#I still think vani deserved to sweep

[grassbreads]

Not thrilled about Vanitas losing his doomed by the narrative character poll, but I've been listening to Woe.Begone for comparison purposes, and at least he lost to a genuinely good competitor.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Destiny, My Dude

The dust has barely settled between Roxas and Vanitas before business starts to pick up and for the first time all day, the unlikely duo find themselves confronted with a hoard of holiday shoppers.  

It’s not long before they have barricaded themselves behind the register, side-by-side, juggling purchases from overenthusiastic nerds, under-enthusiastic goths, parents who just want a gift card so they can GTFO, and middle schoolers who can’t seem to grasp that Roxas and Vanitas can hear the kiddos rating them on their Hot Topic Scale of Hotness.

It’s a conversation which makes Roxas wince and grin in equal measure, trying to hold in laughter, as Vanitas helps the one that had said he was ‘trying too hard’ check out her items with all the warmth and personality of a GPS navigator. 

When the last of the shoppers has left the store, Vanitas groans and slumps forward, arms crossing and rings clattering against the countertop. “Thank the Lord.” 

Roxas sweeps a hand through his bangs and laughs, a relieved and airy thing. “Yeah… I think that’s the most people I’ve seen in here since I started.” 

Vanitas rolls over, his back against the countertop, and covers his eyes with his arms. “And all those fricking children. I thought I’d have to beat them off of you with a mannequin arm.” He shifts his arms slightly to better level Roxas with an accusing glare. 

“Whoa. Me?” Roxas steps back, a hand lifting to cover his heart. “You must not have heard them right.” He tries to keep his tone serious but can’t smother another smile. “Your brooding score was double mine.” 

“Ah,” Vanitas shifts his arms back over his eyes, “shut up, Thirteen.”

Once again it seems that as much as Vanitas likes to throw shade, he doesn’t like to stand in it. 

Roxas paces toward the trashcan to throw out a forgotten receipt, but continues over his shoulder, “You’re just salty we didn’t hear what they superscored you.”

“I’m salty,” Vanitas corrects, and it’s obviously not a word he’s fond of, “I had to be nice to them because, as much as you might enjoy the experience, I don’t want Axel to chew me up and spit me out.” He removes his arms, revealing a cringe, and narrows his eyes at Roxas, “I swear to God, the next person that tries to come in here, I’m going to bite their face off.”

Roxas doesn’t have time to try to suss out what this chewing and spitting comment means, before his thoughts are interrupted. “Shh…” he cautions, as Vanitas opens his mouth again, “I think someone is coming.” Roxas can hear humming and the rustle of displays being jostled off near the front. 

Vanitas groans but pushes off the counter and rises to his full height. “Welcome to Hot Topic,” he greets with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, though their guest is not yet in sight. “Thanks for stopping by! What brings you in today and how may I be of assistance?” 

Vanitas has the customer service voice of someone being held at gunpoint, but Roxas supposes it’s marginally better than Vanitas cussing people out or making unwanted comments about their sex lives. 

“Uh, what?” 

Roxas feels like he’s heard that disgruntled squawk before. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Demyx’s pompadour mohawk rises above the aisle displays, and then he’s peeking out, eyes wide, the stretch of his mouth skeptical. “You feeling okay, Vani? You’re sounding awfully... pleasant.” 

“Oh,” Vanitas bats his hand as if to shoo Demyx off, cheer deflating from his voice, “it’s just you. Aren’t you off today? What do you want?”

Demyx smiles, waggles his eyebrows, tosses back his head, and, as he maneuvers through the aisles, starts to sing, “Hello, darkness, my old friend.” He’s not strumming on a ukulele, but he may as well be. 

Vanitas groans, burying his head in his arms on the countertop once more, like maybe it will make Demyx go away. “Not this again.” 

Demyx appears in full view and stretches out his arms, displaying a cropped, cut off ‘Take It Easy’ ‘Life is Good’ tank top above a flat stomach and ripped skinny jeans, slung low enough to reveal the edges of his boxers, despite the plaid shirt tied unevenly around his narrow waist. It’s a notable, but not, in Roxas’ opinion, unwelcome, departure from the unicorn sweater Roxas had last seen him in. The closer he gets, the more the air smells like burnt sand and coconut sunscreen.  

“I've come to talk with you again.”

Vanitas scrunches his hair in his hand and, lifting his head slightly, his eyes flit to Roxas. “What did I do to deserve this torment?” “I can think of a few things,” Roxas quips before his better judgement can stop him. 

Vanitas presses a palm to Roxas’ chest without looking, pushing him a step off, but his glare returns to the approaching Demyx.  

“Because a vision softly creeping,” Demyx’s voice dips lower, and his steps are light enough to make Roxas wonder if the aspiring rockstar hadn’t had a few ballet classes back in the day. “Left its seeds while I was sleeping…” 

“And by that you mean Axel texted you?” Vanitas calls, entirely disrespectful of Demyx’s lyrical momentum. 

That Demyx’s visit isn’t random hadn’t occurred to Roxas. No one had exactly praised Demyx for his reliability and work ethic, but it does seem like he and Axel are close enough to merit a personal favor.

Had Axel tried to stop Vanitas from targeting me by sending in a bigger target?

Demyx smile widens, but he’s not thrown off. He pauses just in front of the checkout lane, posture sure, the smell of the beach clinging to him stronger than ever. 

“And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains. 

Within the sound—of silence.”

A chill creeps up Roxas’ spine, listening to the soft lyrics laid bare, resonating in the empty store, entirely eclipsing and yet enhanced by the roaring background music. It’s not even that Demyx has the most incredible voice, so much as that he’s experienced enough to know how to really use it.  

Vanitas looks less appreciative. He glances around like he’s looking for something to chuck at the man singing to him. 

“In restless dreams, I walked alone—!”  Demyx breaks with tradition to belt, one arm outstretched grandly as he advances, just a few paces away from the register.

“Boo.” Vanitas flings a Pokeball chapstick at Demyx’s jaw.

 Demyx’s arms quickly rise in defense. “Ouch,” he whines. “Not the face, Vani…!” 

Trying not to laugh, Roxas steps forward to ensure Demyx is alright, but he must be, because Demyx steps up to the register and lobs the chapstick back toward Vanitas’ chest.

 “Vanitas used ‘Quick Attack,’” Vanitas observes sourly, as the Pokeball hits the ground and rolls away. “It was not very effective.”  

“You don’t like it?” Demyx pauses in his singing to reassess. His hip juts out in challenge, and there’s a bit of a pout to his lip. 

Vanitas’ sigh is heavy, but he shifts into a pointed smirk. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. I just didn’t think you knew what the sound of silence was.” 

Demyx scoffs, decidedly offended. “Simon and Garfunkel, bro. It’s a classic. I picked it just for you.”

Roxas chuckles, a thousand percent sure that’s not what Vanitas meant, and earns a knowing side eye in response, before Vanitas returns to Demyx, “Yeah, well, serenade Roxas next time.”

“It’s one of Xigbar’s favorites,” Demyx continues, running with his own thoughts, as if Vanitas hasn’t spoken. “He likes the old stuff, asks me to play it all the time.”

Roxas recalls the large, intimidating man from the “training video” Aqua had shown him. Xigbar had been all over Demyx: standing too close, smiling too wide, pulling Demyx off camera to (most likely) make out. On one hand, his muscle mass and massive scar were inarguably terrifying. On the other hand, Xigbar’d been in the video drinking tea with Luxord and is apparently dating Demyx, which means he’s probably some kind of huge teddy bear. Right? 

Yeah, no.

The wolfish smile he’d fixed Demyx throughout the video hadn’t exactly given Roxas teddy vibes. Xigbar’s confidence and cockiness had struck a harsh, uncomfortable contrast against Demyx’s playful naivete. Roxas can’t help but think Demyx has to be either totally stupid or totally fearless.

But, if Demyx is happy…  

Vanitas leans forward, elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. His brows rise, as if perplexed, though he continues to smile. “He’s asking you to ‘shut it’ all the time, then.”  

Roxas is somehow both pissed off and relieved to see that apparently Vanitas likes to give everyone shit about their love lives with very little background knowledge. 

“Well,” Demyx tilts his head as if realizing this is a very real possibility before he shrugs, “he should be more specific.” Roxas chokes down another laugh, and Demyx turns his sights toward him, as if just noticing him, waving a small black bag. “Hey! Roxas! I brought you a surprise!” 

“Please don’t let it be another song,” Vanitas mutters, nonetheless pushing off the counter and following Roxas out from behind it and up to Demyx.

Demyx proceeds to open a black drawstring bag, printed with a white, boxy, professional looking font reading “The Organization.” Small, metallic silver chains twine the letters and beside them what must be the band’s logo is printed all in white. The image—a cross with three points, curving into two tails at the bottom, like a crucifix impaling a heart, sends a slight chill up Roxas’ spine. 

Roxas pushes the thought away. “This is stuff for your band?” 

Demyx nods enthusiastically, tilting the bag to show it off to both of them. “You like? Xigbar and Axel re-did the font and logo a couple months ago and they killed it.”

“Uh, yeah… Looks great…” Roxas is saved from having to elaborate, as Demyx begins listing off items he pulls from the bag, handing them off to Roxas. 

First, comes a demo CD with the same white logo emblazoned across the cover above the band name in the same font. Next, a t-shirt with the band name across the breast pocket, size small, Demyx assures him, “for obvious reasons.” Then, in quick succession, come a couple handfuls of stickers, something that looks like a tentative performance schedule, and finally, a slouchy black beanie with the logo stitched into the rim.  

The last of which, Demyx opts to cap Roxas’ head with immediately, smushing his hair and leaving loose gold spikes sticking out at random. He’s talking all the while, “I invited Xigbar to come and meet you, actually. He can always tell who’s going to be a good fit with the band, but…” Demyx sticks out his tongue, focusing instead on fixing the back of the hat, as Roxas’ adjusts his hipster glasses.

Roxas is not exactly upset at missing this intro opportunity. “Oh, uh, that’s okay. I’m sure he’s busy…” 

Vanitas snorts. He’s turned around, pretending to be busy organizing a register display. 

“Oh, nah,” Demyx buries his nose in the bag again to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, “tattoo parlor was dead, he just didn’t want to come.” 

Roxas blinks, uncertain what to make of this. Demyx laughs and then Vanitas does, harder.

Vanitas tilts his head to look at Roxas, his arms full and his head crowned. Vanitas’ expression seems both horrified and taunting. “Well, aren’t you a picture?” 

Roxas glares back before checking himself and turning to offer Demyx a maybe slightly overwhelmed smile. “Thank you, man, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble...” 

Demyx waves the thanks away and snaps his fingers. “Yeah! A picture! We need a pic of our newest Organization groupie for the Instagram.  Gotta give the fans what they want.” 

Roxas smile turns wry. So that’s why he went to all this trouble. 

Demyx pulls his phone from his back pocket. Roxas notes its case is plastered with band and beer stickers, as Demyx angles the camera toward him. “Smile pretty, Rox.” 

Roxas thoughtlessly obeys as the camera flashes. 

Demyx flicks through the photos with a thumb and nods, “Awesome, awesome.” He glances up. “What’s your Insta handle, bro?” 

“Oh, gees,” Roxas bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “Haven’t used it much since high school. I think it’s either a-nobody-named-roxas or roxas-thats-a-stick.”

“Ugh.” Demyx full out grimaces, clearly not impressed with High School Roxas’ sense of humor. “Dude, if you join the band, we’re changing that.” He glances down again, tapping, swiping, “Ah! Here we go. Oh,” he breaks into a goofy grin, “look how freaking cute you were…”  Demyx tilts his phone, elbowing Vanitas to look, which he doesn’t. “Skateboarding, karate, rock concert, emo selfie, emo selfie, more skateboarding... Oh, what?” His smile disappears, and Roxas shifts forward, to look at his saved photos upside down. “Whoa, that’s trippy.”

Demyx has up a photo of Sora balanced on Roxas’ shoulders, standing on the beach, the sun in their eyes, dripping with sweat, muscles straining, teeth grit around bubbles of laughter, desperately trying to stretch the few more inches needed to reach a low hanging paopu fruit, so that Sora could woo his crush of the week. 

“There’s two of you!” Demyx continues. “You have a clone!” 

Vanitas stiffens and stops pretending to be straightening anything to lean in and examine the screen, “It’s called a ‘twin,’ genius.” He turns away, rubbing between his eyes like Demyx’s very presence is giving him a migraine. “I have one, too.” 

“Actually, that’s my little brother, Sora.” Roxas taps the screen and Sora’s handle @sora-the-explorer appears. 

Demyx scrolls further down. “Man, Sora’s in half of these. He’s a selfie king.”

“Yeah, well.” Roxas would be more embarrassed by this information if Sora hadn’t been the one to make him download the app and force him to start uploading photos in the first place. “He means well. He likes to ‘share the fun’ with all our friends, so they don’t, you know, miss out.” 

The small, derisive noise that leaves Vanitas’ throat makes Roxas grit his teeth. Yeah, Sora’s a huge cheeseball, but he’s also a downright amazing person. 

“Wait, what’s this…” Demyx is well into Sora’s photos by now. “Roxie’s tenth grade piano recital?”

Vanitas and Roxas’ objections overlap, but Demyx is already pressing play. A familiar melody springs to Roxas’ ears. He did better than he remembers, though one discordant mistake still makes his fingers twitch. 

“What was with your ‘I don’t play anything’ nonsense, Roxie? You’ve been holding out on me, man!” Demyx jabs a finger in Roxas’ chest. “You play the keys damn well.”

Roxas huffs, glancing down at his chipping nail polish, which had always made his instructor cringe. “It’s not exactly my most badass quality.” He glances back up, mouth twitching. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d want a classical pianist for your rock band.”

“Didn’t think we’d want a…” Demyx echoes, fading off, patting Roxas’ shoulder dismissively. “Well, if it was good enough for “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Roxas!”  

Roxas laughs, as Demyx cups his face in both hands, expression growing serious. “The Organization has been looking for someone to play the keys since for-ever! This is destiny, my dude.” Roxas’ brain skips like a scratched-up CD. “I mean… I hadn’t ever really thought about…” Roxas mumbles, frowning. 

This obviously means a lot to Demyx and he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of Demyx and his friends off this fast. Especially not after this morning with Vanitas. And, it could be fun. Roxas has never been in a band before. 

But he hasn’t played in ages… and the idea of singing in front of a crowd makes him kind of want to lock himself in the Hot Topic fitting room and barricade the door. He was never as good at either thing as he’d wanted to be. Not to mention, he’s only in town for break. 

But it’s not exactly far, and some of their shows are bound to be on the mainland… and…Axel’s in the band… and… and… 

“I just… I don’t know…Can I have some time to think about it?” 

Demyx swats Roxas’ shoulder again unconcerned. “All good, little man. Think about it! Talk to Axel. Come to our practice tomorrow night. I’ll send you the deets. I know you’ll love it.” Demyx is already back to tapping at his phone like it’s a done deal.

“A-a-a-a-nd you’re tagged.”

Roxas has already nearly forgotten about the photo Demyx had just snapped of him. “What?”