He'll keep her secrets if she'll keep his. [Pre-CoM; Marluxia, Namine]
She wondered who the real parent and the child were, in times like these when Marluxia would suddenly appear, scythe-less and normally immaculate hair in disarray, standing in front of her with a totally wretched look on his face. He had only needed her to turn her chair towards him and smooth the skirt on her legs before he would fall forward onto his knees, hands wrapping around her wasp-like waist and his face would be buried in her lap, and the silent tremors would begin.
The first time he had done this she had been surprised and mildly shocked, him wavering around in front of her, as if he was asking her permission to do something, she wasn't sure what. Back then, she had carefully put her pencils and crayons away, turning her chair from the table and asking, "Marluxia?", before squeaking when he wrapped his arms around her, tight but not painfully, hiding his face in her shoulder.
It reminded her of the times when she had done the same, except it was Marluxia who came when she cried, allowing her to wet the sleeves of his cloak with tears and cake his hands with snot and not making a single complaint about it when she eventually fell asleep and drooled on his chest.
She supposed she owed him that much, though her fear and her hatred for him remained ever-present in her mind.
They never speak coherently in times like these, instead communicating through their hands, stroking fingers through masses of hair. She liked his hair, dark brown tresses that were easy and so luxurious to run through, hair that she'd never be able to possess. There was a sense of power in having Marluxia bow down before her, clinging to her like a son to his mother in a thunderstorm, and she tried to quell the helpless laughter that bubbled within her, certain that she would sound insane.
Sanity didn't seem to have much of a hold in this Castle anyway, but NaminÃ© liked to think that she would not be broken by the silence and the nightmares that lurked in pools of living shadow and amber eyes and the occasional wild laughter that escaped from Marluxia's thin, bloodless lips.
He was silent now, of course, lips moving against her neck but she could hear nothing, instead still caressing his hair and offering a few wordless coos of her own to comfort him. She never knew what drove him to her, and somehow NaminÃ© didn't think she would have liked to face his nightmares anyway, feeling certain that the knowledge that he had no heart was terrifying enough.
It was just strange that he'll come to her and she'll go to him, as if they're opposite poles of a magnet and were irrepressibly attracted to each other, and she wonders, not for the first time and not for the last, if there was some cynical god of irony that watches their intertwined lives. She hates him and she's sure he hates her, but-
But she'll take what human contact she can, even if it's from her very own kidnapper with the killer flowers and the silent, heart-less chest, wrapping her white form against his, light and darkness clashing together into foggy grey. And maybe he feels the same as well.
And they'll whisper secrets to each other's skin, that he'll keep hers if she'll keep his, and NaminÃ© thinks that really there shouldn't be any distinction at all in a time such as this, not parent, not child, and that they're just two incredibly lost people stuck in the same moment, waiting together for the world's end.