#my blood sugar was low and the things I was saying was half incomprehensible

[bonemeal12]

Sometimes you have to draw The Guy in trans-tape. For your mental health.

[fruitcoops]

would you potentially write sirius wearing remus’ jersey? 👀 (i love your writing btw!!)

I sure can! I really hope Haz writes this in Vaincre, but for now, this is my take on it. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut and mild overstimulation

Remus heard footsteps approach from the hall and closed his eyes with a sigh. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

“Y’know, I don’t think Earth should qualify as a planet.”

“Fuck you,” he fired back, though it came out as little more than an incomprehensible slur around the hunk of plastic in his mouth.

“Really, I do,” Sirius continued. Remus took a deep breath through his nose and did his goddamn best not to bite through the still-soft mouthguard as it molded to his teeth. “Other planets don’t have life on them. We’re the only one. That makes us an outlier.”

“As soon as this thing comes out, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Kinky. Anyway, have I told you about that article I read that talked about the moon landing?” Through the blood pounding in his ears, Remus heard the clink of a water glass being taken down from the cupboard. “Turns out the whole thing is a hoax.”

Remus dug his phone out of his pants and furiously typed out a message, cursing every higher power that he got stuck with that idiot as his husband. Damn you for being pretty. “Read,” he ordered, closing his eyes and holding it over his shoulder.

“I’m illiterate.”

“I detest you.”

“What was that? Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you.”

“Sirius fucking Black—”

Remus’ mumbled retaliation cut off abruptly with a soft huh as he whipped around, and his jaw fell open. Sirius smiled, easy as you please, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Yes?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus whimpered around his mouthguard. A sly grin curled the edges of Sirius’ perfect lips upward; he quirked an eyebrow and turned in a slow circle.

“Fits better than I thought it would,” he remarked as Remus whined, desperately checking the timer on his phone. Two minutes and seventeen seconds. Shit. The golden number 6 on the back caught the light of their kitchen like a beacon—a sexy, sexy beacon that beckoned toward every atom in Remus’ body while he tried not to drool on himself. “Mine was a bit big on you, non?”

“Baby, c’mon. C’mon, don’t do this.”

“Should I take it off?”

“No!” Remus blurted, nearly spitting the mouthguard out in his hurry. Sirius shot him a teasing look and sauntered over, then braced his hands—his fucking hands, Remus was so gone for that irritating bastard—on the back of the couch and leaned over until their noses nearly touched.

“What?” he asked, quiet and yet low as thunder. “Cat got your tongue, Loops?”

Remus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sharp peak of his collarbone beneath a drape of red-and-gold fabric; he couldn’t wait to get his teeth on it. His hands only shook a little as he reached up and rolled the hem between his fingertips, sliding his palms up to the strong planes of Sirius’ chest, hidden by his jersey. A meteor could strike the earth, and Remus would die happy for having seen his name and number emblazoned on the most beautiful man alive.

“Are you going to take it off?”

Remus shook his head without looking up and skimmed a thumb over Sirius’ nipple, feeling a thrill race through him when his breath caught. “Gotcha.”

“Bummer about the mouthguard,” Sirius panted. “If you didn’t leave it to the last second, you could already have that pretty mouth on me.”

As if on cue, the timer went off. Sirius’ face went slack in surprise. Remus grinned, and carefully popped the mouthguard out, laying it in its case before yanking Sirius into his lap. “You were saying?”

“I will admit, I thought that would take longer to set.”

“So you decided to torture me?” Remus guided him down to his neck and felt Sirius shudder.

“I always torture you on mouthguard Fridays.”

He hummed, opening a new package as quietly as he could. “I think I found a solution.”

“Seeing me in your jersey?”

“No. This.” Ignoring the confused noise Sirius made when he leaned back, he slid the new mouthguard mold between his teeth with a sugar-sweet smile, making sure to highlight his dimple. “You look gorgeous. You’ll be sorry for it, though.”

Sirius’ brows pitched and he mumbled a word that might have been ‘kisses’ if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“You’ll get kisses eventually. That thing’ll be done in ten minutes, and it better be perfect.”

Without giving him a chance to appeal his case, Remus pushed him flat onto the couch, set the timer, and settled between his thighs with a tight grip on his narrow hips. The first touch of his tongue to the outline of Sirius’ dick drew a deep groan from him; he saw Sirius’ next tighten and reached up to grab him by the jaw.

“What did I say?” he asked patiently as Sirius squirmed under him. The tension released, and he smiled, placing a kiss to the side of his mouth as he rubbed his palm along Sirius’ shaft. “Je t’ai, mon amour. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

In a moment of shocking foresight (which Remus was eternally grateful for), Sirius had chosen to wander about in just the jersey and his underwear. The fabric was already sticky when his breath fanned hot over it—Sirius closed his eyes with a soft sound and reached back for the armrest.

“Harlot,” Remus teased as he ran his hand along his inner thighs. Sirius huffed a laugh, but it quickly transformed into a moan as Remus pulled his boxers away and took as much of him into his mouth as he could.

“Oh, god,” Sirius said, clearly winded as one knee knocking against Remus’ ribs while his lower back arched. “Please, please, ngh—”

Remus pulled away with a sigh and took his jaw again, giving it a little shake. “Sirius. Don’t clench your teeth.”

A shaky sound slipped through; he stared up at Remus in a silent plea, but managed to relax.

“You have eight minutes left.” Remus rubbed his thumb in small circles over the head of his dick and watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Count if you want, but that should be good enough for you to wear.”

Sirius nodded, his breaths coming harder as if he had just run a race. Under his palm, Remus could feel his heartbeat pounding in his broad chest—he smoothed the jersey down, then scooted back to resume pulling Sirius apart thread by thread. He had felt that exact fabric almost every day for months and rarely found anything attractive about it, but on Sirius it was astonishing how fast his whole body lit up in response. He wanted to see him wear it and nothing else.

He pulled off with a soft laugh when Sirius put his forearm over his mouth. His thighs were trembling on either side of Remus. “Oh, baby, is that hard for you?”

A keening noise was his only response.

Remus kept a tight grip on the base of his shaft, sliding his thumb along the underside as he swallowed Sirius down and nipped kisses along his sensitive hips. “Relax, I’ll take care of you.”

He grinned to himself as a shudder rocked through Sirius’ whole body and more precome dripped over his lower lip. The clock on his phone read three minutes. Plenty of time to take him apart, Remus thought, slipping two fingers into Sirius’ mouth to stop him from biting down. He made a muffled noise of protest, but it was weak, and within moments he was putty once again.

“I don’t think it really matters which skate you put on first,” he said casually, bracing an arm over Sirius’ lower belly as his hips jerked. “And at the end of the day, superstitions are bullshit.”

Sirius’ eyes flared open in disbelief; he tried to retort, but the mouthguard and Remus’ fingers made him incomprehensible.

“Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you,” Remus mimicked. Sirius’ chest buzzed with an angry sound, but he just smiled and licked a long stripe up his length, laving his tongue against the spot just beneath the head. “And you know what?”

“Hmm?” Sirius managed, clearly frustrated as his hands flexed.

Remus pulled back and leaned over him. The contrast between the warm colors of his jersey and the quicksilver of Sirius’ eyes drove him wild, and he closed his eyes as he bent down until his lips just brushed the shell of Sirius’ ear. “Sometimes, if it was a really long day and I was tired and ready to go home…”

Sirius made a questioning noise and Remus bit down on the hinge of his jaw.

“I would sharpen your right skate before your left.”

Sirius froze. Remus sat back up with a smug look and took his thoroughly slicked fingers out; from the expression on Sirius’ face, he may as well have told him he burned down the rink. The slack-jawed horror dissolved into pure indignance in half a second. “You mother—”

For the second time in about fifteen seconds, Sirius was lost for words. He replaced them with a yelp that Remus prayed the neighbors wouldn’t hear, rolling his hips back onto the finger that crooked upward in a practiced movement. The mouthguard may have muffled his words, but it did nothing to stop him from moaning.

Remus redoubled his efforts as the clock ticked down the final minute—he had plans for later, but they would only work if Sirius was properly handled first. He finally fell silent, reduced to gasping and writhing as Remus worked two fingers inside of him and kept up so much suction his own jaw was beginning to ache. Finally, with a desperate little sound and a harsh grip on the couch cushion, Sirius shook to pieces, his stomach jolting as Remus stroked the underside of his thigh in soothing motions.

The timer went off a few seconds later, and he carefully pulled the plastic out of Sirius’ mouth. There were a few dents from his lower teeth and the back was decently mangled, but overall…

“Huh. Not bad,” he said, setting it on the coffee table. Sirius blinked slowly at him, his mouth still open and his pupils blown wide as he tried to catch his breath. “Alright, up.”

Sirius silently shook his head, never taking his eyes off Remus’ face.

“Yep, c’mon. You’re still wearing my jersey, and I need to thank you for it.”

A quiet puff of air left his lungs as his dick twitched. “I c—I can’t.”

Remus sighed through his nose and stood, then hoisted Sirius into a bridal hold and headed toward the stairs. “It’s a good thing I’m strong enough to do this, or else you’d have to get yourself upstairs all by yourself.”

“Re?”

He maneuvered so Sirius’ feet wouldn’t smack into the banister and smiled when a kiss brushed against his cheekbone. “Yes?”

“You were kidding about the skate thing, right?”

“Depends.” He nudged the bedroom door open with his hip. “Were you kidding about the moon?”

Sirius’ shoulders shook with laughter as Remus set him down on the bed and settled on top of him, bracketing his face and waist. His hands were warm and broad on his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss at long last. Remus hummed into it; his insides turned to happy mush, and he began running his palms along the outside of Sirius’ bare thighs.

“You look fucking amazing in my jersey, love,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“You say that like you didn’t already know.”

Remus kissed the smile off his face, lacing their fingers and pressing them down over Sirius’ head—he stretched his back like a contented cat before shifting until he was comfortable. “I still think about that night, you know.”

“Well, yeah, we won the Cup.”

“I think about the way you let me push you against the door,” he continued, paying Sirius no attention as he mapped each curve and angle of his neck. After over a year of practice, he knew the best spots by heart. “And the way you looked at me when you saw what I was wearing. And when you held me like you were going to break if I stopped moving. I wish you could’ve seen your face when I begged you to let me come again. Remember that?”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for Sirius’ shallow breaths and the rustle of the sheets as he squirmed.

Remus pulled back from his neck and ran a thumb over his wet lower lip. “Hey. Answer me.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sirius said on the tail end of a slow exhale. “Fuck. You can’t just say things like that.”

“You kept your hand right here,” he said, pressing down on Sirius’ chest with just enough force to feel his lungs hitch. “I might not have a badge, but I’ll figure something out. I think I understand why you like it when I wear yours so much.”

“Every time you wear it, we fuck, and it’s always mind-blowing. There’s no way I’ll be able to see it on you outside of bed.”

“I have the sneaking suspicion we’re on the same page with that.” He took the backs of Sirius’ knees in his hands and pushed until they almost touched his chest. “Hold.”

Through the grace of God, the lube was easy to find. Remus really didn’t know what he would have done if it wasn’t—he might have been confident on the outside, but his fine motor skills were sorely lacking and his brain was playing a loop of sexy boyfriend jersey sexy boyfriend jersey that he couldn’t even dream of stopping. Sirius made a series of cut-off keening noises as he opened him up, and Remus wanted to memorize the look on his face.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he soothed, resting a hand over Sirius’ heart when his legs began to shake. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, god,” Sirius choked out, leaning his head back into the pillows. “Re, please—”

“Shh.” Remus moved his free hand up to hold one index finger over Sirius’ lips while the other pushed and pressed inside of him, skimming over his prostate in a random pattern that drew harsh exhales each time.

“I can’t,” Sirius whined. “Mon amour, I can’t.”

“You don’t need to do anything but hold.” Small white spots were appearing on Sirius’ knuckles as he clutched at his thighs; his dick was already starting to drip again. Remus slid into him and stifled a moan into his own shoulder, though he really didn’t have to worry—Sirius’ short cry would have covered any other sound easily. “There you go, nice and easy.”

Sirius blubbered out a string of incoherent words as Remus began to move and the mattress began to creak, but he was far too preoccupied with the way his jersey shone in the light of their bedroom and stood stark against the sheets in a blaze of red. Sirius’ smooth skin, so warm and flushed under his touch, blended almost seamlessly with the golden edges until Remus couldn’t think to do anything but lean down and kiss him. He responded eagerly, craning his neck for a better angle and pulling Remus’ lower lip between his teeth with a breathless moan. Once, he tried to let go of his leg and bring him closer, but Remus calmly took his hand and guided it back to the proper place without breaking stride.

“I need—I need—mon dieu, merde—need you, please,” Sirius panted, squeezing his eyes shut with a wavering moan.

“Je t’ai,” Remus repeated as he sucked a mark on the junction of his neck. Sirius’ whole left side went limp at the feeling. “I’ve got you. Christ, Sirius, you look incredible.”

A gasp left his kiss-swollen lips as he looked up at Remus. “I don’t think I can come again, Re, please—”

“You can. Color?”

“Vert, green, but—” He bit down on his lower lip as Remus held his waist in a firm grip. “I really don’t think I can.”

“I think you can,” Remus said, combing his fingers through the top of Sirius’ hair and giving it a tug. His whole abdomen tightened and his knees knocked together; it took Remus several seconds to get his breath back to the point where he wasn’t about to come on the spot. “I’m taking care of you right now, remember? If I say you can, you can.”

Sirius’ gaze was bright and untethered as he gulped—Remus gave his hair another pull, harder, and he shivered. More precome painted his stomach and darkened the hem of the jersey. His vocabulary seemed to be reduced to oh, fuck on repeat, growing slightly higher in pitch each time until he was just whimpering. “Re—Re, now—”

Remus caught his mouth in a slow, gentle kiss and wrapped a hand around him, not changing his pace until Sirius crumbled into a puddle of bliss and his shins connected with Remus’ ribs. He buried his face in Sirius’ sweaty neck with a sharp gasp and followed him over the edge mere moments later; he didn’t even try to catch himself as his knees slipped on the sheets and brought him down to lay across Sirius’ chest.

For a few seconds, all he could hear was their breaths and heartbeats. Part of him was tempted to doze off right there, but he rallied the last of his energy and peeled Sirius’ hands off his legs, pulling them down and out so they wouldn’t cramp. Sirius was staring at the ceiling in a daze; the jersey was rumpled and rucked up around his ribs, and Remus slid that down as well.

“Baby?” he said, kissing each of his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Sirius’ voice cracked and he bit back a laugh.

“Ça va?”

“Mmm. Très bien.” His arms were little more than noodles as he wrapped them around Remus’ shoulders.

“Come on,” he said after a bit, disentangling himself despite Sirius’ grumbling. “You did so well, but we still have to clean up. You can be the little spoon, if you give me a hand.”

“You’ll have to carry me.”

“No,” Remus laughed. “I barely hold myself up, are you kidding?”

Sirius cracked one sleepy eye open, then narrowed it. “Depends. Were you kidding about my skates?”

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fic, chapter 11

[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]

He froze. "…What?"

"You feel them too," Sora said. "You did nothing to hurt them. Come with me."

"But he can't defend himself," Even said. "You'll be enough at risk as it is. Sora, do you really need that?"

Another shiver that had nothing to do with the darkness went through him. "Does he really need another burden, you mean?" Demyx asked. The blood was hot in his cheeks. He was covered all over in a feverish sweat. "Because—because—that's all I am, you know."

"Nine, you're just being idiotic," Even said.

"Yeah, you can't fight," Lea said.

Sora still looked at him expectantly. Between all of the stares and the incredible pressure all over his body he couldn't take it. "Enough," he said in a low voice. He took a shaky breath. "I'll go with you."

Sora nodded very seriously. "Then let's go now."

Lea made a frustrated noise. "Fine, but if you get your asses kicked, don't come crawling to me."

Even patted Sora's hand with a passive expression. "We will come if you need help."

Demyx followed Sora down a narrow, shallow staircase. His heart was hammering in his chest, both from anger and a raw, itchy strain. The acrid smell grew stronger and mustier and the burning sensation in his peripheral started to creep into his body. "Shit," he said.

Sora also hissed under his breath.

This level was darker and more cramped, and the windows in the cells were smaller. The air here was humid, too. The damp air crawled all over Demyx's skin and he couldn't help it anymore; he threw up.

"Are you okay?" Sora asked in a strange voice.

Demyx wiped his mouth and shook his head.

"Look," Sora said, and he pointed.

The hallway was long and dark, and Demyx had trouble seeing what Sora wanted him to. Thin tendrils of pure darkness snaked all down the hallway. He watched in horror as it began to consume his vomit into nothingness.

"I know, I know," Sora said to it. "It'll all be over soon."

What happened to the boy who killed without hesitation? Who thought anything linked to darkness was inherently evil?

Sora brightened the light in his palm. The darkness roiled smoothly from a single cell at the end of the corridor, directly facing them. He flinched and put a hand to his head.

"What's wrong?" Demyx asked.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." He drew his Keyblade. "You came this far. But you don't have to follow me in there."

"Can you handle it?"

"I'm sure I can." He smiled, but his eyes were oddly blank. "You can wait here. Listen to them." He waved and lit his way through the darkness. It quickly slipped over him and took him out of sight.

Alone in the semidarkness, Demyx held his breath. He was alone with Sora, but he wasn't worried about Sora hurting him; more like both of them getting killed. Suddenly this all seemed stupid, and the heat of his anger was rapidly being replaced by an icy fear. The smooth darkness twitched.

"Don't be afraid!" Sora yelled. Demyx didn't know whose benefit it was for.

A blinding light scorched the hallway. Demyx had to shut his eyes. The pressure he'd been fighting against squirmed and roiled and for a second all he felt was a sunburst of pain in his chest. He wasn't sure if the pain was from the light or the darkness; he just wanted it to go away. For a second he heard it—bright, shrill shrieking like a million voices in pain, pushing up against his consciousness and opening something sharp inside of his chest. It pushed and pushed until his knees gave out from under him.

Demyx must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew Even was coaxing him to a sitting position. The intense pain had faded, but he was sore all over to the bone. His vision was distinctly blurry and his eyes hurt as they moved. The tendrils of darkness were gone, and their stink had been replaced by typical basement musk. "…What…"

"Are you all right?" Even asked. His expression was tired and drawn.

Demyx tried to sit up on his own. "…I feel…" he began. Something felt wrong in his body, but he didn't know what. Too heavy but too light at the same time. "I feel weird." Something was missing, like a lost tooth. There was a gap.

"You're lucky that little stunt of yours didn't get you killed," Even said. "Are you ready to move?"

His legs seemed like they had turned to jelly, but he let Even help him up anyway. "Where… where's Sora?"

"Lea took him to see Aerith. He was in worse shape than you. Releasing power of that magnitude… the boy has no real control over his abilities. He nearly burned out his own life. And yours, too."

They began the slow, painstaking walk upstairs. Only then did Demyx process what Even had said, and for some reason he found it funny. "I do the bastard a favor and he almost kills me again," he said. "I thought light was supposed to be good? And healing?"

"Life is about balance," Even said softly. "The stability of matter relies on the presence of both light and darkness. If there is too much of either, the laws of physics become corrupted. Too much light, uncontrolled, could have easily disintegrated your bodies. The problem in this case was too much pure energy. Your cells might have ripped themselves apart."

Demyx didn't understand. Everything was still fuzzy.

"Light usually causes no harm, even in mass quantities. But Sora… is different. His power is unreadable, and for the most part untrained. When he released all that light to ease the darkness, the light took on some of the qualities of the pain he was trying to ease. And that's why it was so dangerous."

"Is that what people mean when they say there's darkness in the light?" Demyx asked.

"Well, no," Even said, and launched into a lecture Demyx didn't listen to. His body weighed him down and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. Why was this castle so big? He listened to the wind wailing through the windows, soft at first and then stronger. The air was cool from the stone, and it soothed some of his feverishness. He stopped in his tracks, listening dazedly, as Even continued rambling. A sharp pain had started gnawing his breastbone.

"Even?" He asked.

"What is it, Nine?" Even asked. He turned to face him. "Do you need to rest?"

"What's happening to me?"

He squinted at Demyx through acidic eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"

His heart was racing in his ears. "I think…" he began, and then crumpled again.

He woke up an unknown amount of time later disoriented and in pain. It seemed to come from the spot right under his breastbone, but there was no injury, and when he pulled up his shirt all he saw were the still-healing scars.

He stood on trembling legs. A thin, butterfly-shaped needle had been placed inside his left hand and tethered him to a pole with a half-empty bag of saline dangling from it. Slowly, wincing, he pulled out the needle and stoppered the blood with a handful of tissues. He was hungry to the point of being queasy, and his drawstring pants felt even looser on him than he remembered.

What the hell happened? He remembered everything in the hallway with Sora, and the burst of light, and walking back with Even. He assumed that they'd only hooked him up like this if he'd been under for some time. He wrapped up his bleeding hand with one of the old rolls of bandages.

He felt… different… and strange, like his body wasn't his or real. Demyx looked in the mirror. His hair was loose and unkempt, and the circles below his eyes were decidedly unpretty, but the face that stared back was his own.

He walked down the castle corridor in his socks. Had he remembered something, and that put him out of commission? If only he could think of what he'd remembered…

He heard voices in the kitchen down the hall. Dilan and Aeleus, he guessed by the timbre. Maybe they knew what was going on. Besides, if he didn't eat something soon he might pass out again. The low blood sugar made him slightly dizzy.

When he pushed open the cracked door the conversation in the room abruptly stopped. Dilan and Aeleus were there, yes. Dilan's expression was one of dry concern; Aeleus's no more animated than it ever was.

But then a third voice, unnoticed until then, spoke. "There you are. Late as ever, I see. You've kept me waiting."

Demyx looked over and wasn't sure what he was seeing was real. He blinked a few times, but the person didn't disappear. In fact, he smiled.

"I assure you I am the real thing," the man continued in his smug accent.

"But… you…" He clutched at the doorway for support. "Lu—"

"Don't say the name, my boy. And somebody get this poor child something to eat." He patted the remaining empty chair next to him. "Come, sit. I'd like to speak with you."

Demyx shook his head. Was he still unconscious? Dreaming, maybe? He looked the same… this Somebody's hair was still blond and shorn. He'd replaced his coat with a respectable white shirt and ironed pants getup. His pants even had creases. A purple vest and red tie were layered over it, and the Nobody insignia earring had been replaced with square studs.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," Luxord's Somebody said.

"But…" Demyx said. "Where were you? All this time, where were you? And how did you get here?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit irrelevant."

"Tell me anyway," Demyx said. Aeleus put a bowl of oatmeal in front of him and he thanked him weakly.

"I reformed on my home world. That's where I've been. And I got here through the usual means." He pulled out his deck of cards and shuffled them. They had changed too, but every time Demyx tried to get a good look at the back of the card, it seemed to be something different.

"Indeed, one might wonder why you waited so long to contact us," Dilan cut in. The glint in his eyes was quiet and dangerous. His lip quirked.

"Can you blame me for not becoming involved?" The man said calmly.

"So then why did you come?" Aeleus asked. He remained a standing monolith.

"I have some business with our friend here," the man said.

"Nine?" Dilan laughed. "What could you possibly have to discuss with him?"

Demyx looked down into his bowl and tried to squelch the anger.

"I'm sure you've all found this reformation business very mysterious and interesting," the man said. "And, of course, the question remains, why you?"

Demyx gritted his teeth. "I get it. I'm useless, I'm stupid, what could I possibly have to offer their side?"

"That's not what I was thinking at all," the man said. He gestured to the empty bowl. "If you're done, might we walk? Alone."

Demyx wasn't sure whether or not he should trust him. But he'd always had a decent enough rapport with Luxord back in the Organization days, and he'd heard nothing if he was included with Xehanort's bunch. "…Um, sure."

He followed him down the hall. "…So what should I call you?" he asked.

"You don't have to call me anything," the man said.

"But your true name? You have it back?"

Luxord's Somebody shuffled his cards again in his hands, back and forth. "We both know you're neither stupid nor useless," he said instead. "In fact, when you put your mind to it you're just as smart as any of them. And I bet that, were you in fighting shape, you'd have perfect situational awareness—something they distinctly lack."

"What are you getting at?" Demyx asked.

"And your power. Understated by any of this lot, but… potent. Sleeping. I imagine that little encounter with Sora has you feeling strange? Not quite yourself?" He didn't make eye contact.

"I haven't felt myself in weeks." But he understood; he had never felt quite this detached. "Stop speaking in riddles and give it to me straight," Demyx said.

Luxord's Somebody turned and stood in front of him. "You're still changing quite a lot. You're unstable. We know they did this to you for a reason. There are a couple of possibilities, of course. Perhaps it was an experiment, perhaps it really was true randomness of the universe, as it were. But I feel… whatever Sora did to you, however incidentally, was all part of the plan. I think they might make a sleeper agent of you yet."