Another thought of mine, based on miscommunication. Somewhat of a life lesson to think about. What haven't you told someone lately that you really oughta?

Oh, and I do not own Axel, Roxas or anything Kingdom Hearts related. Juss sayin'.

You disappeared from my outstretched fingers, curled and raw from work. Why? I would have begged you, but I had no words.

Today was the day you said it, the day you left. It was something that was very much unlike you and getting the news only a week before surprised me. When you opened your mouth in a small underscore shape, I thought it was nothing but a joke; I laughed so hard in your face I spilled my sea salt ice cream on my orange shirt you bought me last Valentine's Day. Your face said otherwise, red eyebrows furrowed and emerald orbs averted to your badly scarred arm from your teenage years, now covered with various Celtic tattoos.

Your lips curved into an odd position, a habit you picked up from me, only done when you're nervous. You told me about the plane you'd have to take, about the business days it would rule. I'd never seen you so serious. Where had my Axel gone?

You said your parents were calling you home to Texas permanently, or rather your mother, to help them with that damned sudden tragedy. Your brother died not too long ago, and they wanted you to grieve with them. It sounded to me like they needed a replacement son. I said nothing. I just watched you carefully as you explained in the most delicate way you could, eyes blurred with despair and your voice lacking its usual flamboyance. Not being able to handle this news (I rather liked Reno, it was a shame he died in that accident. Can't imagine how Rude handled it), I focused my eyes on your red dyed spikes, twiddling my thumbs anxiously. I had so many thoughts to share, mind reeling.

Texas felt like such a long way from California. It felt like hundreds of thousands of miles away from me, the one you said you wouldn't abandon. I hated long distance relationships; they were too hard to keep up on. It was a shame we were too shit poor, too caught up in America's poverty and poor economy to get two seats. It was either they or I. I'm glad you chose them, though I would have preferred it be me.

I told you this a few hours after the news. We were packing what little you owned in our run-down apartment, painted white chipping blood and hollow walls not enough to hold swelling emotions down. You wanted the underwear I bought you, the lime green jeans, and the hope that I could live the rest of my life with you. You knew I was suffering, I'm sure, but you chose to ignore it. It needed to be done. I had to pretend to be strong, silent, to pretend that I didn't feel the pressure of losing the love I had and embracing the loneliness that was building in my gut. Was there a word I could share that would make you stay?

I dared not ask why you waited so long to tell me, but I wanted to. So badly. Why hurt me? Why do this to me? I ignored your shadow as my eyes looked down at the airport tile. The place smelled vaguely like peanuts and freshly sprayed vanilla. The tourists were buzzing around jubilantly and the caws of welcoming mother birds echoed for what seems like hours. I waited behind you as though I was leaving as well. I felt the heaviness of letting a lover go, and I wonder if you were feeling it as well. I doubted it, but only for a moment, before I let it go.

You called me Roxy and wiggled your hips weakly. You gave me a halfhearted grin, fake and broken, raising your left hand slowly. My mouth was stapled. I could barely utter a goodbye. If I spoke, would you stay? Maybe if I just expressed this; I had so much to express to you as you walked away from me, my eyes on your back from the window. It was such a big plane, bigger than me. I felt small in your world now. Perhaps I'd be a memory. You'll still write, of course? Call? I don't think I'd ever really know. All I'm sure I'd remember was your flaming red hair. I promised myself I wouldn't forget that, or the feeling of your thin lips on mine as we laid entangled on my dirty sheets.

Fuck.

Where had my Axel gone? Texas, Texas, Texas... fucking Texas. Fuck... Is it too late to speak? Yes, no, maybe so...