always pick the club.)
"Sure, Demyx," Axel says. But he shakes his head and drags up a tired smile. "Just go rest. You have work tomorrow, right?"
Demyx grins weakly back and nods. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow for dinner, right?" He opens his door as he speaks, setting his feet tentatively out on the icy pavement. Axel shivers as the cold air hits his skin. (Demyx blinks at that, because he didn't even notice the air temperature.)
"Yes, I'll see you then, jeez, Demyx, you're letting in all the cold air! Shoo!" Axel waves him out of the car, grin widening.
Demyx gets out of the car fully and closes the door. He watches as Axel drives off, the tension bleeding out of his frame the further away the car gets. For a moment, he enjoys the relative silence. But he slowly staggers up the stairs to his apartment, leaning against the wall and railings for support. His legs tremble now that he can relax them, now that Axel's not here to mother-hen over him and worry and hurt him unknowingly.
Fuck, he hates himself when he's like this. It had been better, but now he needs rest and real sleep, because he still doesn't feel as good as he normally does after a night like this. He didn't have to go all the way with anyone, so he shouldn't be feeling this weak and dejected and lonely.
(He woke up fine. He woke up surrounded by water.)
Demyx wonders if that means that Zexion was nearby. And if he was...
He could have seen Demyx.
The thought is nauseating, and Demyx sags heavily against his door, pawing absently at his pocket for his keys. Zexion should not have to see Demyx like that. To him, Demyx is like a hero, helping him see his brother when he otherwise couldn't.
(It matters to him, but he has no idea why the idea of Zexion seeing him, used and abused in a back alley near a bar, upsets him so much.)
Through sheer force of focus, he opens the door. Demyx slogs through the disorder on his floor without bothering to turn on a light, late afternoon sunlight drifting in through the slats on his window blinds. He is just intent on heading to his bedroom and getting some sleep immediately.
But his mind buzzes and whirls and he knows that he won't be able to get to sleep like this. Groaning, he turns to circle the living room agitatedly, unable to stop moving even though his body shakes and shivers with the need to drop.
Demyx wanders, paces around his mess of an apartment, nudging trash to the side with his shins and feet when he encounters them. He clears a track for himself and keeps walking around. Darkness presses in around him, and despite the relaxation he got at the club, he can feel the tension building up underneath his surface again.
"Fuck," he mutters, scrubbing furiously at his scalp, fingers catching and pulling knots in his hair. He storms towards his bed, fully intent on concentrating so hard he has to go to sleep. Sweeping the covers to the side, he flops onto the bed, draws the blanket over his shoulder, closes his eyes.
Waits.
The apartment creaks around him, the footsteps of people living around him echoing and shifting and moving the floor. His mind can't stop thinking, spinning widely out for things to worry about, like his job, like Axel, his only friend, how his family is even doing anymore since he hasn't seen them in, wow has it already been four years because it doesn't feel that long, no, can't sleep, wonder how Zexion's doing.
Demyx clenches his teeth. He hates this. He closes his eyes tightly, willing himself to slip into the grayscale of sleep.
Everything is just so loud. He can't just make it stop because his mind just won't stop.
But between one breath and the next, he sleeps.
He dreams of pain.
He dreams of pain, he cannot wake up, he dreams of-
-rending, screeching pain, terrible and vast. Flashes of color, of noise, careen into him, landing and drilling through his skin with their razor points. Demyx twists to get away from it, but it's no use, it's everywhere, it's in him. The world is a roaring rush of noise and he hates it, god he is so scared of it because it never just leaves him alone the way he wants it to, just follows him incessantly.
But there, ahead, there is a safe spot. He darts towards it, instincts screaming "less noises that way go go go". A column of light. Ahead of him.
(The tearing pain is catching up, digging barbs into him, and he runs faster, terror making his breath catch.)
He knows not to look behind him, he knows because it's a place full of secrets of other people, and he wasn't meant to know them, he isn't supposed to know any of it, it's not fair that he does know, so he keeps running, eyes fixed on his destination. A shape begins to form as he gets closer, light glinting off of soft petals that are opening to him, beckoning him in, and he, god, he doesn't stop moving, lungs heaving, unable to breathe until he is there in the midst of it, cradled in the center of a blue-petal lotus that hovers over murky, dangerous waters.
Demyx has nothing to fear here. The lotus will protect him. Already it is drawing its petals up to guard him from outside dangers. He sinks to the ground with legs that can no longer hold him, wraps his arms around his body, buries his head in his skin and shakes with fear and exhaustion. The smooth touch of the lotus flower brushes his back, his hip, his thigh, noncommittal and serene. Just letting him know that it's there, solid and reassuring.
Only…
It's not.
It's there, but it's not.
Looking between his arms, Demyx tilts his head at the petals surrounding him. Something… isn't quite right. It's not quite the right shape. There is something missing from what he's really supposed to be seeing here.
As though it can hear his revelation, the lotus flickers.
Panicking - he didn't mean for it to go away, he was just trying to figure out what isn't right about it! - Demyx scrabbles for a handhold, the petals that were soothing and solid now half-transparent and fading. But a bare second later, they reform back into their flower shape, glowing blue, swirling restlessly, bright sigils taking place of their lines, holding him up even more gently than the petals of before. (He knows he has been here before and that he should try to remember where, but sleep is catching up to him even in the dream and Demyx is so tired of fighting.)
He lets go.
And he is surrounded by-
-Water.
* * *
Chapter 6...
Insomnia is good for some things. Finishing fics is one of those things.