THE GREATEST POEM OF ALL TIME
Vexen was annoyed with all of Marluxia’s prying.
Marluxia feared Vexen was always lying.
They had a fight, and Marluxia started crying.
…Um, then we had hot make up sex.
Vexen lifted an eyebrow and peered over his reading glasses to send the Graceful Assassin an analytic look. Marluxia, in turn, puffed his muscular chest out proudly and put his hands on his hips. “See? I can write fine literature!” He announced.
Vexen just stared at the neophyte in front of him. After a few moments, Marluxia pouted and crossed his arms and asked defensively, “What?”
Rolling his eyes, Vexen tore up the allegedly so called 'Greatest Poem of All Time' into itty bitty nonexistent pieces and went back to reading his novel.
“Hey,” Marluxia whined angrily, diving for the remains of his poem, “I worked hard on that!”
“Shut up.” Vexen ordered, not even sparing Number Eleven a glance.
Sighing and realizing he wouldn’t be able to pick up or salvage any of the paper, Marluxia settled for glaring at Vexen. “I hate you.” He growled out viciously. “We can’t feel, remember?” Vexen deadpanned in retort.
Marluxia flicked off the older Nobody and stormed off. Vexen turned a page.
And it was love.