Saix is absolutely weak for cats. He loves them on a high level. Kittens especially, and fat ones. The fatter, the better. Why do you think he owns two despite his lease only allowing one?
Throat: What is your muse’s greatest fear?
Sleeping. Saix fears sleep because of the chances of nightmares bother him. He does anything to stay awake, which isn’t hard, because his highs usually keep him awake for a while.
Lips: Has your muse kissed anyone? Anyone they’d like to kiss?
Saix has kissed a lot of people in his life. Men and women. They’re all meaningless, though, except for Letta, who gets real kisses from him. She’s the only person he genuinely enjoys kissing…
Cheeks: What makes your muse smile?
A Saix-smile is pretty rare, but it can happen. Saix usually smiles when he’s with people he’s genuinely close with. He’ll laugh at jokes, or when people trip, or when you talk to him about something that really brings you enjoyment. He can smile, he just rarely has reason for it.
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Lizzie played a song called Counting Stars on her violin in a park, she was sitting under a tree with a small puppy asleep in her lap. Her music was heard all through the park from where she was. She had her eyes closed as the music floated away on the wind and the flowers around her swayed.
"You know something?" Marluxia heaved a sigh, his tone laced with a dangerous amount of sarcasm, "I'm starting to think that maybe I should just dumb all of these beautiful flowers right onto the sidewalk where it'll be much easier for people to step on them, seeing as how you've somehow managed to do just that without even noticing." He looked up to the stranger who had someone managed to walk right into the new bed of begonias he'd just planted. He crossed his arms over his chest and, with a stare that could stroke anyone dead from miles away, shot daggers into the eyes of the intruder. "So? Are you just going to stand there, or do I at least get an apology?"
*kisses you* You've caught the kissing disease. Now you've gotta pass it on to the next ten people on your dash.
"A disease?" Zexion ponders to himself, watching the familiar Human run away. He touches his lips with his gloves thoughtfully, he runs his fingers over his lips before shrugging. "Esuna." His hand raises above his head, casting the spell on his person. A lick of his lips, whatever it was no longer stinking up his nasal passages. What an odd ailment.
It was raining, but it wasn’t as cold as one would expect. At least he didn’t feel it. Under the hood of his jacket, the bluenet walked, and at his side, with the umbrella he had forced onto them, was his Queen, the girl giving him a scolding look as he walked without the umbrella, the black sweater being coated with the rain.
Gold eyes stared ahead before they looked up. It was as if the gears were turning in his little disturbed head. And the proof of that notion was the way his lips curled into a slight smile. His pace slowed, letting him lag a bit behind Letta before he suddenly reached out and grabbed her free hand, pulling her back to him with enough force to make her let go of the umbrella, leaving her as a victim to the drops of rain. It wasn’t long before she became soaked and he almost laughed at the glare she was throwing his way.
"Relax. Water never hurt anybody." he said casually before he held her slender wait, fingers running along the dip of her back as he held her against him, sharing their warmth between them. Then, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, unable to hold back his smile as he did so. He liked to surprise her sometimes, like randomly pulling these kinds of tricks. Sudden and out of the blue displays of affection.
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Ten years. That was how long he had lived without his support. Without his leverage to stay in this world. Without his reason to--
Amber eyes shut tight and a callous hand came up to tug and run through short strands of cornflower blue hair, matching blue brows coming together as he scowled at himself. Those thoughts are why he had nothing now. Well...Nearly nothing.
The former waiter had once held something dear years ago. A handful of genuine friends who felt far more than just that. A dead-end yet bearable job that helped him pay what he needed. And of course, a beautiful love that had kept him sane and alive for over a year. And he lost it. He ruined it, and had thrown it away like the idiot he was! And he had forced himself to move on, hoping that it he clung to life on his own it would rectify what he'd destroyed.
It didn't...
So for ten agonizing years, he forced away the memories of people he'd lost, and did what he did best: Fight his own demons. Alone. And after struggling and clawing his way to a relatively safe mindset - with the aid of the ever loyal Tobin - and also dragging himself out of the dingy hole he'd been calling home since high school. Was he healthier now? Probably not, but he wasn't trying to jump off his balcony every other night anymore. He was finally allowed to use sharp objects by Toby and his scars, while still horribly visible, had ceased increasing in numbers. He was....Okay.
.:NEW TEXT:.
Saffron eyes glanced down as he paused in the grocery aisle, extracting his cellphone from his pocket and gazing at the photo of his raven haired and coffee eyed fiance. She probably came home to find him gone, her text asking him where he'd run off to. Without looking up, he responded, easing her mind by telling her he was merely at the store. With his attention on the phone, he didn't see the obstacle ahead: a leash. A child leash. A child leash stretch from one side of the aisle to the other. His lanky legs made contact and before he could pause, the bluenet was hitting the ground. Hard.
[I promised you I'd do this and you're gonna get this. Keep in mind that my writing still hasn't recovered after my three week hiatus but dude, this is all I can crank out at midnight. u___u]
Safe...
Safe from what? He wasn't sure. He didn't know a damn thing except that he didn't want to leave this room. No, he was content here, in a little box of pristine white walls and equally spotless floors, with the only colored items in the room being the green sheets and pillow case of his bed. And not just any green. He'd immediately correct anyone who called them 'green'. No, they're a more specific shade: Sea-foam. He didn't know why they were that color, though.
"Because you asked for those colors. You refused to even sleep in the bed until we changed them to that color."
He'd been told this time and time again, and he still asked why. He didn't like it. He really didn't. And yet whenever he laid on that bed, the color very much put something inside him at ease. Like lulling a feral creature to sleep in it's soft embrace. The very sight of the color was enough to soothe his mind. And he had no idea why...
'Maybe he liked the color.'
Dulled saffron eyes stared to the ceiling as his mangled and marred body rested on the cold floor. He spent his entire day there, despite being given freedom to leave if he so wished. A heavily scarred arm rested across his forehead, the underside of which was damaged with scars of all shapes and sizes, the most noticeable being the long vertical one that ran from his wrist down to the bend of his elbow. He'd asked before, "What happened here?" as if t wasn't even his own arm that was scarred.
"You tried to commit suicide. Don't you remember?"
He'd always say the same, though. It hadn't been him. It was him who did it. He hated living. Hated breathing, hated speaking, hated hearing, hated it all. He was the one who dragged a knife down both his arms, who drank swallowed enough pills to numb the agony he was really feeling when those veins were completely broken apart, who nearly bit his own tongue off when those drugs failed at their work and he tried to hold back his screams for salvation and mercy from above. Yes, he did all of it.
His head turned to the side slowly as he heard his room being approached, and the nurse came into the view of his door's window. She was glancing away, speaking, and he strained his ears to catch anything of what she was saying and to whom.
"He isn't dangerous to others, and has shown signs of not being a danger to himself since his suicide attempt the day he was brought in. I have to warn you, though, ma'am...He isn't the same in terms of personality and mind. There is a very high chance that he probably won't even be who you want him to be."
Amber eyes narrowed somewhat in thought. It was possibly someone coming to see him again. Last week he'd been visited by a very hangdog faced boy who only stood in the corner watching him before breaking into tears. Sure, it was sad to see, but he really didn't care. After all, this wasn't his friend. Nope, it was his. If the kid had wanted to cry, then he could cry all night, but he wasn't going to do a thing about it.
The door opened, and he quickly looked back up, hearing the nurse and visitor approach. One pair of steps went to the bed, and he heard the frame squeak slightly under the added weight.
"Saix, you have a visitor."
"..."
With that, he heard the nurse leave, but was completely certain they placed a guard by the door outside as a precaution.
Silence hung in the air like a terrible unseen decoration as he continued to stare at the ceiling, his gaze creating invisible little pictures all along the white canvas above him.
"...Saix."
Cerulean brows furrowed with frustration. He discovered a long time ago that it was absolutely possible to be physically disgusted by a damn name, and 'Saix' was the name that made his stomach lurch horrendously. His teeth came together tightly behind his pursed lips before he gave a very slow and annoyed exhale.
"Isa. Don't call me Saix." he said, the first words out of his mouth in what could have been days. He easily lost track of how long his periods of silence after the first week of being here. Why speak when people kept referring to you by the wrong name?
"Isa?"
"That's my name. Saix is him." he explained with such an icy calm. He pushed his body up until he was sitting up properly, azure tendrils spilling gracefully over his shoulders. He kept his gaze down, not in the mood to see another depressed expression from one of his friends. "What's you name?" he found himself asking, wanting to log away a new name into the list of people who missed Saix.
"Letta."
Chapped lips parted somewhat at the name, the previous look of calm and ease being completely taken over by a surprised and almost distant look. His gold eyes dulled even further and he nearly smiled, the corner of his lip twitching slightly as a huff of a chuckle came from his throat. The look he had clearly showed he was viewing her in a completely different angle than before. After a moment, he leaned back on his hands, "...You look like her." he murmured.
"What...?"
She was genuinely confused, yet he remained as he was, staring at her with a dazed expression, lost in a world of blurred memories that burned and ached like a terrible feeling of salt in his wounds. Funny how he didn't know her yet he knew her. He knew so many things...Both casually and intimately.
He knew her favorite food was spaghetti and meatballs, recalled - vividly recalled - making it for her, and how she gave the happiest of laughs when she came over to find everything set up for the two of them.
He remembered how much she loved snicker-doodles, and that he'd sneak up behind her and give her a bag of freshly baked ones from the bakery.
He knew her laugh, the sound he favored most and always found ways to hear it over and over again.
He knew her lips and how soft they felt whenever they touched his own...
He knew the outline of her body. The dip of her back, the curve of her waist, the way her fingers filled the spaces between his own, the way her skin felt beneath his lips, and the little giggle she gave whenever he'd lay gentle butterfly kisses along her neck and stomach...
He remembered everything...
"...She was everything to him." he began rambling, "His entire world. His reason to live."
"So why'd he try to throw it away?"
"........He was scared. The idea of one day losing her threw him over the edge. He was afraid that when she'd realize just what kind of person he was...She'd go away, and he'd have nothing..." He looked to her, and his face became even more dreamy, as if he was looking at a divine angel, and in retrospect, he was, "...You look exactly like her." he breathed, and he slowly returned to his previous position; laying flat on his back and looking up at the ceiling.
The bed shifted after a moment of silence, and he heard her shoes make piercing clicks across the floor as she made for the door. Without moving, he began murmuring and her steps stopped abruptly when he did so, "An angel from Heaven...She was a savior to him. His beautiful heroine...I wonder what she must have been like." Those saffron eyes closed with a look of peace as he prodded through those little memories, "...Saix, you loved her...Didn't you?" He asked, a conversation where only he could hear the answers given to him, "...Yeah. I thought so."
He was so far gone into this unhealthy world, he didn't even hear the muffled whimper at the door as those stunning eyes of Letta gazed back to his form, her hand holding the door open a small fraction. He didn't see just how much pain she was in as she looked at the completely destroyed man she had fallen for. Nor would he want to see her suffering. He was just fine here. In his little white box, with white walls and white floors, and memories that he didn't know he had until today.
