#if it was just an exam and meds i could afford it but the implant is just so much and i wasnt expecting for it to wear off right after Blue

[homeofhousechickens]

Might have to reschedule Greenie's appointment. I'll try to think of something I can do that will sell well so i can pay for the implant. Maybe I can try to do pet stat sheets again?

[dxmedstudent]

I haven't been on Tumblr in a while but wanted to check how you're doing! How is married life treating you and how is work- I remember last time you were applying for GP training! I'm just coming to the end of F1 :)

Me neither, Anon! Honestly? I have been meaning to come back to Tumblr a while ago, but life has been busy! I had tried to spend less time on socual media so i could focus on my membership exams, and that went too well.

Time flies, I can't believe it's been more than 10 years since I joined tumblr or graduated from med school.

I can't remember which updates I've already shared, so I'll make a list.

Married life is great - pretty similar to pre-married life. Because we started off in different cities due to my training and covid, it's honestly just a joy to live together and be able to hang out. I've been meaning to post a couple of anonymised wedding photos. It still feels amazing that we managed to get all the people we love together. We also managed to fly out to my birth country so that DxDude could meet my relatives...most of whom don't speak English. It was hilarious and lovely and he took being mobbed by an army of Eastern European Babushkas very well.

We adopted a cat! His owner died suddenly and my parents sort of got left with the cat. It was at a difficult time, as it was around the time my beloved cat passed away last year. I still miss her. But I couldn't let someone's baby, a lovely senior cat, live out his last days in a shelter. He's a little 14ish year old man called Sherlock. He loves being held and sitting on my shoulders and he drools when he gets excited. We've been trying to discourage his habit of nipping you when he wants something.

My houseplants and balcony plants may be slowly getting out of control, but I'm happy I have lots of them, and i would have more if we weren't running out of space. I'm currently waging a war against mealybugs. Send thoughts and prayers.

I did get into GP training! And it was local to where I wanted to be, which made it much easier to finally move in together. In fact, I JUST finished GP training a couple of weeks ago and am now living my GP dreams working in one of the practices that I trained in. It's very inner city London. Our patients have complex needs, and I'm honoured to ve in a team that have a lot of experience serving patients affected by substance abuse, homelessness and refugee populations and other complex issues.

We went on Honeymoon to Japan! It was amazing, and I'd still love to go again. I was bold enough to arrange my Honeymoon to be barely a month before a postgraduate exam, but I passed!

This past academic year has been filled with sitting exams and jumping through the hoops required for my eportfolio. On top of working full time as a GP. I didn't think I would do it all first time TBH, but my supervisor had more faith in me than I did. It's honestly been amazing to work for a few jobs in GP training where I felt seen and wanted and where my hard work was appreciated. I can't believe my supervisor offered me my current job, and wanted me to stay on, but they did!

I finished a diploma in sexual and reproductive health and trained in fitting contraceptive implants. I'd like to train up to fit IUDs also to try to improve local access to sexual health services.

I went on strike these past couple of years, when the junior doctors went on strike again. I'm still processing the pay offer and the new government. But I'm relieved we're no loner under the Tories.

We'd like to move house, but we've not gotten around to trying to do this seriously, because my life was already stressful enough. We do need more space, and I hope we'll find somewhere modestly nice that we can afford.

We're trying for kids, and it's sadly taking much longer than we hoped. Being a patient is...a slow and frustrating experience because it already feels like I've had to work harder than I should to advocate for appropriate care. I could say a LOT about the postcode lotteries that come with UK fertility care but I'll leave that for another post.

I've finally accepted that my hair is wavy, and I'm trying out different products to lean into the natural waves and bring them out without leaving it a frizzy Hermione-esque mess. It spent tge past years mostly in a plait or cadet bun, but I'm finally giving my hair a bit more freedom. I have NOT yet accepted that my hair is mostly white at this point. I alternate between wanting to go grey (because that would look cool) and wanting to stay brown because that's kind of how I've imagined myself for the past 35+ years.

I finally get to indulge in painting my nails. I've loved it since I was like 13 and seeing my nails sparkly and colorful brings out my inner 13 year old and she is thrilled. Every time I make my nails glow in the dark, I show them off to DxDude before bed.

My laptop died and then I inherited an old laptop from my parents which is also dying. Which is part of the reason I haven't created much art in recent years. I should probably just bite the bullet and buy a new one, but my exams and diplomas have been expensive so I've been putting it off. To be fair I also made the decision to use my limited free time to keep up with friends and family IRL and try not to feel bad about taking a break from creating. I felt like I was blaming myself for not managing to do everything I wanted to do. I've slowly accepted that none of us can do everything.

I think that's it for now. Looking forward to catching up with what medblr are up to 😃

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 8

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary:  Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea visit, dredging up more than Even bargains for. Even discovers something unexpected about Ienzo.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He studies Demyx with a fascination he didn’t think was possible. He itches for the Organization’s medical records; when he tries to upload them from his old thumb drives, the files are corrupt. But what will it belie, anyway?

The boy’s suffered a lot of stress in his life; cortisol has impacted his DNA in innumerable ways. Does this explain his Nobody’s laziness, his inactivity? Was he trying to spare himself pain--perhaps subconsciously? He begins sequencing his own samples, to act as a sort of control. It makes the work not quite watertight or unbiased, but beggars cannot be choosers, and everyone else seems to be busy. Besides, if he must experiment, best to do it on himself.

He receives a text from Ienzo. He’s barely seen hide nor hair of the boy for days; if he hasn’t been working with Demyx, he’s been with Ansem. Even is sure Ienzo is throwing himself so deeply into new work to avoid processing everything that has happened.

Pot, kettle, black.

We have some visitors, the text reads. Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea would like to see you.

The mention of Lea’s name makes him bristle; but he does not mind the girls or Roxas. After all, they’re his research, walking and talking. It will be good to see how they’re adjusting, if they’re having any issues. Send them down. He almost asks how Ienzo is doing.

Almost.

He tries to fix himself up a bit, knowing his clothes are wrinkled and his hair is a mess. He brushes it and finds himself automatically trying to smooth it into a ponytail--a style he hasn’t worn in many years. Even, is that you? Is he changing too?

There’s a gentle knock at the door, startling him. He takes a quick breath. “It’s open. Do come in.” He’s not used to seeing so many people at once, he realizes. “Hello.”

“Deja vu, huh,” Roxas says pleasantly.

“You are right,” he says. “Then again--not too terribly much about my days are different.” He tries for a patient smile. “Xion, Naminé. Good to see you as well. Frankly I’m surprised you’re back so soon.”

“I heard about the flowers,” she says shyly. “I wanted to see them.”

“I’m afraid it’s nearing winter, but no matter. Town is plenty beautiful.”

The last figure, leaning against the door frame, finally speaks. “...You look good.”

Even can’t help the small flinch. “Lea.”

He’s as tall and wiry as ever. Like everyone else, he looks odd without the frame of the Organization cloak. “When you… have a minute, I wanna talk. I’m sure you want to poke and prod.”

“We volunteered,” Roxas says, grinning.

“Oh, Lea, that’s not necessary.”

The man looks confused. “After everything? But I want to apolo--”

“Who’d like to be examined first?”

Lea lets it drop, and returns to his position at the door. He’s blocking the only exit. Calm down, you fool. He takes each of the teenagers aside, takes blood and the like, asks them how their bodies are behaving. Almost unanimously, they all say that everything is just fine. They certainly look indistinguishable from humans, and aside from the fact that neither Xion nor Naminé are menstruating, they essentially are. He needs to examine their telomerase, to see if they’re aging. And yet in all this, he feels little pride.

“You really made me?” Xion asks softly.

“You flatter me, girl,” he says. “I made your body. You did all the rest. Grew your own heart. Figured it out--somehow.” He affords her a smile, finds it genuine. In a rather roundabout way, he realizes, he's her father, having created her body not once, but twice. He finds the thought so jarring he immediately shoves it into the background.

“I wish I could tell you how,” she says, with a laugh. “I just know that--this body feels so much more mine than the last one.”

“Because it was made just for you. The last one was for someone else.”

Slowly, she nods. “You let me be a girl,” she says, more quietly.

Even blinks. “Well… that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Isa--Saïx--referred to me as “it.””

“Because he saw you as a puppet--nothing more. To a degree… I’m ashamed to say I did too. But I realized… these replicas are so much more than vessels. Here you are, aren’t you?” Even wonders, had the other vessels not merely been implanted with hearts at their birth, if they may have formed their own hearts as well. Would it even be worth exploring that? What right does he to create new life when he barely understands morality?

She smiles shyly, and nods. “Do we really get to just grow up?”

“I need to look into a few things--but I surely hope so.”

“I guess being alive is enough for me. Being remembered, too.”

He drums his fingers on the exam table. He can hear the other three roughhousing behind the curtain, and hope they don’t disturb Demyx’s data, still spread willy-nilly. “Should you not… mature, perhaps I can look into making a body that appears more age-appropriate.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She pauses. “Thanks, Even.”

It’s this more than anything that catches him off guard. “It’s the least I could do, child. I just hope this new life treats you well.”

“Aside from Sora being gone--it is so far.”

He bobs his head. “That’s all we can ask for.”

The three teenagers leave, but Lea hangs on. Even feels his heart in his throat, something like acid in his veins--he tries to bring himself back under control.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks coldly. “I have a lot of work to do, with what these three have left me.” He looks, more than anything, ashamed of himself. Even doesn’t like the way it feels when their eyes meet; he can feel sweat beading under his arms, cold and unpleasant. “I… spent the whole ride here thinking about how to talk to the two of you,” he admits. “But I just… now that I see you... “ He exhales. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Even.”

He blinks. “I hope you don’t expect me to assuage your conscience,” he says. “Though I’m sure Ienzo did.” Below anxiety, a rage. He tries to hold onto it. “The boy was loyal. If he truly needed elimination--” It’s physically difficult to get the words out. “Why did it need to be so violent? Why did you feel the need to-- You were peers, Lea. You grew up together. Does that mean nothing to you?”

He can’t make eye contact. “I know, Even. I know. I… it’s one of the things I wish I could take back most. But I can’t. Now he has to live with it--and so do you.”

Even thinks of Ienzo’s scars, of the panic that overtook him. Of his own solemn brutalization. “There’s one thing I want to know. Was it worth it?”

“No. Not at all.” His breath sounds vaguely wheezy. “But it… it wasn’t right. It isn’t right. I never really had to… pay for what I did. Is there… something I can do for you?”

Even just wants him out of here. “You could avoid mentioning it again.”

He’s never seen Lea like this, so shaken. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t give him immense satisfaction. He takes a step forward, and Even immediately takes one back. “Right. I… Right.” He nods. “I’m so… neither of you deserved it. Not that way. I’m sorry.” He says it almost like a nervous tic. “I…”

“We all have to learn to deal with guilt,” he adds.

“Yeah.”

“You should go join those friends of yours. Make sure they don’t get in any trouble.” He wants to turn back to his work; but his body won’t let him.

“I will.” He straightens a little. “I’m sorry.” Finally, he leaves, and Even shuts and locks the door behind him. He’s breathing hard. He tries to remember what he told Ienzo--about this reaction being normal--but it doesn’t feel normal. He sinks to the floor weakly, his white coat puddling around him. He can’t recall ever having such intense anxiety. He tries to breathe, remembering what he was taught in med school about reversing the flight or fight instinct--inhale, eight count, hold, seven count, exhale, four count--and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

---

When he finally, wearily pulls himself together, he can’t bring himself to begin studying their samples. It makes him think too much of Lea. He turns back to Demyx, because this is a problem he can solve, or try to.

On the matter of Demyx…

It’s Isa who has the diplomacy to find him, this time. “I… truly apologize for the interruption,” he says. “I realize you’re probably unsettled after seeing Lea.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The man nods once. “I’d say it’s good to see you--and it is--but I’m afraid I need help.”

Even sighs. “Which one of the miscreants got hurt?”

“Nobody’s hurt. Well, not literally, anyway.”

Demyx has, again, collapsed. Apparently the three have spent some time together--spoke about their pasts--and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. His vitals are much the same as last time. Whatever this is, it’s either getting better or worse; it seems to be happening with concerning frequency. The last thing Even needs is another dead body on his hands.

Ienzo arrives back on their floor, looking exhausted and ragged--when was the last time the child got some sleep? He sees the three of them by Demyx’s door and furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

“Demyx fainted again,” Even says tiredly.

“He was hanging out with us, and we were just talking about our lives and pasts and whatnot,” Lea says.

“It is strange he doesn’t have his sitar,” Isa adds.

Ienzo is nonplussed. “Well, none of us have our Nobody weapons,” Ienzo says. “It’s a pity, yes, but it’s just our biology.”

Lea stares him down. “Then explain this.” He summons his chakrams; it takes all of Even’s strength to keep his expression neutral. But once the wave of panic begins to pass… why is it Lea, of all people, retains his Nobody’s weapons?

Ienzo blinks. “Have you always had them, as Lea?”

“Since I woke up. Came easier than the Keyblade.”

Ienzo seeks Even’s gaze, an explanation; he can’t offer one.

“And if he’s half as connected to his sitar as I am to these babies, --and he is--, he should definitely still have it.” The weapons disappear, much to Even’s relief.

“We told him as much, and then he blacked out,” Isa says.

“He and I still only have part of our hearts,” Even tells them. “It’s made him very brittle.”

“He’s taken the loss very hard,” Ienzo says. “I hope this is a good sign that it’ll return to him.”

“We’ve all handled this situation uniquely. I don’t think there necessarily is a standard,” Even says. He’s sure he’s right; their sample size of Nobodies-then-humans is so small. They can’t consider anything to be set in stone. “I’ll try to investigate further. I should like to be able to use ice again. It made my experiments so much easier.” But if power comes from the will…

Ienzo touches his face, a thoughtful gesture.

Even tries to puzzle it out, aware of the errant small talk around them; finally the two leave. He takes a quick breath. “Those two tire me,” Even says. “Lea would not stop apologizing. As if the path to goodness is so simple.” He shakes his head. “I admit it was nice to speak with Xion. She’s a lovely girl, very bright and personable. I should like to get to know her. To believe I created her myself, and I don’t understand her mind. It’s fascinating.”

“Yes,” Ienzo says numbly.

He looks beyond exhausted; terrible. Even feels concern blot out the rest of his anxiety. “Are you off to get some sleep?”

“In a few moments. I wanted to check on Demyx first.”

“His vitals are stable and he’s merely asleep now. I was just in there.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

He turns to leave. Seeing Ienzo like this has tugged something in him. “On the subject of people I raised… you do know I still care for you, yes?” It feels so odd to admit it. Uncomfortable, almost.

He cants his head slightly. “What made you think about that?”

He considers it. He’s made Xion as surely as he’s tended to Ienzo. Yet, he’s barely seen or interacted with either of them in all this time, holing himself up, doing--what--and being largely pathetic. “Xion’s presence gave me clarity. I have been… cold, to pardon the pun. I have been isolating myself, and that is not healthy. I am wondering what it might be like to be Even again.” He chances touching him, giving his shoulder a squeeze; he doesn’t flinch away. “You’re a good boy. You’re too hard on yourself.”

Yes. This is all true.

How is being alone helping anything? How it is healing these bonds? How is it atonement? He needs to do better, to be better. To try harder and not indulge his own selfish whims.

Ienzo cares about Demyx at least a little. If Even can help the boy…

---

It's late at night when he figures it out. He's drowsy, very nearly nodding, papers spread around him like a fan. He's been comparing his results with the boy's, not finding anything of interest, to his rising frustration.

And then.

It's all in the frayed, fragile ends of telomerase. Temporal markers. Even knows Demyx is about twenty-seven years younger than himself, a generation before. Ergo, their timelines should roughly sync up, they should have at least a few markers in common.

They don't. Not even close.

His hands tremble as he holds the paper. He blinks, hard, hoping his exhausted mind isn't playing tricks on him. He sees it there. Undeniably.

He's breathing hard, tasting paper.

"Oh, Xehanort. You bastard. "

---

For a long time after that Even sits, his head in his hands, on his cot. The boy's from the past. The boy's from the fucking past. How? How? This makes no sense given what they know about time travel. But it comes to him in pieces--Demyx hasn't volunteered his old name because he can't remember it. And if Xemnas hadn't been lying--he hasn't so far, unbelievably--then the boy is also a Keyblade wielder.

He laughs out loud, a weird, mostly-feral sound. How like Xemnas, to torture him for years about his progress with the replicas only to have four sleepers right under his nose. It feels very nearly personal. Was this revenge, for trying to run off with Ienzo?

But--why wasn't Demyx's weapon of choice a Keyblade, then, nor the other three neophytes?

Xemnas had been part of Xehanort--a Keyblade wielder--and hadn't had one either.

Ah.

He found the four somehow--old friends? But they never got along in the Organization--blanked their memories, only to have their Nobodies immediately lose their worthiness. Hence, the need for Roxas, and the replicas. But not to get rid of them, in case he can find a way to make them useful. And without memories, they were all the easier to manipulate.

In a flash, Even feels sorry for the boy, and then stricken because he has to tell him all this.

He forces himself to try to sleep. He’s able to manage a few hours, though it doesn’t give him much clarity. He has to find Demyx. He has to know.

The boy sits leaning heavily against one hand in the apprentices’ kitchen, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “Have you a moment?” Even asks.

He seems shocked; Even’s tone must be half-deranged. He stands, and Even grasps him by the wrist, tugging him back to the lab, his evidence. “Are you mad at me?” the boy asks.

“I suppose, in a sense. Your DNA has caused me to lose countless hours of sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Since when does Demyx apologize for anything? “I’m guessing you didn’t find anything.”

Even begins bracing himself. “No. Precisely the opposite. Come here.” He herds the boy over to his table. “I’ve parsed everything you’ve given me. Looking simply at your genome, I was frustrated. It’s normal. See, have a look. If you compare yours and mine, aside from the average differences owing to our makeups, they’re the same. But then… I decided to look at your epigenome. Have you heard of it?”

He shrugs. “Well… isn’t that stuff like… how I was raised?”

“Well, it’s countless different factors, like the amount of oxygen you received in the womb, and the food you’ve eaten. Which is why it’s taken me so long to isolate them, and then to make sense of them. Now, again, I used myself as the comparison point. If you look at yours…” He shoves the papers in front of the boy. “...And mine, it started to make sense. Of course nearly all of the markers are going to be different. Take a look at these. These markers here… they’re kind of like the amount of time your body’s spent in the environment, so to speak. Hard to tell just by looking at the regular genome. I can tell from your genome that you’re roughly twenty-two years of age, and you can tell from mine that I am… well. It’s accurate, I can assure you. But these… these!” He finds he can’t breathe.  “Your temporal markers should at least slightly resemble mine. They don’t. If I’m right at all… your little theory might have some purchase.”

He looks like he’s been punched. “So you’re saying--” He swallows. “It’s true?”

“The initial tests seem to indicate that, yes.”

He slumps heavily against the table, horrorstruck.

“I had the precise same reaction,” Even says.

“It’s why I don’t remember,” Demyx says.

“You’ve no memory?” Even asks. He’s figured--yet, to hear the truth of it is all the more jarring.

“Only the dreams. Only what I’ve told you about.” He’s shaking. Even’s never seen the boy so upset. “Am I really… did I really live through the Keyblade War?”

If his legacy is sleeping… he was seventeen when Xehanort recruited him. Supposedly the first Keyblade war involved children… “You may very well have.”

“How? Why?”

“I’m thinking it has something to do with some sort of self-preservation. We all know that when the body and heart are in danger, especially if one is a Keyblade wielder, a person can produce otherwise impossible feats of magic. This had to be what Xemnas, and by extension, Xehanort saw in you.” Still time travel. Yet--

The boy puts a hand over his mouth. He’s breathing hard.

Even tries to be gentle, but to be dishonest would be imprudent. “I don’t know if it’s possible to awaken those memories. It would most definitely be too much for your new heart to take.” Even shakes his head. Which explains the fainting. “Fate… is cruel.”

His blue-green eyes are full of pain. Even feels something very nearing concern. “I don’t want this. I just… I just wanted to play sitar,” he says. He turns and flees. Even actually tries to follow, but the boy is too fast, and is gone in a blink. He’s not sure how much comfort he can offer, if any.

No memories. No home to turn to, no way to get there. Without the comfort of a calling, or passion. And if he’s a war survivor--of course it makes sense that his Nobody would despise fighting, would avoid it at all costs. Would settle for observing, avoiding, staying under the radar…

Almost against his will, Even gets better insight of the boy than he’s ever had.

And he’s been nothing but short with him.

Why is it that trying to help has only caused more damage?

---

He tries to sleep, in a real bed this time. He refrains from going to his lab. His mind is horridly muddled, emotions crawling unpleasantly below the skin. He needs time. He cannot perform if he cannot think clearly. He walks, reads. The light coming in through the windows of his quarters seems impossibly sharp.

Early one of these mornings, he sits with coffee, trying to convince himself he’s not unravelling (weak). Ansem, with books and sheafs of paper. Ansem, looking every bit as terrible as Ienzo did the other day. “You’re unwell,” his master says.

“I could say the same,” he says levelly. “I’ve… had a lot to do.”

“Yes. As have I.”

A few beats of silence.

“Any progress, with Sora?” Even asks.

But Ansem just shrugs. “I’m not certain. We’ve been reviewing the footage of the Data Sora Mickey sent us… We’re to see if it has bonds. If we can partially understand Sora’s heart, maybe we can understand the real thing… might be able to use one of his real friends, to find him, much as Riku did during the Mark of Mastery.”

Even mulls it over. “Sounds something of a fool’s errand,” he says.

But Ansem doesn’t get defensive; in fact, he just sighs. “Yes,” he says. “I agree completely. But Ienzo… this is so important to him. I must do whatever I can to help the young man.”

Even frowns. “Yes.”

“He is… truly different than I remember. More verbose, for one thing. I recall a time when the boy struggled to string words together. And softer, too.”

At least they have this one thing than I can talk about. “I saw it happen, and I’m still baffled by the change,” Even admits. “He was once so cold and calculating as a Nobody.”

“That… makes sense. Grew up in darkness, in nothing, with little need for a conscience. Doubtful the new presence of empathy is very painful. We’ve spoken only briefly about the past… and then this seems to upset him deeply.”

“He’s compartmentalized,” Even realizes slowly. “Otherwise… how to survive, psychologically?”

A sigh. “Quite. If any of what you’ve told me about Demyx is true, perhaps he can teach that child how to relax. I daresay he needs it.”

Even debates--should he tell Ansem? Then again, he doubts Demyx wants this secret everywhere. “...Yes.”

“I should… return, then. He asked to see these.”

Even flicks his eyes up. Ansem’s eyes aren’t warm, but they’re not quite so cold, either. “I’d say “good luck,” but… well…”

He nods once, and leaves.

Even truly does not know what to do with himself. He worries about Ienzo, the boy’s mental state. If he feels half as unwell as Even does--and likely he feels much worse--then it could potentially be disastrous.

So he does the only thing he knows--he researches. He goes to the library, pulls some volumes on abnormal psychology, carts them to his lab, and reads. But there’s no precedence for anything like this, such acute psychological devastation. The closest it comes to is complex post traumatic stress, and even that doesn’t seem to fit the bill. Even again feels that desperate itch, the need to help, only how?

The door to his lab bangs open, and there’s Demyx. He’s breathless, flushed; he must’ve been running. Even realizes that he’s probably the only one without a gummiphone, and ergo, this is likely some emergency. “I need…” he gasps.

“Slow down, boy. Catch your breath. What’s the rush?”

He clutches his chest. “Ienzo,” he spits. “He had a… a nosebleed, and then I was trying to get him to go to bed, but he just…” He seems so concerned, more than Even has ever witnessed--perhaps the two really are friends. “He passed out, Even, isn’t responding at all.”

He feels a surge of something like fear, and then anger--of course Ansem’s been allowing the boy to work himself into the ground. He grabs at supplies and follows the boy back as quickly as he is able to.

Even knows it’s bad, but he’s still not mentally prepared for what he sees.

Ienzo isn’t just pale, he’s sallow, his skin waxy, his lab coat stained with close to a liter of blood. The boy’s half-conscious, his eyes empty, vacant, not completely unlike the night Xehanort arrived. The first thing he does is start the boy on fluids and glucose, checking his vitals, finding them even more disturbing; blood pressure like that of a cold snake, the rhythm of his heart off. His skin is dry, as well, likely from dehydration. He gives him a few different injections, to try and neutralize the cortisol he’s no doubt flooded with, a very mild tranquilizer to force him to sleep. He’s positive the boy’s been neglecting his own needs, unaware as to how much more devastating they could be to his human body. Humans simply don’t bounce back the way Nobodies do when subjected to such stress; nor do they metabolize it so well.

Demyx is horrified. “I told him. I told him to take care of himself.”

“He only listens when he wants to,” Even says.

“Is that what this is? Something because of overwork?”

Even sighs and explains. “The blood loss must have only exacerbated his condition. Best you found me when you did. With rest, and the proper care, though… he’ll recover.” He’s already stabilizing, thank the stars. He wipes the smear of blood off of the boy’s face and turns back to the medicine at the dresser. Perhaps at the damp cloth, Ienzo seems to come to. “Demyx?”

The other boy crouches at the bedside and takes his hand. Even bristles. Against his will, it’s starting to make sense--

Ienzo’s voice is very weak when forces out a “What--”

“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.”

Then, very deliberately, or not deliberately at all, Demyx leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

Oh.

Of course.

He feels something rising in him, something like disbelief, or anger. He hears Demyx consoling Ienzo (so gently?), but his own heart is racing. “So. That is the nature of your connection with Ienzo.”

He turns, and Even sees it in his eyes; caught. Ienzo has either fallen asleep, or is pretending to.

“He has mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?” Not to mention, what does it mean concerning Demyx’s past?

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”

That so. He exhales slowly. He’s definitely angry; this much he can grasp. “It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes,” he said. “But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.” Not just from him, he’s sure.

But this doesn’t faze him, or intimidate him, like he hoped. There’s an odd resolve in his eyes Even’s never seen before. “Yes. I know.”

“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am much too tired.” Even shakes his head, feeling the brunt of a headache in full. “I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”

“I will.” He turns back towards Ienzo, his eyes full of such worry and--dare Even see it--tenderness.

Great. Just… great .