He shifted to the side when Zexion laid a hand on his chest and pressed lightly, propping himself up on his elbows to watch as Zexion strode over to the ledge and effortlessly hopped back up. There were days when he couldn't believe that he was blessed with someone like Zex, and times like this reminded him of that. The way they understood each other like it was second nature, when no one else could seem to get what was going on. The way he would never feel anything more comforting than Zexion's embrace, never see anything more satisfying than his face, never hear anything more soothing than his quiet voice. The way his mere presence made life itself make sense.
Demyx stood and dusted his palms on his jeans. The crunch of the gravel beneath his sneakers was the only warning he gave to Zexion as he sat on the ledge beside him. He sat there quietly for a few minutes, faintly feeling the warmth from Zexion's legs next to him.
“Hey, Zex,” he finally said. “You ever wonder why cows moo?”
Zexion frowned and narrowed his eyes. He paused to consider the question, and, more importantly, who was asking it, before replying, “Cows don't have the same vocal capacities nor the linguistic developm—”
Demyx shook his head emphatically. “No, no, not
how cows say moo,
why cows say moo,” he clarified.
Rolling his dark blue eyes to the even darker sky, Zexion said, “No, Demyx, I can't say I have.”
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