Number 30, Under the Rain. Demyx tries to stop feeling sorry for himself and start making the most of the time he has left.
"43 decibels (in the left ear, 42) in the right." Reading lips was getting easier all the time, which was good, because hearing speech definitely wasn't. And fortunately, Vexen generally kept his face in sight, so Demyx actually could read his lips."Apparently, aban(doning your musical pur)suits has done nothing(to halt the) progression."
Demyx sighed heavily. Three weeks of putting himself through hell- not playing sitar, not listening to his stereo, trying not to even hum to himself, lest he be tempted - and for nothing. He was still slowly going deaf. "Is there - anything else -" He didn't know if he wanted to ask if there was anything else Vexen needed him for or anything else they could do that might help.
"No." Vexen answered both of his questions. "You may go, Nine." Demyx dragged himself out of the chair and out of the lab, and eventually out the front door of the castle, his entire body feeling numb except for the deep, hollow ache in his chest. It was raining - big surprise.
He stood quietly and listened for a few long moments, as the hollow ache in his chest threatened to become overpowering. I can't hear the rain anymore... He felt like he was going to choke, or like his chest was going to implode, as the rain intensified with his grief.
Grief? Yes. It had to be.
But as the rain pounded down ever harder, until it became a torrential downpour, he started to smile a little. Now he could hear it. Leaving the immediate vicinity of the castle, he walked through the streets, letting the rain soak through his robe and right to his skin. He felt better than he had since he'd learned he was losing his hearing - he felt, oddly enough, free. Like he didn't have anything left to lose. Well, he didn't. He was going to lose the one thing that really mattered to him within a matter of months, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. But that was in the future. He still had now.
It was like being diagnosed with a terminal illness. There was no way he could survive without being able to hear music; he knew that as well as he knew his own name, or better, so the obvious thing to do was end it when he couldn't hear music anymore. In the meantime -he'd get the most he could out of his unlife. Listen to music without worrying. Play sitar as long as he could. Compose - songs that would outlive him, if he was lucky, and remind the worlds that he'd almost existed at one point. Go back to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Hell, take Axel and Roxas along; they were the best friends he had, even if they did have the idea that he was on drugs. They wouldn't anymore; he was done moping. There wasn't enough time for that shit. He should see if Zexion would be willing to come too; he'd been up to here in that mess, same as the rest of them, and he was the best photographer in the Organization. He wanted pictures. There had to be pictures.
Demyx looked up into the pouring rain and laughed. He'd had enough of crying.