Author: Trilies
Genre: Romance, friendship, angst
Word length: 1601
Sypnosis Six different strangers, all listening to the same song and sharing quiet, sad moments with another.
Rating: PG-13 for Tony and Zexion's damn drinking, and maybe for Xandra's mouth.
Yaoi/Yuri/Pairings: Tony Stark/Zexion, hinted Aeleus/Aerith, OC/OC
Notes: Man, some of my ships are just down right depressing, honestly. Also, Somnam is not my OC, but property of at_splicken. For some deranged reason, we ship our two OCs together, despite how they're not relationship compatible, to put it lightly. XD Also, this is based kind of off the Stars' song "Your Ex-Lover is Dead". Very pretty, and very sad.
Live Through This
And you won't look back
And you won't look back
When he was a child, there were fireworks in the summer.
They reflected the whirlwind of color down on earth, all those beautiful flowers in bloom. They curled around lamposts, twisted up walls, and flourished in the many gardens for which his home was named for. On those beautiful summer nights, the pretty dark sky became a mirror. Vivid neons and the colors of the sun, all bathing the city in a glow he has never forgotten.
On those nights, he was surrounded by family, friends, those who cared for him and laughed with him. Some nights, it was Elaeus, muscular arms keeping him secure on the railing on one of the castle's balconies as they hoarded one of the best viewing spots to themselves. Others, Even would join him, and it would be one of the rare few times he would break out of his stiff shell. They would laugh together, exclaiming over the bursts of light. Then there was Braig and Dilan, and he can still recall how high they would toss him, no matter how much he screamed protests.
Being with his Master were some of the best nights, however. Long after the fireworks had ended, they would remain on the balcony, listening to the distant sounds of Braig's teasing and Aerith's laughter. Then, when the stars were at their brightest, the two of them would share a gentle, knowing smile, full of secrets and trust.
Tonight is like nothing of all those other nights, nights which belonged to a smiling boy with black hair. Tonight, he is a young man who smirks and let's his slate colored hair fall over his eyes as he stares at a completely different night sky. In one hand, he holds a glass of wine. In the other, he keeps a hold on the ground, stretched out on a soft sandy beach with his legs spread open. Instead of his Organization coat, he is garbed in a clean white button-up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black slacks, feet shoeless. This let's him feel the brush of another's arm besides his own, and Tony's impressed whistle is loud in his ear as, across the water, more fireworks go off.
They're probably drunk at this point, because they've been here for a while, and last Zexion had checked, they didn't possess two bottles of wine, one which is most decidedly empty. Still, it's nothing unusual, and for now, Zexion just enjoys the sights, the company, and the warm feeling which floods his body and almost makes him believe he has a heart again.
The only odd thing is that they're not saying much. Normally, they're always talking, whether it's to trade ideas on upgrading his suit, how to further advance his company, women, or just idle chitchat, but not tonight. It's just them, fireworks, and the ocean. Almost... relaxing, actually.
Taking a sip of his wine, he's almost not aware of the arm stiffly snaking around his shoulders, so when he's suddenly tugged towards Tony's side, he starts slightly. The physical contact bit isn't so surprising; it's half of this relationship, after all, especially when one considers Tony's personality and what Zexion simply is. Yet there's something behind this action that Zexion can't decipher, and he doesn't understand why Tony's muscles are so stiff against his back, why the other man says nothing. In turn, this makes him freeze, and things run through his mind, dozen of thoughts at a time. It all boils to this:
It reminds him too much of being human. Of watching young couples gently entwine their fingers around each other, exchange shy and gentle glances which say so much with no words being spoken. Of...
He doesn't know what to do.
Air catches in his throat as if by hooks, and it feels as if the whole world is spinning, although that may just be the alcohol speaking. What does he do, what? Move away, brush it off? Yet he doesn't want that, and he keeps thinking that if this were different, then he would.. If only he could..
It is only when the hand around his arm begins to slink away as if bitten does Zexion finally react, finally slowly sink against Tony's side. Letting his eyes fall shut, Zexion pretends that the alcohol is a good enough substitute, that for just this once, he can deceive not just the rest of the world but himself...
"I'm not sorry I met you," he whispers.
--------------
"I'm not sorry it's over," the little mechanical doll cooes, slender little arms gesturing smoothly and gently. Aerith watches it in fascination, taking in everything about the gift. The metal box is smooth underneath her fingers, full of curling bumps and designs which entwine around the small shape. The lid is propped open, allowing the delicate little singer to stretch and sing her song.
The gift is anonymous. There are no fingerprints, no cracked open windows, to show out it got onto her dresser in Hollow Bastion. She's just about to go and look for this mysterious gift-giver when lights suddenly burst from the little box. She gasps, draws a hand to her chest, and can only stare as miniature fireworks flare from the box. Their lights bring a glow to her face and spark within her eyes, igniting memories...
Large hands, worn tough from working with his family and for others, yet so gentle as they run down her arms, gently cup her face. His eyes as they meet hers are the deepest of blues, and his lips firm as he kisses her. Her arms find love and kindness when they wrap around his throat, and when her fingers linger at his neck, she can feel a heartbeat whose strength flows into her... The grass is soft as she is gently pressed against it, and she lets her eyes close, knowing she is safe...
Shaking her head out of the sudden nostalgia, Aerith tears her gaze from the odd little music box, lettings its song accompany her as she pushes open the window. She's not sure what she's expecting to find, but for a moment, she's almost sure she finds it, half hidden in an alleyway not far off. It's a tall, large shape composed of shadows and memories and remnants of a person she once so loved, but then she blinks, and the shape is gone. Nothing more than shadows after all.
Gently placing a hand to her chest, her eyebrows furrow together in pain while the bittersweet song continues to play.
--------------
Roughly prodding a finger into his chest, her eyebrows raise together in questioning while a Roman Candle bursts into life behind her.
"I shouldn't have to repeat myself, dumbass, I was loud and clear. Have you ever danced?"
He's not quite sure how this conversation has taken this turn, to be quite honest. All he knows is that he and Xandra had been wandering the halls of the Castle, minding their own business thank you very much, when Roxas had shoved an armful of fireworks into their hands. Probably hoping they would keep them away from Axel. There's some odd story about Axel and firewoks which Soman has a feeling he should investigate, but that's somewhat hard to remember when Xandra is questioning him about his dancing ability in the middle of Dark City.
"Of course I can dance!" he says defensively, drawing himself up in a huff and quickly patting away Xandra's finger. "I'll have you know it was required of me, back in my homeworld."
"Good." She gives a sharp nod in satisfaction, and points to the broken jukebox they'd dragged out (or rather, a few Dusks had) which plays a rather limited selection of songs even as they speak. "Then help me with mine."
A pause. "What."
"I want to dance. Help me with it."
"You don't need another person to dance!" he sputters. "You just move! Besides, you could be crawling with germs!"
"I don't know how to dance," she states in that simple, blunt manner of hers. "You know my medical history. I'm practically a ******** cyborg. We're covered almost entirely in clothes. Stop making excuses, you douche." Next thing he knows, she's dragging him into an area with enough light to show what they're doing.
It becomes painfully obvious after just five seconds that Xandra is right, she really doesn't know how to dance. Making a sound of frustration, Somnam stops it right then and there. "No no no, that's not how you do it- Come here, you put your hands here and there-" After a few minutes of going over her form, he leads the dance this time, guiding her. With proper instruction, she's actually not too bad, keeping her steps away from his feet. All with her eyes closed as well, as if she's trying to hear something.
Odd woman. Very, very attractive, but sometimes just completely odd.
Their impromptu dance lesson continues on throughout the song, which is sad and soft and reminds him too much of bad memories. Trying to keep his imagination from going wild again, he prods her with a, "Don't you have something to say?"
Even though her eyes are closed, he's somehow sure that she's rolling them.
"No," she replies simply. "There's nothing to say. And I'm not sorry there's nothing to say."
With that said, they twist in their empty dance, coats billowing and flaring as if trying to mimic elegant ballroom dresses and tasteful suits, dyed in a somber black to mourn and ponder about lives once lived.
