#but then in the afternoon i started feeling super sick and i'm just too exhausted

[heartshattering]

Okay, so it's been about 3 days now of the Depression Cave clean-up. And honestly it's overwhelming.

First there's the fact I get tired out super easily, I'm a chronic pain sufferer and not physically very strong, so it's easy for me to get exhausted. I have a lot of things I don't want to throw out because I use them, but that still cause clutter. There are some things I'm planning on selling (like clothes that don't fit me anymore) but I haven't even gotten started on the closets yet. I can't fit things anywhere. And idk how 'normal' this is but my bed is the worst part of cleaning for me, it always ends up becoming a huge mess when I'm cleaning because it becomes my go-to place to pile stuff and it's too much. It barely feels like I'm actually accomplishing any cleaning because it's more like I'm just piling stuff onto my bed and creating a big mountain of random items. I genuinely feel sick every time I look at it.

I cleared off the dresser that has the TV on it but all that means is that the crap that was there is now on top of my bed. And it feels like an endless cycle of moving things around but still having a messy room. And on top of that I can't even do as much as I wish I could because by the afternoon, I've already knocked myself out.

This doesn't even cover the fact I still need to do actual cleaning instead of just organizing, like I need to dust, mop the floors, etc. but as of now I can't even put everything away properly. I've tried most of the tips and tricks like putting on fun music while you organize stuff, using timers, taking breaks, etc. but it still feels impossible for me even though it shouldn't. I don't have any friends or family members who could come by and help and I can't pay anyone to help me either. I just feel screwed and ashamed of myself for letting all of my mental and physical conditions hold me back this badly.

[canaryatlaw]

okay, well today was majorly blah. I woke up feeling like shit (cramps) but had to go to work because we were having our first in person all staff meeting, so I did. no court, and not much to do, so I was mostly just killing time until we left for the meeting at 2. the meeting was fine, nothing too exciting. we went out for a happy hour with everyone afterwards which fun for a while, but I got really exhausted and ended up ubering home. we hung out for a bit, then when my roommate started getting ready for bed I did too because I am super tired and that's why this post is being written significantly earlier than usual. I already emailed my boss asking to work from home tomorrow because I know I'll still feel like absolute shit, so that should help at least. we just had a conversation at the meeting about actually taking sick days when you're sick and not just working from home, but like, I have an emergency motion up in court in the morning (that *I* filed) and a deposition in the afternoon (yeah that's gonna be a rough one) so taking a sick day isn't really an option here. bleh, this sucks. anyway, I'm gonna go to bed now, because I'm super tired and feel like crap. Goodnight friends. Hope you're feeling better than me right now.

[poor-sickies]

I WANT TO HELP YOU FIGHT YOUR ARTBLOCK!! Maybe an exhausted character who develops a headache and low fever. They're in denial because of not wanting/being able to miss something impirtant. At first the others are oblivious, but then they all get concerned and don't know what to do. I'm thinking VLD mainly because I'm a sucker for langst hehe. But any fandom is good! Just know that the stuff you reblog and do is an inspiration for me and keeps me motivated to write and sketch! Good luck~☆

Ohh thank you so much! Your message made me really happy, I’m glad to know you like my stuff and take motivation out of it!

I’m not quite sure if I managed to go in the direction you requested, and my writing sure is very rusty, but I hope you like it!

*

Lance is almost surprised at himself for how well he’s dealing with this - “well” being a very ambiguous word here.

See, after Shiro’s last lecture about being careful with their health (when just about the whole team had been guilty of downplaying their illness after a strange encounter with an alien toxin), they had all sworn to admit if they weren’t feeling well right away.

But their training with Shiro and Allura really was picking up the pace lately, and the last thing he wants right now is to fall behind.

After his shower yesterday afternoon, after a very intense session with the gladiator, Lance finally realized why he had been feeling off the whole day. His body ached, badly, his limbs heavy and his skin sensitive. He had an headache too, right behind his eyes.

He had the rest of the day off though, so there was no point in worrying everyone right? He was probably just tired.

He goes to bed earlier, despite Hunk’s suspicious glances, and tells himself he’ll sleep it off.

He doesn’t.

Lance doesn’t sleep badly, exactly, but as soon as he tries to get out of bed, a wave of dizziness hits him, and the body aches come back full force.

He stays unmoving for a minute, until the room stops spinning He feels around his neck and forehead with the palm his hand. He’s not super feverish, but he’s definitely warm. Not a good sign.

Nevertheless, he drags his feet all the way to the kitchen for breakfast.

He’s still in his pajamas, and almost slips on the kitchen floor when his fluffy socks slide on the floor.

He manages to grab the back of the chair, ungraciously, and steadies himself, before sitting down. With a sigh, he immediately curls up on himself and lays his head in his arms on top of the table. It’s not the most comfortable thing, but feels so much better than sitting up straight, without all the dizziness that comes with it.

“Bad night, huh?”

It’s Hunk’s voice coming from his left, and sure enough, looking up a little, he can see his breakfast being placed in front of him, and his friend sitting in the chair on his side. “That training exercise yesterday killed me,” Hunk complains lightly, stopping to take a sip of his juice, “I could have slept for ten more hours.”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance chuckles, “same.”

“You’ll feel better after eating something,” Hunk smiles as he pats his shoulder.

Doubt it, Lance thinks, but he attempts a bite anyway. It doesn’t taste like much, but that might be because his nose is clogged up.

Pidge eventually arrives as well, and has her breakfast with them, engaging in conversation with Hunk about some modifications to the Yellow Lion.

The sounds around Lance get mixed and warped, and for a moment he thinks he’s asleep and dreaming. His back shoots up with pain every time he moves, so he tries to stay still.

Shiro and Keith walk in together, after one of their usual sessions at the training room, early in the morning, before breakfast, and seriously, on a usual day Lance wouldn’t understand how they do it, but especially today, Lance just doesn’t get it. The two of them get started on their breakfast, chatting about the gladiator levels.

His headache is a little worse, se he curls up again and lays his head on the table.

“Lance? You okay,,,?” Lance looks up, and Shiro is staring at him intently, spork still in his hand, stopped mid air.

“Hm,” He grunts quietly, “just feeling a little off.”

“Yeah, no,” Hunk’s hand somehow makes its way to his forehead, under his bangs, “you’re sick.”

“Do you think it’s a toxin from one of the planets we were in?” Keith frowns.

“I really hope not,” Shiro considers. After their recent scare, a toxin is the last thing they need.

“Any symptoms out of the usual Earth illnesses?” Hunk asks.

“No, honestly,” Lance answers. “I’m just tired. And my body hurts.”

The four of them exchange worried glances between themselves.

“That sounds like it could be a lot of different things.”

“Either way, he’s probably not up for training today.”

Lance is taken to his room, and ends up with Hunk keeping him company.

“You don’t have to stay,” Lance says, “it’s not like I’m gonna get up and do stuff. I don’t even think I could do that if I wanted to.”

The blankets are tucked in around him, with a couple extra ones on top. It’s comfortable, and at least stops the chills. If he stays really still, his body doesn’t even hurt that much. It’s his head that’s bothering him the most, really, but he can almost close his eyes and sort of ignore it. Almost.

“Nah, man. Just making sure you’re doing okay. We don’t really know what’s going on with you after all. We’re just being careful in case what you have is something worse than the flu.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s really just the flu,” Lance sighs, with his eyes already closed.

“Eh, well… I sure hope so.”

*

Accepting these prompts for small drabbles like this for VLD and BNHA!

[builder051]

Congrats on 100!! I'd love 29 cause I'm super obsessed with appendicitis oops

I think appendicitis is a great trope too!  Problem is, you can only torture each character with it once…

___

Colby’s been up and down all night.  Sitting on the toilet, in front of the toilet, guzzling water from the tap, brewing peppermint tea as quietly as possible, all to no avail.  His stomach still hurts, and Jason, who seems to be in the deeply unconscious clutches of his REM cycle, isn’t stirring when Colby makes weak attempts at cuddling.  There’s something peaceful about being awake at 3:30 in the morning. He thinks for a moment about trying to make it to one of those sunrise yoga classes, but abandons the idea immediately.  He’d vomit all over his mat if he tried to press into downward dog in his current condition.

He curls onto his right side with his chin hovering over Jason’s shoulder, ineffectively spooning his boyfriend’s sprawled frame.  But the position hurts, and he rolls to his back, shutting his eyes and wishing the painful cramp or whatever the hell it is will go away.

It doesn’t, but Colby does eventually find sleep again.  It’s light outside, and Jason’s mumbling something about Honey Bunches of Oats when he next opens his eyes.  He’s uncomfortably hot, and when he sits up, his t-shirt clings to him with sweat.

“What happened to you?” Jason asks blearily.

“Am I glamorous?” Colby replies, clearing his throat and pushing damp hair off his forehead.  He cracks a smile, but it turns to a grimace when the ache in his abdomen decides to tick up a couple notches.

“You’re kind of a mess,” Jason says.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Dude.  No, you’re not.”  Jason finds a seated position too.

“Yeah, well.  My stomach kind of hurts,” Colby admits.  “But, I don’t know.  Probably not a big deal.”

“What, did you get food poisoning from your organic hummus or something?”  It’s a joke, but concern shows in Jason’s eyes.

“I don’t think so,” Colby says.  “I’ve been kind of up and down, like, waiting for something to happen, but I think I’m really fine.  Just kind of uncomfortable.”

“If you need the bathroom, I can always commandeer Mike’s,” Jason offers.

“If you did that, she’d murder you,” Colby laughs, wrapping his arm around his stomach to dispel the resultant throb.

“Seriously, though,” Jason says.  “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m ok.  I don’t have class till this afternoon, so I’ll probably just chill.  See if this’ll work itself out.”

“Well, in that case,” Jason says, leaning in to kiss Colby’s bristly cheek.  “I’m taking the bathroom first.”

Colby vegs against the pillows for a while, then forces himself to drink another glass of water while he watches Jason shovel down cereal.

“Call me if you don’t feel better, ok?” Jason says as he loads homework into his binder and readies his backpack for the day.  “I can come home or pick up some pepto or something.”

“Nice offer, but don’t worry about me,” Colby answers.  “It’s too close to the end of the semester for you to miss class.”

“Since when do you care about class?  Maybe I do need to worry about you!”

“Naw, you care about class.”  They both laugh.  “Now get going,” Colby says.

Half an hour later, Colby’s standing in the shower.  His stomach isn’t bloated, but the persistent pain feels like the worst possible case of gas.  He swallows a mouthful of water from the showerhead and tries to force himself to burp, convinced he’ll feel better if he just relieves a bit of the pressure built up inside him.  Nothing happens, though.  He pushes until he almost gags, then cringes.  Washes his hair. Finishes up.

He dresses in sweats and tries to think through his options.  Colby feels maybe a bit worse than he did when he first woke in the middle of the night.  He thinks perhaps a fever is slowly creeping up on him, and his stomachache is sitting consistently in the could-possibly-puke territory.  He fixes tea and toast he has no intention of consuming and sits on the couch.  He turns on Pandora and slouches into the cushions, wondering if 9:30 in the morning is too early for a nap.

“Are you listening to Indigo Girls?”  Mike’s face is a twist of disgust and confusion.

It takes Colby a second to find himself in space and time, then swallow down hot nausea, and finally formulate an answer.  “I guess.”  He doesn’t know what radio station he’s listening to.  Probably folk pop or something like that.

“You’re so weird,” Mike pronounces.  Then, “What’s wrong with you?  Aren’t you, like, usually reading the Kama Sutra or cataloging endangered leaves or something by this hour?”

“Nothing,” Colby says.

But Mike glares at him and says, “You’re sick.  Which is weirder.  You never get sick unless one of us does first.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Colby says, repeating his conversation with Jason earlier.  “Go to school.”

“Yeah, I will, but I’m starting to think I’m in the twilight zone.”  She looks down at the cold, untouched toast.  “You’re eating white carbs and everything.”  Mike shakes her head.

“Mm.  Yeah.  My stomach,” Colby explains.  As if on cue, said stomach convulses painfully and sends prickling nausea up his throat. “Give me a minute, here,” he mumbles, standing up and stumbling into the bathroom.

Colby drops to his knees in front of the open toilet and breathes, waiting for the inevitable gagging to start.  He can practically feel liquid in his stomach preparing to eject, but nothing happens except a swell of seasick dizziness.  “Fuck, come on,” Colby curses.  He rests his chin on the toilet seat.  He spits excess saliva from his mouth and waits to start retching.  He feels beyond disgusting.  Colby sticks two trembling fingers down onto the back of his tongue.  He gets as far as triggering a cough when a voice comes from the doorway.

“You sure you want to do that?” Mike asks, exhausted cynicism heavy in her tone.

“Christ, fuck, Mike,” Colby croaks, putting both hands back on the toilet bowl.  “God.  Of course I don’t.  I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it,” she says.  “You just…wanna get it over with.”

“God.  Yes.”  The nausea’s squeezing is brain and his stomach in opposite directions.  He finally gags, though nothing comes up.  A second pitch forward brings a trickle of water.

“See, it’ll happen on its own.”

“Ugh.  Yeah,” Colby breathes

“Alright.  Well.  I’ll leave you to it.”  Mike retreats down the hall.

As soon as he has breath, Colby calls, “Go to school,” after her.  “Don’t worry about me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” carries back.

The front door bangs open and shut, and Colby heaves raggedly until he’s empty.  The nausea hasn’t lessened much, and all that seems appealing is getting horizontal again.  He meanders back to the living room and swallows a sip of his cold tea.  If this is how things are going to be, Colby knows dehydration’s going to be his main enemy.

He badly needs a distraction from the figurative railroad tie stabbing at his internal organs.  One of Jason’s books is on the coffee table, and Colby picks it up.  He absorbs the first few chapters of Leaving Mother Lake and decides that whatever class has assigned this book needs to get on his schedule next semester.  The story of the young protagonist growing up in rural China is surprisingly engaging for a school book.  Until there’s a passage about rooster blood and Colby has to race his nausea to the toilet.

There’s hardly anything to vomit up, but that doesn’t stop Colby’s body from turning itself inside out.  Bile drips from his lower lip with a slow cadence while heaviness draws his head down onto his arms.  Time moves oddly; it seems to take a long stretch for him to recover from each heave, but in no time at all he’s spitting up snot and acid all over again.

It turns out a lot of time has passed, and all of a sudden there are cool hands on his face and neck.

“Hey, wake up.  God, you’re burning.”

“Hm?”  Colby looks up to see Jason, and he struggles to put together a cohesive timeline.  Is it morning?  Or evening?  Has he missed class?  Does he even have class today?

“So, not feeling any better, I take it.”  Jason wets a washcloth and presses it to the back of Colby’s overheated neck.

Colby grunts, making a rippling echo tear across the toilet water.

“You definitely have a fever.  Is it still mostly your stomach?” Jason asks, popping a squat beside Colby.

“Yeah,” Colby exhales.  “It, uh, it really hurts.”

Jason worries his lip and nods slightly as he locks onto Colby’s glazed eyes.  “This is really serious, huh?”

“I, uh, yeah, maybe?”

“You never complain about anything.  You have the highest pain tolerance of anyone I know, except maybe my stupid sister, and this is hitting you hard,” Jason says.

Colby sighs.  Fights the urge to dry heave.

“Where is it hurting you the most?”

“Here?  Ish?”  Colby uses his quivering fingertips to draw an imprecise oval between his navel and right hip bone.  “’s like I’m getting fucking stabbed.”

“Ok, we have to go to the hospital,” Jason says, rising to his knees and putting a supporting arm around Colby’s shoulders.

“No, I don’t…I’m…” he breaks off and gags hard.

“Do not tell me you’re fine when I’m almost positive this is your appendix.  This is serious,” Jason insists, getting Colby to his feet. “We’re going to the ER.”

“I’m gonna puke in your car,” Colby murmurs, knowing Jason will be squeamish about any bodily fluids that are uncontained.

Jason takes a deep breath.  “It’s ok.  We have to go, though.”

They’re halfway down the hall when the front door bangs open and Mike’s unmistakable lightweight footsteps shuffle inside.

“Hey, better idea, we’ll make Mike drive,” Jason says with a guilty grin.

Colby laughs, then redoubles his grip around his aching stomach.

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 26

[Summary:  Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

So much for a fun date.

They went home. It was only afternoon, but he was drained. He collected his laundry and then lay in bed. He heard her words, over and over again, and they twisted such a complicated mixture of joy and pain that he thought he might be sick.

Demyx forced himself to eat. His anxiety was mounting again, making him feverish and weak. Despite his exhaustion he started moving to try and alleviate it. His hands hurt. His whole body hurt. His head pounded. Was this just a panic attack, or was something really happening?

He wandered aimlessly through the hallways, counting each breath. He thought he heard something—a soft pinging—and he followed the sound absently. Music, he realized, tinny and canned and trapped. It had been so long since he'd heard any, at all, not with everything going on. Had somebody found a working radio? Who would be broadcasting?

It was the same pattern repeating, over and over again. Four succeeding tones. The piano room, he realized. Who was in there?

Ienzo, slumped over the keys, one hand in his hair, playing four notes resolutely with his right hand. Over and over, with barely a pause between.

"…Arpeggio," Demyx said suddenly. The room around him seemed to jerk slightly, but nothing moved.

Ienzo on the bench. His eyes were bloodshot. "Yes," he said.

"D Major?" The vocabulary came to him naturally, as though he'd never forgotten it.

"A Minor, actually. Close."

"Why the arpeggio?"

"Because everything flourishes in simplicity, wouldn't you agree?"

Demyx sat next to him. He placed his hand next to Ienzo's, one octave higher. He played the same arpeggio, and with the left hand, a complementing harmony.

"You're back," Ienzo said.

"I guess so." Everything looked slightly different; colors a little brighter, textures slightly rougher against his skin. "I feel—" He hesitated.

"Play it for me."

He paused. A right hand song. B-Flat. Sliding smoothly from note to note to note, a chromatic ascent. He didn't know how to end it.

"Your name?"

"Still gone."

"I had hoped that it healed. Even feared the worst."

"So did I." His heart beat strangely in his chest. "The knife," he said suddenly. "Was it—"

"It's possible."

Demyx took the knife out of his holster and looked at it. It seemed to glow slightly, though that may have been the alloy.

"I suppose you must feel relieved," Ienzo said.

"Strangely, I don't. Actually, I'm super anxious. But I do feel more… me." It would figure that this was no orgasmic revelation. "What did you do?"

"Brushed away some dust," Ienzo said. ""Vulnerability is a tool." I saw that in your memory. Aeleus was right."

"Do you think it's because I'm in love?"

"It's a contributing factor, no doubt. The light in her heart, when you made a connection, for the first time in maybe your whole life…"

His hands shook.

"You're not healed. It's imperfect. The danger is still there."

Demyx put the knife away. He shut his eyes, feeling the weight of his body, the faint rhythm of his heart. He played a C chord. Tears gushed, suddenly and indiscriminately, from his eyes. "Oh my god." C, G7, A. A scale. His hands were clumsy and out of practice but it was there, it was all there. The piano was so beautifully discordant.

"You're human, Nine," Ienzo said. "I was wrong to admonish you."

"I should have listened."

He stood. "Should I leave you be? To practice?"

"No. I don't want to be alone."

He sat down, gingerly. "Will you play something?"

"I don't know what."

"Anything."

He stumbled through the song of Ansem the Wise's, the one Ienzo had showed him some weeks ago. It sounded rough to his ears, and harsh, because he couldn't keep up with the complicated rhythm. The song ended, and the silence pressed tight around them. His eyes were raw. "I guess I should say thanks," he said at last. "I wish I could help you, too."

"No need." Ienzo patted his arm. "I'm going to go rest."

Demyx met Lea down by his house shortly after. He was sitting on the stoop, eyes unfocused, a brilliant scabby scratch all down one cheek. "Hey," Demyx said.

"Oh, hey, what's up," he said dully.

"What's got you down in the dumps?"

Lea grinned, but his eyes were distant. "Look at you. You're back."

"Ienzo said the same thing. Is it really that noticeable?"

"You carry yourself differently. You always looked… I don't know… like such a zombie." He scootched over and patted the spot next to him.

Demyx sat down. He shut his eyes and let the warmth of the sun wash over him. "Your knife," he said suddenly. "You can probably have it back now."

"Have you tried calling your weapon?" He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and lit it with his bare hands.

"…You're almost as bad as Cid," Demyx said.

"Oh, please. This is the only thing that makes me feel half human." He laughed to himself, darkly. "So why'd you come? To bum off me again?"

That laughter made him feel uncomfortable deep in the pit of his stomach. "Not my fault you keep offering. No. I just wanted to talk, I guess."

Lea smiled to himself. "Talk away."

There were so many things he wanted to talk about, all of them deeply personal. Demyx wanted to ask Lea about the New Organization, and things about Sora, about Roxas, Isa, and the strangeness of this new life. He wanted to ask Lea if he'd ever been in love. "I…" he trailed off. "I'm… scared."

"Well, shit. Of course you are. I am too."

"Is it bad, there?" He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact.

"It's… I don't know how to describe it. Chaos, but there's something in the air, you know? Paranoia, you might call it. Of each other. Of everything. It's the feeling they want strangers to have, too. I didn't sleep for three days when I went. I still have trouble." Lea shook his head. "I got so desperate I went to the eggheads for help about it. I get these… nightmares."

"About?"

"About everything, I guess." He shrugged. "What I've done. What I could do. Things they do, and to who, and how." He had finished his first cigarette and rubbed at his neck. "It's disturbing. And then I think about the fact that we're sending you into this. And I know that whatever happens to you will feel like my fault."

Demyx was starting to feel nauseous. "Don't worry about me. You never did before." His attempt at humor fell flat.

"Well. Things are different now. We're both different. Look at us. I'm a hero." He said this dryly. "And you're helping the committee, helping everyone you can, trying to get stronger."

"I'm doing it for me," he said quietly.

"I know. I am, too."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The afternoon was starting to lose a bit of its edge. "I miss clouds," Demyx said. "And rain. I would kill for some rain, right about now." He stretched out his legs and looked at his worn sneakers.

"So make some."

"Do you know how much energy that takes? Especially when it's this dry? It would kill me first." He cast out his consciousness for a moment, just because he could. There was still a bit more resistance than there had been before reformation, but less so than after. He could feel Lea's blood, and his own, and not much else in the strained air. The meager reservoir just outside town. The few tanks of stale water. Some tired people, hanging around. Here and there, sticky patches of darkness where Heartless must be. "This is so weird. How it just clicked."

"Happened for me that way too, with the Keyblade. You work and you work and nothing happens. Then all of a sudden, poof! There it is. Usually when the time is most dramatic."

"…It was pretty dramatic, wasn't it?" he said, more to himself than to Lea. Lea shoved a cigarette into his peripheral. "Thanks."

"I'm feeling pretty generous."

"You enable me."

Lea smiled. They both smoked for a while. Demyx figured his powers must have been working better, because the heat didn't feel as oppressive. It was definitely some magic bullshit, he decided. "Well, I'm gonna make the rounds," Lea said. "You're free to come with me. I don't mind the company."

He thought about this. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but he didn't like that look in Lea's eyes. "Sure. Why not?"

Lea chuckled. "Right. Come on, then. As long as I don't have to protect your sorry ass."

They walked back towards town. The air was quiet, and still, with barely a hot breeze to stir it. Soon it would be August. "Why are they having me wait so long to go?" Demyx asked.

"A few different reasons, each a little more valid," Lea said. "Well, first, the longer you wait, the more you can pretend the deterioration has worsened. You can play frantic. Then there's the war. We're trying to push more on them, trying to make them feel desperate, in general, so they'll be more reckless in what they do, and more vulnerable. And when that happens, they'll take whoever they can get. Just how it happened the first time around. Third… getting you back into shape. Getting you "ready"."

He thought about this. "But wouldn't it be more convincing if I went to them weak?"

"Maybe. But then they would be all the more likely to dispose of you, if you couldn't be of use to them."

Demyx shuddered. Thinking about that cold, white castle… of everything that had ever happened in it… made him shivery and anxious again. Organization training had been brutal, and weeks-long. He saw it through a dim veil in his head. It wasn't just physical and mental training, or even training of his powers. Extensive survival training; learning how to cope with all sorts of terrain, all sorts of food sources, finding water, tying knots, orienteering. Reading the stars, before they got to be so few. Stealth. Learning to read the land of each world, its people, and what all the little details added up to be, what they might mean. He'd been good at intel-sitting, waiting, and observing every little thing as it passed. His mind was hardwired for it, because seeing such details has been crucial to surviving to adulthood in his harsh desert homeworld. Noticing a bit of off color or texture might mean finding something to eat, or drink, or avoiding some poisonous creature in the wild.

He wasn't sure how this would work. How much of it would be like old times? Doing missions… sowing seeds of destruction… passing drops of information back and forth. Would it be worth it? Would he really be helping more people than hurting, in the end?

Providing, of course, that he survived whatever initiation that he was sure to go through sane. What if they brainwashed him? Violated him? Crammed another fragment of heart or soul inside of him? He gagged on the thought.

"Look, there's one," Lea said. "A weak one. Get ready."

It was a Heartless, a small Shadow. It skated towards them, eager and hungry. The stickiness of its darkness, in his mind, felt kind of numbing.

"Why don't you get it?" Lea asked. "I think you can handle it."

The Heartless leapt towards them, so slowly he could have sidestepped it. A quick cross swipe with the knife and it vanished back into the summer air. "That was anticlimactic," Demyx said.

Lea shrugged. "Most of the time it is. Not like this is new to you, anyway." He squinted into the comparative darkness of the Bailey. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Luxord's Somebody was waiting there for them like they'd arranged this. "I could say the same for you lads. Lea. Nine."

"Hey," Demyx said uneasily. Ten never just visited anymore.

"What can we do you for?" Lea asked. His eyes were stiff and guarded.

"I was hoping to borrow our friend for a chat," Ten said. He took his cards out of his pocket and shuffled them so quickly Demyx had trouble seeing them. "Unless the two of you have business."

Immediately Demyx's anxiety shot up. He swallowed the excess spit that had suddenly welled in his mouth.

"No, I think I can release him into the wild," Lea said. He slapped Demyx on the shoulder. While the gesture was meant to be playful, it actually hurt quite a bit, and he flinched. Demyx watched Lea retreat into the shadows.

"Shall we go for a stroll, then?" Ten asked.

"Where to?" He could feel sweat gathering under his arms.

"Oh, I've no preference. I could do with a cup of tea, actually. Shall we?"

Demyx numbly followed Ten to the marketplace. Ten ordered two cups of iced tea, but Demyx felt too sick to drink it.

"You've become quite the local. Are there any good places for us to sit and catch up?" the Somebody's expression was easy and light.

"Sure," Demyx said. He brought Ten back up through the construction sight to the postern, and there they sat, watching the town and sipping the weak sweetened tea. Demyx tried to keep his breathing level. "I take it you're not here just to talk to me."

Ten smiled sadly. He set his tea on the ledge next to him and brought out the cards again. He fanned them and offered the hand to Demyx. "Pick a card, any card."

Demyx took one. He'd never actually touched Luxord's cards before, and they were heavier and more substantial than regular cards. The back of the card had a slightly raised surface, and he stroked it absently. "Am I not supposed to tell you what it is?" A nine of hearts glared back at him, blood red. Demyx was getting really fucking sick of the number.

Ten took the card from him, studied it, and smiled. "Yes," he said. "I'd thought so."

"What does it mean?" Demyx asked.

"You've changed," Ten said. "You must feel the difference."

"Is that… good?" He wasn't so sure. Ten's face was so hard to read.

He didn't respond immediately. "We've always had a warm rapport, you and I, Nine," he began. "I know I shouldn't tell you this, but I feel I cannot in good conscience be silent. Isn't it amazing, how one's consciousness shifts, once one has a heart?"

"What?" Demyx asked in a low voice. "What is it?"

Luxord's Somebody squeezed his hand firmly. His skin was dry and strangely cold. "There are so many uncertainties, but lately your futures have been twisting together into one linear path. Your heart has changed. Your decision has been made, as much as you dread it. But I'm afraid it'll all be in vain."