finalmenteee! > W>
Oh yes, I've taken it slowly. But it's not my fault ... was the inspiration did not come! XD
But now, here it is.
Council? Hear Say My Name Within Temptation, reading. I was inspired by the story, after all. u_u
Title: Say My Name
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Torque: Zexion / Demyx Prompt
: 032. sunset
Rating: G
Notes: uhm ... Post-KH2.
Destiny Islands were, by all accounts, one of the worlds most fascinating of the entire universe: a little 'for the sea, a bit' for the breathtaking scenery, a bit 'because it was, after all, homeworld of the legendary keeper of the keyblade, the one who had succeeded, at least according to history books to restore peace in the galaxy.
Mainly, the latter reason was the cause of envy influx of tourists which could boast of the inhabitants of the islands since he can travel between worlds, in fact, consistently maintained its first place ranking in summer destination chosen by population.
In fact, residents of the Destiny Islands does not even thousands, except for the hustle and bustle that takes visitors during those three or four months a year when the sun was warm enough to allow a comfortable stay on the beach, the Life was certainly not what one could define exciting.
short, it was the perfect world for your holiday fun, but when it came to having to live for 365 days a year was a different story.
was the end of September, and although in the opinion of the islanders, the temperature was still high enough to ensure another week, plenty of tourists, the influx of people had now stop for more than fifteen days, and had already prepared the last few vacationers packed up and were about to leave, not that it much disturb the citizens, since most of it had won an amount of more than munnies enough to get by until next summer and beyond.
to oppose the expulsion of foreigners was then the imminent reopening of the school: an event in itself insignificant, but had inexplicably the ability to bring sadness and melancholy of the component under the island of eighteen years.
One of the few things of which he was firmly convinced that the mind was human could sometimes verge on the sublime in a supreme idiocy, especially if it was the brain of some stupid stranger had under your nose One of the most beautiful in the world and all I could do was take bags and go back their world before being able to see it.
Although he had to admit with a touch of sorrow, was really grateful for not having to share with thousands of other people: she would never admit to anyone, but there was something very comforting in that view , who had in some way the power to restore calm him, no matter what had happened.
There was no living soul, besides him, who knew that piece of beach on the main island, behind the rocks, hidden enough to not be discovered, but not enough to stay away from the wind that moved almost autumnal leaves of palm trees that make them look so much dancing: and remained there, lying on the shore for hours, with the feet wet, until he could see the sunset.
And it was all he needed: in front of the sight of the sun disappear into the waves, painted the sky and sea with all those shades of red that seemed to erase the border drawn by the horizon, everything else is meaningless. There were more than just him, and sunset. Nothing else.
That day, however, was different. There was something out of place, and it was so obvious that you could feel even before passing the rocks. The color of the sky was different, the sound of the waves was different, the smell of the sea was different: there was nothing that had remained the same as he had left the day before. But what had changed since the day before?
The answer came immediately: the music. For over the rocks came a melody that showed no signs of stopping: slow and bitter, continued unabated.
A minute later, climbed the rocks, had been standing motionless in the sand, to observe the source of sound, under his astonished eyes, the fingers of a blond in a moving so ridiculously fast on the strings of a guitar. He had not noticed progress in his direction, as if hypnotized, until he stepped on a piece of wood with his foot: that barely audible crack had collected his thoughts, and had the same effect on the guitarist, who had abruptly ended the song and had turned toward him.
And his reaction was the most unlikely of places he never could have imagined: he had widened his eyes to capacity, threw the guitar aside and stood up abruptly, running up to him e. .. embracing ?
It was an awkward silence followed, then the fair-haired, squat against him in a gesture that seemed hopeless, almost his very life depended on that contact, looked at him straight in the face, eyes - what color they were, had asked . Green? Blue? Or maybe a mixture of both ... - Lost.
"Zexy ...? "He just said, before bursting into tears pouring down. He
, seconds later, he had pushed to the ground, with all the strength he had. He had turned and ran away, stumbling on the rocks: he had run, he had run and had continued to run until he found himself at last in his room. There he was thrown on the bed and, short of breath, he pressed his right hand on his chest, clutching his shirt and feeling literally go out of focus. It was not
fled because of the embrace by the stranger, and had fled because of his copious tears: he had escaped, because when he was released from his lips that name, he felt a pang in my heart strong enough to stun him, and had tried an indescribable feeling, that it would be simplistic to define suffering.
was two days after the sunset, or maybe four, or maybe a whole week. He did not know with precision the next few days were a series of confusing events, and for the first time in his life he could not rely on his self-control.
had not returned to the rocks, because he was too afraid of what, indeed, who could see, was no longer left the house, because the guilt for leaving the boy crying on the beach did not want to leave, even if he did not know the reason for so much sorrow.
He got barely out of bed, because every movement too felt a vise tighten around the heart, and it became difficult even to breathe when sleeping, because every time I managed to fall asleep after hours spent staring at the ceiling, no more dreaming that people, dress in black and crimson carpets by long corridors and columns of white marble, and woke up screaming, he could not even looking in the mirror, because every time his eyes rested on the glass clouded by steam, the reflection that stared back, yes, resembled, but he was not .
Nevertheless, life for the rest of the world continued to flow as if nothing had happened: like it or not, was the last day of summer vacation, and the next day the school would be resumed for all, even for him.
was well aware of having bags under the eyes seem so obvious as make-ups, he was dressed worse than usual and look like a living dead, from what he was pale. But no one had the decency to ask him what had happened: after a selfless exchange of greetings, the conversation had vanished into thin air, his accomplices complete indifference to their classmates and mood particularly lower than usual.
He sat in the front row who had found leisure and waited to hear the bell ringing, perhaps hoping that the lessons were interesting enough to lift them a bit 'morale. Then she entered the teacher and, with a chirpy tone of voice in an almost illegal, announced the inclusion of a new student at school: a guy from Port Royal, or something like that.
A moment later, the door was wide open by a familiar and alien-looking blond at the same time that he had not even waited for a nod from the teacher and had ventured in narrating the story of his life to the class: after having closed the mouth by force, he was given a desk empty. Tour which, ironically, was exactly the one next to hers.
"Myde. "He smiled, sitting down, and had raised his hand.
'... Ienzo. 'He answered him, uncertain, strings.
But he had portrayed a few seconds later, sure I heard his skin rub against the rough fabric of a pair of gloves, though the other guy did not wear anything like that. He had been staring at him almost speechless, but the musician had just shrugged, and the lesson had begun regularly.
The morning was spent with a maddening slowness, no special events worthy of attention; because basically, every time he tried to attack Myde button, the speech was promptly cut off the bud with some excuse that he had to be attentive to the lesson, to take notes. But, at the last bell, everything was full the notebook was a series of meaningless squiggles.
He had picked up the shoulder and was about to leave when the blond had shaken his hand around her wrist, forcing him to turn around, and he looked down to his eyes.
"Really ... Do not you remember? "He had asked, his voice reduced to little more than a whisper.
him, swallowing, had shook her head, because he could not dissolve the knot that had formed in his throat at the sight of those pleading eyes. Myde at that point had rueful smile, he loosened his grip on the wrist and walked out of class, leaving him there, to get the gnawing sense of guilt. But sorry for what , then?
days had passed, and still Myde, always showing off some fun and showing off his best smile, to turn around the silver-haired boy, figuratively and literally, on the other hand, whenever Ienzo if it was between feet, muttering to simply stand back, but then did not complain if the other continued to follow him.
What heartened him and destroyed at the same time. Why, on the one hand, there was the feeling that everything was back to normal, they were back to them, the number nine plaster in any way trying to draw attention to the number six, number six el'impassibile that, as you proved apathetic, did not disdain to void the company's number nine. But then, secondly, there was an awareness that, in fact, minimally Ienzo did not know who he was: and that hurt, terribly.
and spent hours sitting on the beach, move your fingers on the strings of the guitar. And play, play, and continued to play the same song until no longer feel his hands. While on the other side of the rocks, sitting on the stones, there was who listened to him, his head in his hands and knees pressed to his chest, wondering why she felt as if he had a stone on the heart, which grew heavier, note by note.
In mid-November, the temperature had dropped considerably: jackets and woolen sweaters had begun to make their appearance in the closets, with great disappointment by the islanders. The days had shortened, and the sun warmed up like he used a couple of months ago, but the sun was always a breathtaking spectacle: that was the reason, he had repeated over and over again Ienzo, for which he was returning there, every night. The sunset. Not for the blond, not for his song, not for guilt and not for the dreams that still haunt him: no, the sunset. But if it was really dark, because he continued to sit on the rocks, he dared not pass them to the beach, where the view was definitely better? And why, whenever the notes stopped, jerked him, be ready to flee?
The answer, after much fretting, in the end had come alone. It was drizzling that day: nevertheless, both were there, with hoods to cover fell on his face as best. Myde sitting on the beach, and he on the rocks: strange, because that day had gone to a point where he could, for the first time, to actually see the musician, her back to him, arpeggios on the guitar.
It had, more than ever, a sense of déjà vu and could not tell if the black coat she was wearing the blond was true or if the same images, and could not understand why, instead of the sand, it seemed saw a marble floor, and wondered why, when it was raised - without knowing why - under his feet was a red carpet, instead of the rocks.
At that point, when the last notes of the song had faded into the air and, after a moment of silence, was resumed the same melody, he began to sing, but not knowing how or when he learned the words. In some way, however, he knew, and had always known: it all begins to make sense. The coats blacks, marble floors. The organization, in Castle Oblivion. And the Guardian of the Keyblade, the Heartless and Nobodies. And the revolt, the Replica of Vexen and Axel. And through it all, there was always him and his song, their song.
He had noticed the tears running down his face only when, after the new guitar had stopped playing, he had been wiped from the sleeve of the jacket of the blond, this time, he was to hold on as strong as was another.
"Demyx ... I'm sorry, sorry, sorry ... He had whining voice choked, and had continued to repeat endlessly, forgetting the meaning of the words themselves.
When he looked up, he had smiled. And the clouds were gone, leaving room for the sun was setting, the matt.
And, as it may seem cliché, it was really all he needed: in front of the sight, everything else is meaningless. There were more than just him, and sunset. And Demyx.
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