Admittedly, much to Xigbar’s chagrin, Demyx’s sincerity actually made him… internally deflate. That while there had been a tough conviction behind his words, there also came with it an apology. And even though there was a part of Xigbar that wanted his scorn to flare up to take advantage of that vulnerability, to admonish him for playing the victim—the genuine display made his pettiness waver. Caused yet another twinge in his visage, a downturn in his mouth that could possibly indicate guilt.
Then the whiskey bottle glimmered on the corner table, catching his eye, the temptation to evade his problems by drowning them out mounting—as it always did when the emotional pressure was on, and his back was to the wall—but, steeling away the thrum of his id’s demands, he managed to stave it. Knowing it would only make things worse than the situation at hand.
No, not right now, at least. Let the soberness aid him in sorting out his thoughts, rather than a blackout abate the issue just a little while longer. The the next morning would only brew more trouble.
He knew there would be no point to physical violence—even further verbal violence would solve nothing. Ultimately, he was wise enough to know that it would only make him feel worse. That the answer to this was so much more complex than he wanted to handle right now. He wasn’t equipped to deal with these situations—had spent so much of his time running full-speed ahead to take a moment to remember what it was like to care about someone other than himself.
And even then, “taking care of himself” was quite the loose term for how he treated his own being.
His posture slackened, every nasty word dropping along with the stiffness of his shoulders. Always so clever was he—so articulate, so crafty and witty. But here, he found his tongue had run dry of ornate words, and he was merely left with this weary response:
“Look, instead a’ getting’ all dramatic, soap opera-y, let’s just agree that shit went down, and it sucked. But if you are up for stickin’ around with my tired ol’ ass—maybe we could just see where things go from here.”
And that was as much as Xigbar was willing to yield in that moment.
Demyx waited for the yelling, the hiss of spite on his lips..but they never came and when Xigbar did finally speak would the younger turn bright sea colored orbs on the sharpshooter with a stunned expression.
He....He still wanted him to stay?
Was this what it felt like to have someone who cared about him? All his life he knew the brittle vile of punishment and yet-....even after their tainted last meeting, he-...the blond looked away and timidly brushed at his eyes, hoping the elder didn’t notice the tears of relief threatening to shimmer behind his lashes.
“Of course. I-....I won’t fail you again, Xiggy. I promise.” It was more of a vow for them both than just the marksmen.
After a moment he stepped closer, rounding the desk to stand toe to toe with the one man he’d give his all for, the guilt still floating in soft teal orbs. With a light bottom lip wobble did the Nocturne finally give in and pressed passed the gap between them to coil his slender arms around the other in a tight hug. Demyx hid his face against his chest and refused to let him go no matter how corny it must have been. He really did miss him.
“It’s good to have you back.” Dem whispered sheepishly. With those murmured words he let him go, shyly rubbing at the back of his neck as he did so. “Sorry, sorry. I just-....i’m glad you don’t y’know....hate me or whatever.”
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