Hello. Good evening to you all. I decided that I would try to write a different kind of fic. So far, it's looking like a short one. Only a few chapters, but it might grow. I'm not planning any Zexion Demyx relationships, but that could also change, though it's not very likely. This is something about how I thought Zexion would handle being a single father. The baby's name is completely random. And I don't own Kingdom Hearts, though I do claim Wes

Note: This is fiction. I'm warning you now because some things may be a little bit of a tender subject for some people. I am also not a single father, or a man, so please, don't flame me for being insufferable. I am a girl. And besides, this is Zexion we're talking about. I tried to stay in character as much as possible. I'm sorry if you don't like that he's a sociopath. Take it up with the character designers, not me.

Enjoy. This is rather depressing too, but it might get better. (Don't count on it.)

Well, I suppose I could start at the beginning, but that would be way too much of a waste of my time. So, I'll keep it simple. My name is Zexion. And, yes, I really am as young as you think I am. And, no, I'm not some sobbing, whining person who wants the world to be nice to me. I'm merely telling this story so that you could possibly understand the way things are for me. Possibly.

But, allow me a moment to collect my thoughts. This is difficult. A hardship that far too many people my age are going through. It seems hardly fair, but that's not the point today. I'm going to tell you a story about my son.

His mother named him Wes. Why she chose such a short, undefining name is beyond me. She just told me his name was Wes, and that was it. No last name, since she didn't want to give him mine, and she certainly didn't want to attach her prestigious surname either. So, it was just Wes.

Now, the mother. She was a good person, I think. We met in school. She was going to be a nurse, I was there for neurological surgery. We kind of liked each other. Or rather, she liked me, and I needed to fuck someone. Whatever it was, we ended up having sex. We did it for a while. I was stupid, I'll admit. She ended up taking the time away from my studies. My grades slipped a little, but I was still the top of my class. And then, stopped talking to me. I was okay with it only because I wasn't into her more than just a quickie here or there. So, I assumed that our false relationship was over. And for a while it was.

But, then she came to me in the middle of my final exam and told me she was four months pregnant. She was pissed at me. Probably because I couldn't have cared less. And the whole class knew about it. They seemed to hiss with anticipation, wanting me to get up and walk out on everything. They wanted me to leave with the mother of my child and never come back. I just couldn't do that.

But, that's not what happened. When she was standing over me, despite the protests of my Professor, she was scared. I could see that she really did love me, and wanted me to follow here, so I could take care of her. Only sluts did that. And, as concentrated as I was on my studies, I ignored her. She didn't exist to me at that point. She was just an unnecessary distraction. A damn fool for embarrassing herself the way she was. I closed my eyes and sighed, not wanting to deal with her little problem, and kindly told her to get the fuck out.

I avoided her for a week after that, though she didn't try to seek me out. I found that a little unnerving, despite my uncaring demeanor, and my career-focused attitude. I thought she left, dropped out of school so she could bother someone else like the little slut she was. And I was okay.

The months went by. Five, by my count. I had been on a two week break in between my semesters when she knocked on my dorm door. I could see she wasn't pregnant anymore, so she must have had the baby. I don't know why I opened the door, but I opened it and there she stood, carrying a car seat wrapped in a blanket. She looked pissed, but I was sure she looked like that all the time now. But, it wasn't my responsibility to take care of her.

"His name is Wes."

We stood facing each other for a few minutes. We stood in silence, but our body language was waging a war. A war that I think she was losing. She frowned, and furrowed her brow in that annoying way that she did when she was angry. She put the car seat down in front of me and walked away. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. I knew what she was saying.

The baby was mine. And his name was Wes.

He was absolutely miniscule. A tiny curled up bit of flesh that breathed. His eyes were still sealed shut from being in a sac of fluid for nine months, and he looked like a creature from a dark dank place. And, when he opened his mouth, I could see nothing but a tiny pink tongue, and a wail flooded the room. He struggled with the sound; it was hard for him to cry. I could hear his lungs were underdeveloped. I wondered briefly how old he was, and whether he was born prematurely, but I didn't really care. Right now he was crying, and I had no idea what to do about it.

So, I took the car seat in and shut the door. My roommate sat up in his bed. I hadn't even been aware that he was sleeping. Mostly because I didn't give a shit about anyone except for myself. I had to study to get this degree. And I wasn't going to let anything stop me. Not that baby, not my insufferable peers, and definitely not that slut.

"Hey."

I turned to my roommate and glared at him. "What?"

He motioned to the slightly moving car seat. "Uhhh, the baby?"

"What about it?"

My roommate was a kind person. He went to a music school around the block. It just so happened that the two campuses shared one dorm building. His name was Demyx I think. I wasn't quite sure because I didn't really talk to him too much. And he didn't talk to me. But, now he was staring at me, angry.

"You have to get him to stop crying, man."

"He'll stop on his own," I whispered, sitting back down at my desk. I had important papers to write and they needed to be done before the beginning of the next semester.

Demyx stood up and stretched. "He's your kid. You gotta take care of him."

I clicked my teeth in annoyance. "He will stop crying when he gets too tired to keep it up."

I don't know why he kept looking at me like I was crazy. I turned back to my papers continued writing. The baby had stopped crying and I swiveled around in my chair. Demyx was holding him, rocking him gently and looking at me.

"I had a babysitting gig to get up tuition," he said. I guess he felt like he had to explain himself to me. I didn't care, but he kept pressing the matter.

"You're going to have to feed him, you know," Demyx whispered. "He's your baby."

I waved my hand. "Eh, I'll pick something up tomorrow." I don't know why he was getting so uptight about it.

I felt him coming closer to me, but he stopped and back away. I think he was going to hit me. That's what it sounded like. Footsteps that were going to punch you. I turned around in my chair again. Demyx was wrapping the baby in a blanket, cooing softly. I could see from behind that he was still mad at me.

I couldn't understand why. I mean, sure, the baby was my son. My baby, rather. It was not up to me to take care of it. That's what the mother was for. Even in the animal kingdom, the fathers had nothing to do with the upbringing of the children. Naturally speaking, my part in his creation was over with. He was here. He was on his own now. And he would die without the mother. He wasn't strong enough to survive one night by himself.

"His name is Wes," Demyx said.

"You named it?" I asked, completely forgetting that that slut had told me what his name was. That bitch would come back one day, and when she did, that baby would be right here waiting for her.

Demyx brandished a letter under my nose. I didn't take it. I wasn't interested in it, but after a few minutes of intense silence, I took it and dropped it on my desk. I would get around to it eventually. Just not now.

"Hey!"

I turned again, getting angry. "What?"

He looked at me. I never really noticed what he looked like before today, but now his face was almost touching mine. His hair was in a tired looking mullet, though it lacked the party-in-the-back phrase that was coined to the hairstyle. And two angry sea-green eyes were beating down my soul. But, I was just as adamant. He was not going to distract me any longer. I pushed his face away. He fell, and I returned to my studies. There was silence soon after, and that was how it was for the rest of the night.

Except, when the baby cried. I ignored it. It seemed to have calmed itself, but when I turned to check if it was asleep, Demyx was there, hushing it. And sometimes he would feed it. The slut must have left some formula.

But, still. I had papers to write, and I ended up staying awake all night so I could finish. I didn't feel the slightest bit of sympathy for Demyx as he got up every two hours to feed that child—my child—almost like clockwork. He would look at me every time he did so. Like he was trying to coax me into doing something. He was mostly mad, but by maybe four in the morning, he was exhausted. We already didn't sleep that much anyway, with finals and other assignments constantly looming overhead, but Demyx looked haggard now. Ghoulish even, with dark bags under his eyes.

"Hey."

I looked up at him. I was still pissed at him. He wasn't. In fact, he looked apologetic. "What?"

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. He was scratching the back of his head nervously. He wasn't sure if he could trust me with that baby by myself.

Honestly, he couldn't. I didn't care about the child. If he left, that baby would be unattended all day. I would only move him if he was in my way., and I would only look at him if he cried. Demyx shouldn't have left, but he did. Not without asking if it was going to be okay to leave the two of us alone. I gave him the most sincere promise I could fake, and smiled.

But, as soon as he closed the door, my fake smiles disappeared, and I returned to my work. And time passed. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep. The sound of gurgling cries is what woke me up. The baby was crying. He must have been hungry. I shook my head and glanced at the clock. Three hours had passed! I rifled through my papers and found them in a disheveled heap. I stood up and threw my papers across the room, and stormed over to the car seat. The baby was crying as loudly as his weakened lungs would allow him. I was angry and sleep deprived and I couldn't help myself.

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed.

I probably knew that wasn't a good idea. In fact, it was an extraordinarily bad one. But, my papers were a mess, and the baby was crying, and I needed sleep. And everything was falling apart. At that time, I didn't know that I was realizing that my life was never going to be the same. My brain must have put the pieces together, and fastened itself a blanket of reason that just didn't work. And my mind was resorting to its most basic methods of dealing with stress. Anger and sadness.

At first I just glared at this baby. Even after he was fed and changed, I still despised this being. Hated it with all my heart. And then, I cried. It was the second logical step in the process. The tears stung the bridge of my nose like when you were trying to hold it back. I just ended up giving myself a headache. But, still, I cried.

It was soft and quiet, but I wasn't going to fight this natural process. I lost all control and cried for at least twenty minutes before I began rationalizing again, and the tears dried up. And, just in time, because Demyx walked in with his guitar strapped to his back. He looked out of breath. I knew why.

"Did you run here?" I asked accusingly.

Demyx set his guitar down and sat on the bed. "Yeah, I did." He studied me for a minute. "I thought he was dead."

I looked at him, startled. Why would he accuse me of something so socially unacceptable? Did he really believe that I would do something like that? Kill a baby just to get my work done? He probably did, but just didn't want to outwardly accuse me.

But, I probably would.

However, it was not a situation where such measures needed to be taken. I was not going to kill my baby. I needed to become a doctor, and that wouldn't happen if I had that kind of skeleton in my closet. Career first. So, it was at that moment that I decided that I would feed it and bathe it, or whatever one did when they were taking care of someone else. But, I would not ever love it.

"It's fine," I said. "It's sleeping."

"You mean he." Demyx corrected.

"No," I said. "I mean it."

Demyx made a sound that sounded like a mixture of relief and disgust. Obviously he was relieved to see that the baby was still breathing. But that disgust was unusual to me. I had always prided myself in as being a logical person. Play with fire, you get burned. Try to cheat death, you die. It was simple, but Demyx was sickened by my lack of affection for this stranger that now demanded every second of my attention.

He just didn't understand. But, I left it alone. He had his opinions. He could keep them. I had work to do. I sat back at my desk. The papers were still everywhere. I picked them up, shuffled through them, and pieced it back together. Once it was back in order, I tried to continue from where I had left off, but no matter how hard I focused, nothing would come to me.

"You should relax a little," Demyx said. He leaned back and strummed his guitar lazily. "You stress too much."

I didn't want to admit that the guitar was actually calming my nerves. He really was good. His music was beautiful, and it could paint pictures with sound. Now, music to me was illogical. You could not create beauty from nothing. Sound existed, yes, but the notes he memorized could not be seen floating in the air like they were commonly shown in cartoons, but I was still falling into this world that was stress free.

Until the baby started crying again. I ignored it. It was just being disruptive. Demyx, however, stopped playing that lovely music and sat up, apologizing to the baby. I don't know why he was doing that. It was just a baby. It had no feelings, or preferences, or an opinion. It just ate, slept, and shat. But, I grew almost instantly jealous that that baby was drawing Demyx's attention away from me.

I didn't have feelings for him. That much I knew, but I didn't like that the baby was intruding on my personal life. I had to pull myself together. I couldn't do anything to the baby. I could just simply put it up for adoption, but then Demyx would get mad at me, and leave me alone. And stop playing his music.

For now, I would just suck it up. Deal with the baby like I dealt with every other problem in my life. I would take care of it to the best of my ability without loving it. Then maybe I could keep maybe the only friend I ever had in my whole life. Demyx was the only person I knew who would just help with a child that wasn't his.

I almost felt bad for being so apathetic, but then again, someone was going to take care of that baby. And it wasn't going to be me.

Let me know how you think I did. I feel like people miss the bold text at the top and bottom of the chapters and it makes me sad.

Has a nice day. :) I guess this means I have two stories going at the same time. Three, really. Though I only have to write half of The Nobody Virus.