Bittersweet Melodies -Zemyx-

The sound of sweet, yet sad, music floated through the hallways of the Castle that Never Was. Said music was coming from the only musically talented nobody, the Melodious Nocturne’s, room. The blonde mullet-haired boy’s head was bent down, eyes staring at the ground, fingers flickering over the strings of his precious sitar. His back was resting on the wall where his bed was. He always liked to play his weapon on his bed, liking to be comfortable in doing so.

Normally he’d be smiling, trying to play new songs and making up the lyrics to them, but that was weeks ago. For the past few weeks, he had spent his time in his room. It had been a week since there was a letter from the Cloaked Schemer to him, or even the daily reports from Marluxia to the Superior on that kid they were observing. What was his name again? Demyx paused in his music for a second. He thought and thought, but he couldn’t remember, so he continued his music, his thoughts somewhere else. Said thoughts were only centered on one person at the moment, er, nobody that was.

He missed the silver-blue haired nobody. Though Zexion was usually quiet and anti-sociable, he couldn’t help but feel an attraction to him. He was glad that he had admitted his feelings towards the Schemer, but he never knew that Zexion would react like he did; also admitting that he had felt the same way. Their parting, Zexion having to go to Castle Oblivion, made it harder because of that. Of course, Demyx wouldn’t have been trusted to go with him, because of his childish and carefree personality, which constantly got him looked down on by almost all the members of the Organization.

There was a cough and Demyx suddenly looked up. Seeing no one in the room, he shrugged, going back to his bittersweet song. But when a certain freeshooter reversed his gravity, slowing his decent from the ceiling to ground, Demyx jerked his head back up, accidentily slamming it into the wall behind him with a painful thud. He bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head, looking at Xigbar. His face showed confusion as the normally talkative Freeshooter’s face had a grim expression on it. Curious to what Xigbar was doing in his room, he dismissed his sitar.

“Xigbar? What is it?” he asked, having stopped playing his sitar, “Did Zexion send a letter? Is there bad news or something?” Xigbar scratched the back of his head, grimacing at the thought of breaking the ‘bad news’ to the Nocturne. Demyx watched him, that adorably innocent expression on his face, the one that Zexion himself fell in love with. Xigbar sighed, his hand lowering to fall back to his side.

“Um… Little dude….. There’s been… Well….” Xigbar sighed, not knowing how to say it in a comforting manner. He knew how much the boy loved the Cloaked Schemer, and he didn’t like that he was the one chosen to deliver the news to each and every member by the Superior.

“Zexion is dead. Everyone who went to Castle Oblivion is gone, except for Axel.” There, he said it. The truth. His only yellow eye watched Demyx’s expressions. Demyx just stared. He had tuned him out as soon as he heard the first sentence. His eyes widened. That couldn’t be right, Zexion told him, no PROMISED him that he would come back. He promised him…… Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he shook his head, denying it.

“No… No he isn’t dead! He promised me he would come back!” Demyx said, raising his voice until it cracked, choking back a sob. Xigbar sat on the bed next to the sitarist, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a comforting manner. Xigbar didn’t know what to do; he never had any training to comfort people at all. Demyx ignored him and that was when Number II realized that there was water coming from the connected bathroom. His eye widened.

“Get out…. Get OUT!” Demyx whispered, not being able to see because of the tears. Xigbar was about to respond, but he saw the angered glare sent his way and, not wanting to be drowned, fled into a portal, right before the room started to flood. The water twisted and twirled, contorting and stretching around the room, almost reaching the level of his bed as the mourning Nocturne cried, curling into a ball.