Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts.
A/N: I was standing on Park Ave, looking to the sky on a cold, bright morning when I realized that I was weary of the enormity of this city. I don't really think I've ever really written about New York like this. Eh, maybe. Written mostly to The Everlasting Muse by Belle and Sebastian and on my train commutes to and from work. Split into two parts. Fifteen blurbs per chapter totaling to thirty… might be less depending on how I'm feeling.
-x-
Hudson Boy
-x-
I.
There's a broken rosary lying on the corner of 23rd and Lex. It's a tightly spun coil of burgundy beads, still wet from the flutter of snow flurries that fell from the sky earlier that evening. They're lying right underneath the rusting green sign advertising the uptown 6 train that's rushing through tunnels underneath the city's streets.
It's really nothing out of the ordinary. People are forever losing their wallets, keys and other personal articles as they rush and push their way through crowds that threaten to overflow on Manhattan's streets. Maybe it hung around the neck of some urban youth, pedaling his way through rush hour traffic in an attempt to make it to his back breaking job—betraying his true desire of making music that flows with the beats in the street. Or perhaps it was clutched in the nervous hands of a young Catholic school girl, praying her daily Hail Mary's as she walked through the heart of the den of sin.
Whoever lost it, Roxas thought, they probably missed it. And for that reason alone, he felt like pocketing the broken rosary. He sipped the last remnants of his coffee from his Starbucks cup, before chucking it into the overflowing garbage can to his left. He sighed, blowing puffs of dissipating white smoke into the air as he exhaled. Honestly, it was too cold to gallivant around Manhattan at this time of night. But he didn't want to head back to Queens. Not just yet, at least.
Reluctantly, and with a heaviness that disjointed his natural gait, Roxas descended the stairs down into the train station, proceeded to flip back the flap on his messenger bag and rummaged around for his Metrocard. The train rushed into the station as soon as he pushed his way past the turnstile. He inhaled the gust of air that swept his hair from out of his eyes and ruffled the scarf around his neck. Not that he was suicidal, but he wondered just how badly a body could be destroyed when hit with the force and weight of the dirty, steel machine.
The train pulled off just as he slouched down into his seat and buried his hands into his pockets. There was a homeless man grumbling in the far corner of his train car and a teenage girl wrapped around the arm of her boyfriend sitting across from him. He lifted his disinterested gaze to the display overhead which advertised the time and the next stop on the train line.
This is a Parkchester bound 6 train, the next stop is 28th Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.
Roxas closed his eyes and let his head lull back to hit the window behind him. The train pulled off and Roxas' body instinctively jerked along with the momentum of the train's pull. It was Thursday. All he had to do was tolerate one more day at the office and then he was off for two painfully short days, before having to do it all over again. Roxas sighed long and hard and opened his eyes so that he could gaze at the dirty ceiling of the train car.
Being an adult was a strange, strange thing. He could barely remember how he spent his weekends during his adolescence, but these days it consisted of nothing but laying around in bed for half the day, figuring out what bills he needed to pay and buying groceries for the week. Life was just so invigorating once you hit adulthood.
Sometimes his friends would call, most of the time they didn't. Everyone came in on the 24th of December and they'd be gone with hangovers on the 1st of January. There were no more weekend hangouts in St. Marks. No more Saturdays where they met at the cube in Astor Place, their pockets burning with money they'd bummed off their parents and waiting to be spent at the sleaziest of shops. He remembered sitting on the corners of streets, shitty, hot and cheap 2Bros pizza burning their tongues, with oil dribbling down their chins, onto their wrists and staining their clothes.
At night they'd wander the twisting and winding streets of the East Village, plucking black cloves and Smirnoff six packs from the dirtied aisles of bodegas whose owners didn't care to check for a valid ID, and waved them off with a dismissive hand. They'd retire to the rooftop of Olette's building on 21st and 2nd and watch the sun rise at 6:32AM on a breezy summer morning, and set at 4:52PM on a cold winter's night. From Hayner's iPod, some shitty alternative rock would lull the city into sleep, or shake it awake. Roxas never cared. He'd look to his friends and wonder if they felt what he felt.
But high school had ended almost a decade ago and those memories remained obscured, like a mirage on the horizon. He reached into his pocket and fingered the broken rosary he'd picked up from before. This was why he hated riding the train. The past always seemed to float idly around him and the present always disappeared from view. It was like his mind liked to take him back and make him remember what was, rather than what is.
The train stopped and the doors opened again.
II.
It was raining and Midtown was filled with ant sized people walking beneath a barrage of solid black and plastic bubble umbrellas. Roxas loosened his tie for the third time that day and dropped his pen down on the piece of legal paper he'd been writing notes on. He'd made fifteen calls today and he had ten more to make before he left the office for the weekend. The need to curl up and fall asleep on his desk was so strong, he had already brewed three cups of coffee to try and squash it down.
His twin brother called him in a fit of rage and panic at three in the morning last night—something about another major disagreement with his boyfriend—and he was coming down from upstate to stay with Roxas for the week. The conversation had taken up two hours of his time, and every time Roxas had started to nod off, his brother's voice was a sharp 'ROXAS, ARE YOU STILL THERE?' on the other end of the line.
Roxas could have sworn that his cell phone had made a permanent imprint in the side of his face from where he had had it sandwiched between his ear and his pillow. But, he's glad it's his brother having these problems and that he's free of them for the time being. Relationships are too much work and he's too bored to find love in an apathetic world such as his.
When he leaves work, the rain has turned into snow and his work shoes will hardly do the work of snow boots. He slips and slides his way down ten blocks to Port Authority and stands with his hands in his pockets and his scarf over his face as he waits for Sora's bus to pull in. His brother is red eyed and pouty when he steps off the bus, drops his suitcase at Roxas' feet and throws his arms around him in a tight hug. Roxas still has his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as his brother squeezes him around the shoulders.
Roxas asks Sora if he wants to get ramen from their old spot in the East Village.
Sora snots all over Roxas' scarf in return.
III.
Sora's older by three minutes, but he's always acted like the younger sibling.
The two of them are pressed back to back in Roxas' queen sized bed as the 7 train rushes by on the tracks overhead and rattles everything in the apartment. Roxas moved to Jackson Heights after Sora left the city and headed north for Binghamton with Riku almost four years ago. Their parents left the same year as well. They were true hippies at heart who claimed that it was their time to return to Mother Earth. That was merely another way to say that their kids were adults and they were going back to their wandering way of life. Last Roxas heard from them, they were at some nudist commune out in Arizona.
Sora had been ravenous at dinner and Roxas nearly had to carry his brother home after he fell asleep on Roxas's shoulder during the train ride home. He'd made up the couch for Sora, but his twin was insistent on sleeping in a bed and Roxas didn't have it in him to even fight with Sora over the absurdity of it all. They were almost twenty six, not ten.
Roxas had been nodding off when he heard the first choke of a stifled sob and Sora shifting against his back. Why does it hurt so much? Why do we do these things to the people we love? What does arguing solve, Roxas? Why can't he just commit to me in a way that I want him to? That I need him to? A hiccup interrupts his barrage of questions. Why do I have to be the one that constantly goes out on a limb to save my relationship? I put my heart out there and I don't get anything back for it but a dagger to the chest.
Roxas shifts so that his left wrist is underneath his face and pressing into his cheekbone. He shrugs his shoulders but doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Every relationship he's had up until now has been a failure and he questions whether he's ever actually been in love. He's felt a pulling in his heart… a skip in its rhythmic pace, but he can't be sure what it is. He's never felt the need to fight for someone. Everyone always felt disposable. He wishes it wasn't that case, but it's the truth.
Sora turns on the light on his side of the bed and turns to look at Roxas. You're lucky to have escaped the pain of heartbreak. That's what Sora wants to say, but he doesn't. He merely looks at his brother and mumbles something about having to use the bathroom as he saunters off into the darkness of Roxas' apartment.
IV.
St. Marks isn't what it used to be and Roxas isn't quite sure why he was ever in love with the place to begin with. Sure, the freaks still waltz back and forth through the crowded block, seedy vendors grope and undress underage girls with their eyes and the food is still somewhat cheap. But, the area has changed. Some people have started calling it J Town due to all the ramen shops that have popped up over the years, doing away with the alternative clothing stores and sex shops that used to litter its dingy corners.
Sora was on the hunt for a bong. Obviously he thought the cure to a broken heart lied in the dankest of Sour Diesel bought straight from Washington Heights—their next stop. Roxas trailed behind him with the same amount of disinterest as always, scarf pulled up over his face and his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his black parka. This is the third store they've passed by and Sora doesn't look like he's ready to buy anything anytime soon.
The first store was too expensive, the second didn't have anything he liked and the third… well… Roxas wasn't quite sure he knew what was wrong with the third. But it was Saturday and he had nowhere to go.
Roxas decides to buy coffee while his brother is being indecisive, so he leaves him to cross the street and pick something up from the market that's underneath the stairs of Chipotle, an echo of just how out of touch this place has been with its roots. A wry smile still comes to Roxas' features. At least Search and Destroy was looking as shitty and debauch as ever.
By time Roxas breathes in the scent of his rapidly cooling coffee, Sora had finally settled on his prize for the evening and the two of them hop a train to the Upper West Side to an old acquaintance that was more trouble than he was worth. Sitting squashed between Sora and some overweight elderly old man, Roxas felt a little younger than he actually was. He rarely ran with crowds that dabbled in the delights of his old habits anymore, so it was refreshing and a little exciting to think about doing something completely illegal again.
Everything is the same when they arrive in Washington Heights and Roxas appreciates the familiarity of his past in the present. He still can't take the smell of Xigbar's apartment, and the old drug dealer still looks like someone beat his face in with a frying pan, slashed it up and then crudely tried to sew him back together again. Something with a heavy bass and fast rap is thumping out from the speakers mounted on Xigbar's walls and Roxas's vision turns into a kaleidoscope. Hayner's ugly camouflage pants, the flicker of a lighter over a too wet L, Olette's infectious laugh, and the color red. Red like the paint chipping and falling off Xigbar's wall in big, fat flakes.
They returned to Roxas's apartment and sit opposite one another on his bed while taking hits from the bong. Roxas feels like he hasn't smoked in ages and his lungs burned so badly he thought he was going to die. But the euphoria of being high hits him in the face like a sack of bricks and he's unable to do anything but laugh for the next twenty minutes. His head hurts and his body feels tingly and weighted down. Even though he can't stop laughing, Roxas doesn't care for the feeling and he wants it to be over with already.
Sora eventually falls asleep while eating chips and Roxas flips onto his back and the world turns upside down. He watches the 7 train rush back and forth in both directions. To Manhattan, back to Flushing. To Flushing, back to Manhattan. Back and forth, back and forth. Everything and nothing feels so familiar that it begins to hurt.
Roxas reaches into his pocket and fingers the broken rosary he's been carrying around.
V.
On Monday he's back at his desk and his inbox is completely flooded.
When he left that morning, Sora was still sleeping. Apparently the weed was just what he needed. Roxas sighed as he pulled a pen from out of the holder in front of him, ripped a sticky note off the pad and scrawled down some asinine reminder as he scanned the first email in his inbox.
On times when he isn't running to the break room to snag his fifth cup of coffee, or aimlessly waltzing around the hallways looking for some way to pass the time, Roxas wonders how he ever got from his Point A to Point B. His mind always drifts back to a point when the magic of the future didn't make him feel dull and grey. Manhattan used to be a giant mystery he just couldn't figure out. When he was seventeen he used to run up and down avenues with the city stretching out behind him like a thousand, rainbow lights. His face was flushed red and his eyes were wide with excitement. Hayner would tackle him into the pavement and it would sink beneath their weight, swallowing them into a pit of freshly poured cement. Yet, the cracks in the streets were now showing up as wrinkles on his face.
Eight hours fly by and he finds himself seated opposite the company's resident whack job, Vanitas, for happy hour. Roxas orders a beer and Vanitas calls him soft as he downs a glass of JD. Roxas was never one for drinking, he did it as a means to placate social tension—(see, peer pressure).
He doesn't know why he bothers with Vanitas, but some part of him feels sorry for him. The only commonality the two of them share is being around the same age and starting at the company at the same time. Vanitas moved to New York over a year ago from Chicago and always refers to where he came from as a 'sack of shit tied up with a bright, pink bow'. The guy always seems like he's on the verge of a mental breakdown and that he'll come to the office one day and kill everyone in there. Except Roxas. Cause despite all the 'shitheads' they work with, he actually likes Roxas.
It's almost eight in the evening when Vanitas stumbles outside of the bar and throws his arms to the sky as he proclaims his hatred for New York. Roxas watches from the doorway and stares blankly at Vanitas's backside. Vanitas turns to look at him; his eyes are wild and drunk. He cracks a deranged grin, turns away from Roxas without another word and drunkenly stumbles his way down the street in the direction of his train.
Roxas shifts gears when his phone vibrates in his pocket and he sees Sora's texting him.
When are you coming home?
VI.
Roxas comes home to find Sora sprawled across the couch in the living room, his eyes fixated on the television. His cat is nestled on his brother's stomach and the scene reminds him of a level of domestication he never had.
Sora's eyes are red and the bong they bought on Saturday is resting on the coffee table in front of the couch. He doesn't even acknowledge Roxas until he drops his leather messenger bag on the floor and the thump scares Roxas's cat off of Sora's stomach. Sora pulls the blanket draped over his legs up over his shoulders and turns on his side into the couch and away from Roxas. Roxas wordlessly stares at his brother's backside for a minute and then glances about the living room to see the junk food, pizza box and tissues discarded on the floor.
He sighs and walks across the length of the room and opens the door by the fire escape outside. By the window is a half smoked pack of Camels, a Zippo lighter in dire need of refilling, and a Maurice of California ashtray. Roxas lights up, leans against the wall and languishes in the two conflicting climates of his hot and stuffy apartment, and the welcome chill that flows in from outside. He watches Sora from afar and remembers a time when he came home to find Sora in the exact same state.
Although it was said that Roxas had always been the one with the bad attitude, he never really had a propensity for starting fights. Yet, he had to when it came to Sora. Sora had been sent home early for fighting someone and Roxas had to come behind him and pick up the pieces. Because when he returned home from school that afternoon, he found his twin brother lying on the floor, face down in the kitchen of their apartment.
If you were to ask Roxas about the incident in present day, he would tell you he doesn't even know how he kept it together long enough to call an ambulance to transport his brother Mount Sinai. He can't tell you how blank he felt sitting all alone in the waiting room, knowing that his parents were halfway around the world helping some other child in need, while one of their own could have been on their death bed back home.
Their grandmother took care of the two of them until their parents were able to make it back home. Sora's wrists were wrapped in bandages for nearly three months after that day; he was always ashamed about anyone seeing the scars. Until one night, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital that left Sora red in the face from screaming at their mother, he came into Roxas's room and sat down on his brother's bed. Roxas had been sleeping when Sora shook him awake and thrust his wrists in his face. Here, tell me they're disgusting.
Roxas blinked the sleep away from his eyes and stared down at the crisscross shapes that covered his brother's arms. He placed a heavy hand on Sora's head and ran his fingers through his bothers unruly mess of brown hair. There is no beauty in tragedy, although humans try to find it.
Roxas exhales smoke and sighs. It hurts when the present is somehow all too reminiscent of the past.
VII.
Sora's week long stay has slowly migrated into two, but Roxas isn't going to kick his brother out when he needs him. They go to a bar in Astoria and Roxas orders them Pabst Blue Ribbion while Sora jokingly elbows him and calls him a despicable hipster. They sit at a table in the back while some local, shitty band plays a weird fusion of rap and folk punk. But, despite it all, Sora still raises his beer to his lips and a genuine smile comes to his face.
The music is horrible and the beer is sufficient. It reminds Roxas of his college years where cheap liquor and dancing to absolutely deplorable music was all the rage. Mental breakdowns over back breaking course loads were solved over late night dinners in establishments past the border of 14th street, where the liquor was cheap and the food somewhat questionable, yet edible.
Most of his friends had stayed rooted in the city for college. No one appeared to be quite ready to give New York up, nor did they have the funds—or grades in some cases— to go to other big name universities. So, Roxas subjected himself to the magic of the CUNY system—(thanks for the godless years)—and graduated with a rather useless degree in Accounting four years later. Sora opted for upstate and found himself in Binghamton, which is where he met his Riku. When he was itching to get out of the city, Roxas would board the bus at Port Authority and tolerate the four hour ride and stay there for the weekend. Downtown Binghamton was a ghost town, but it was a welcome reprieve from the city.
Sora noticed his brother's downcast gaze and asked him if something is wrong. Roxas quickly replies that everything is fine… everything is always fine. Sora's gaze is pensive and he bites his bottom lip in his habitual way whenever he doesn't believe something, and he's not sure if he should speak out against it. Roxas changes the subject by stepping down off his chair and asks Sora if he wants another beer. Sora shakes his head and waves him off.
Roxas is at the bar when the band with the shitty rap and folk pop fusion steps down and a man with a guitar, flaming red hair and a tongue tinged with an accent hailing from El Barrio takes the stage. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up and crosses his legs as he surveys the crowd. Apparently Roxas is the only one he can make eye contact with, because he smiles and nods his head in Roxas' direction before he leans into the microphone and begins to speak.
The bartender, a crazy looking guy with a blonde mullet and sea green eyes, places a frosty beer on the bar counter for Roxas and breaks their eye contact. He's grinning at Roxas as if he knows what's going on in his mind and Roxas scoffs at him as he throws a ten dollar bill his way and waltzes back over to his seat with Sora.
VIII.
He learns that his name is Axel.
Roxas runs into him by chance as he steps out onto the street to smoke a cigarette while he waits for Sora to finish up in the bathroom inside. Axel is standing outside too, arms crossed over his chest and talking with the bartender who served Roxas his drinks. Their voices are low, but whatever they're talking about doesn't seem to be too important because Axel doesn't even look like he's listening to whatever the bartender is telling him. Axel turns to his right when he hears the heavy wooden door to the bar creak open and Roxas steps out onto the dimly lit street with a cigarette already in his mouth and his Zippo lighter in hand.
There's a light flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky and the grey concrete is dusted with a soft blanket of white. Roxas doesn't even notice the two of them because his attention is drawn to the trains rumbling overhead as he fingers the broken rosary that he's been carrying around for the past two and a half weeks. He eventually turns around when he hears laughter behind him and sees Axel and the bartender standing there watching him. His natural inclination to be rude somehow falls by the wayside and Roxas compliments Axel on his set from before. It was a nice change of pace from the completely awful music that obliterated his ear drums from before. Demyx, the bartender, doubles over in laughter and Axel begins to smile. Roxas taps his cigarette out and glances at the door.
The door flies open so hard, it nearly falls off its hinges. Sora comes stumbling out and immediately runs toward Roxas, his coat half on and his scarf barely around his neck. He grabs hold on his brother so that he's using him as a shield. A tall man with tan skin and thick black hair slicked back with gel is right on his brother's heels. The peace from before instantaneously vanishes. Roxas is quick to throw his half smoked cigarette into the street and knocks Sora back off his shoulders. The guy is drunk and Roxas has been in this situation with Sora before. The words come from his mouth hard and sharp: come here you fucking, faggot.
Roxas begins to raise his arms to cover his face in a fighting stance just as Axel's hand clamps down hard on the guys shoulder and rears him back. Demyx goes back inside for the bouncer, a hulking man with ginger hair and steel jaw always fixed into a scowl. The situation reaches its climax without anyone ever throwing a punch and Roxas is both relieved and annoyed all at once. Sora looks awful and ridden with guilt and Roxas sighs long and hard.
As the bouncer disappears with the guy, Axel comes over to the twins and asks them if they're okay. Sora doesn't say anything and Roxas turns his back on Axel as he pulls Sora's scarf from around his neck and puts it back on properly. They'll be fine. As long as Roxas is protecting Sora, they're always fine. Axel nods, not quite sure what to make of the situation before him. Roxas thanks him though, that's the least he can say to Axel for helping to prevent his brother's face from getting smashed into the ground.
Sora is getting more upset by the minute and Roxas pulls him in the direction of the train so they can head home. Axel waves to them as they fade away. See you around?
Roxas looks over his shoulder and shrugs. Yeah, maybe.
IX.
Roxas's apartment is becoming cramped with one too many visitors and he's finding it hard to find any time for himself. Hayner is back in town for business, but all he wants to do is take Roxas out at night so that they can gorge themselves silly on food and get so drunk that they pass out on the sidewalk in a puddle of their own puke.
Hayner is waiting in the lobby of Roxas' work building on Thursday evening with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a giant grin on his face. He's already made reservations for the two of them at their old sushi spot down the street, so Roxas better get ready to eat and drink until his wallet is nearly empty. The lights of Times Square blare down on Roxas as Hayner reaches for his hand and drags him through the throngs of confused tourists, corrupt and tired businessmen, perverted hustlers in costumes, and obnoxious teenage girls. There's so much energy in the air, but Roxas can't feel any of it at all. His mind is blank, completely void of the excitement that surrounds him.
Hayner orders three sushi and sashimi platters, four sake samplers and charges it all to his company credit card. Roxas says that it's too much, but Hayner slaps the table and cracks apart his chopsticks. Nothing is ever too much. He lives a life of excess and will gladly die taking his sins of gluttony to the grave. Hayner has always been this way.
Roxas pokes at a spicy tuna roll as he listens to another one of Hayner's tales of lust and perversion. He banged some prime minister's daughter on a trip to France and now she won't stop calling him. Roxas sips some of the nigori sake and blanches at the thought of Hayner's sexual exploits and its taste. Politics was a wonderful career choice for his best friend, he thinks bitterly. In another twenty years he wouldn't be surprised if he saw Hayner's face splashed across Page Six with some sordid headline about infidelity flooding the page. A quote from Hayner would read just below it: I had no idea she was a prostitute! He sighs mentally and nods along when Hayner asks if he's still listening.
That weekend Hayner insists that they go out and party like old times and Roxas is reluctant to oblige because he doesn't want to leave Sora at home alone. Ever since the incident at the bar his brother has become more reclusive than usual and spends his nights, while he thinks Roxas is sleeping, up all night with someone on the phone. Roxas has only surmised that it must be Riku. He can't tell his brother who to love and what to do with his life, but he only hopes he's making the right decision for the fourth damn time.
Roxas takes Hayner to Astoria, saying he knows this bar with good beer and cheap prices. Nice and cheap, just how Hayner likes it when he wants to get belligerently drunk. Demyx is manning the bar again and his face lights up when he sees Roxas walking up to the bar. Troublemaker coming back again, huh? Hayner looks to Roxas as if he's expecting to hear the story but Roxas just shrugs, greets Demyx and asks for two Blue Moon's. They stand by the bar even though Hayner is badgering him to talk to girls. Roxas tells him to keep it in his pants and Hayner calls him gay. Roxas ignores him, sips his beer and turns his attention on the stage. Hayner throws his hands up in aggravation, tells Roxas whatever and waltzes off into the crowd to find some young, unsuspecting girl to chat up and possibly roofie.
Roxas swivels his beer around, observes the label in disinterest and turns his gaze to the dim lights lit overhead. There's something oddly isolating about being at a bar surrounded by so many people that you don't know. The drunker you get the worse that feeling becomes. Funny, because people come to bars for the exact opposite reason—to not be alone.
Guero. The voice is too close for comfort and startles Roxas out of his thoughts. Axel pulls back and laughs when Roxas whips around to frown at him. He grins as he sips his beer and apologizes, he didn't mean any harm. The music plays on between them, continuing an unspoken conversation as Roxas sets his beer down on the bar and Axel places a hand on his hip as he surveys the bar for something. Roxas tells him his brother stayed home for the night; he wasn't really keen on coming back to this place after what happened last time. Axel nods in understanding and shrugs. That's too bad.
It's always awkward talking to someone you don't know. Small talk gets dragged out longer than it should and then things get boring. But not with Axel, Roxas soon finds out. He downs the rest of his beer and tells Roxas to keep an eye on the stage because he's about to go on soon. He gives Roxas the same grin from before and saunters off to the back. Roxas surveys the crowd and finds Hayner chatting up some little pretty thing with a too short skirt and a top that makes her tits spill out of her pushup bra that's two sizes too small. He drinks his beer in disgust and leans against the bar as he waits for Axel to take the stage.
X.
Riku arrives on Roxas' doorstep just as Hayner leaves and all he can see is red. Sora places a gentle hand on Roxas's back and tells him that it's okay, Riku's only there to talk. Without Sora around, Roxas finds that he's free to do whatever he wants for the rest of the day, so he sets out for Astoria. He wanders into the bar hoping to find Axel and he's in luck, because the redhead is behind the bar, wiping down the counter with a gingham rag that's fraying around the edges. He looks up to see Roxas and his eyes light up in welcome surprise.
Roxas spends his entire day there, drinking and talking with Axel. Roxas learns of the drug charge that landed Axel in a minimum security prison somewhere up north from the ages of twenty to twenty five. Now, he resides on Grand Concourse up in the Bronx with an old childhood friend—(Demyx), a stressed out med student—(Zexion) and a disgruntled ex-boyfriend—(that bastard, Saix), while splitting his time between working in construction and tending to the bar in Astoria with Demyx. He was twenty seven, born and raised in Harlem and considers himself—mostly—ambiguous with his sexuality.
There's a nice jazz tune playing out of the speakers overhead and Roxas finds that he is comfortable in this place talking with Axel. He's actually conversing with someone with an ease he hasn't felt in a long time. It's not even the alcohol that's making him feel mellow… it's Axel.
A few hours later, Roxas's phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out so quickly the broken rosary he's had stuffed inside of his jacket has fallen to the floor. Axel, who had stepped out to the bathroom, comes back just as Roxas steps down off of his stool to pick it up. There's a curiosity in his eyes that unnerves Roxas for some reason.
Axel expresses his interest in the rosary and Roxas places it on the counter of the bar so that Axel can look at it. In the meantime, Roxas turns his attention to his phone and finds a text from Sora. His brother wants him to come home because he needs someone to talk to. Roxas grits his teeth and sighs as he hops back off his bar stool, forgetting all about Axel and the rosary, and finding his thoughts returning to his brother. He's quick to tell Axel goodbye without a second thought and runs off to placate Sora.
XI.
Two days later while Sora smokes from a bong on his couch—(he decided against returning to Binghamton with Riku, he's making him work for forgiveness this time around)—and Roxas complains about his apartment smelling like weed, he dips his hand into his coat pocket and realizes that he's missing the rosary.
After work he takes the N train to the bar in Astoria, determined to find Axel. But, Axel is nowhere in sight. Demyx is behind the bar and he's more than happy to procure Roxas' lost item, which after careful observation, Roxas realizes is no longer broken. Axel fixed it for you. Said it was such a shame for something so pretty to be so broken.
When asked about Axel's whereabouts, Demyx tells him that he isn't going to be in for the night. He's got another obligation to fulfill by the name of Larxene with the dreaded title of girlfriend. Roxas can't quite pinpoint where the disappointment is coming from when those words settle into his mind like sewer sludge. Demyx sees the disappointment on his face, and seeks to cheer him up by sliding a folded piece of paper across the bar.
Here. Take his number. You should call him sometime so you guys can hang out. Or express your thanks, whatever you want, you know?
Roxas looks at the offending piece of white paper, takes it and shoves it into his pocket. He thanks Demyx for the rosary, apologizes for bothering him and disappears back into his neck of the woods in Jackson Heights.
XII.
Sora is chipper when he comes back home and Roxas chain smokes until his lungs hurt.
It doesn't take long for Roxas to blurt out that he thinks he might have feelings for another man and Sora's eyes are wider than the moon hanging high in the cold, black sky. Roxas has never had any inclination toward the same sex; there have always been nothing but girls in his life. Not that many, but there've been some.
He lost his virginity at the age of sixteen to some girl named Xion, a friend of Olette who had the hots for him ever since they were in middle school. He dated both of Sora's best friends—Kairi and Selphie—and he dated Naminé off and on all throughout college. He had a one night stand once or twice, but all with people who were glaringly female.
There was one incident with Hayner … and that happened a long, long time ago while they were still in middle school and they never talked about it. He chalked it up to childhood curiosity and never thought about it again.
Sora was the gay twin. Sora was the one everyone called a faggot. Sora was the one who always had to pretend that the looks he was giving the other guys in the locker room weren't just out of curiosity. Sora was the one who had to fight tooth and nail to prove his masculinity to people who didn't understand that "taking it up the butt" didn't make him any less of a man than the guy who was trying to bang as many girls as possible. It was Sora. Sora, Sora, Sora. Not Roxas.
God damn, it couldn't be Roxas, too.
XIII.
Roxas starts wearing the rosary after that.
His parents weren't religious, but his grandparents were Catholic. So he considers himself one by association at the very least. Besides, he considers the possibility of a God… and it would be a shame not to wear the rosary after Axel went through the hassle of fixing it even though he didn't ask.
It's 2AM in the morning and he's sitting in the darkness of his room, a beer in his left hand and his phone in his right. He can hear his brother's snoring coming from beyond his closed door and the rattling of the train passing by beyond his window. The beer is cold as it slides through his throat, but it doesn't feel right. Beer is for the summer when the abysmal heat clashes with the cold and leaves you teetering on a buzz that's both light and heavy. The messenger on his phone is open, but he's got a blank text screen with only Axel's name filled in at the top.
It's Roxas. Demyx gave me your number.
He hits send without thinking and watches the message turn to blue on his screen. He sips his beer again and begins typing again.
I mean, hi. I just wanted to thank you for fixing the rosary…
Roxas stares at the screen and isn't quite sure how to finish his thought. Thanks for fixing the rosary I randomly found on the street one day on my way home from work? No.
…I guess I'll talk to you later.
He looks at the screen and feels the urge to slap himself in the face. In complete and total embarrassment he throws his phone down on his nightstand, downs the rest of his beer and throws his sheets over his head. In the morning there's a rumble from his phone and it's not his alarm chiming for him to wake him up for work. He reaches over with bleary eyes to see who it is.
Axel
7:12AM
You're welcome.
Come by the bar again soon, okay?
A smile comes to his face as he types his response back.
XIV.
Roxas starts going to the bar after he gets off from work.
Sometimes Axel is behind the bar, sometimes it's Demyx.
During his time spent there, he eventually meets the aforementioned Larxene, on two random occasions, their other roommate Zexion, and on one particularly strange occasion, Saïx. Larxene is a giant bitch born and bred straight out of Staten Island and Roxas can't stand her. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist asking Demyx why Axel even puts up with the girl.
Demyx sighs, spins a glass around in his hand and tells Roxas that Larxene's uncle hooked Axel up with a really good paying gig in his construction company and he can't just break things off with her. Not until he's more financially stable at least. He's still paying off his debts from his prison stint and he can't fuck things up while his probation officer is constantly breathing down his neck for shit. Tough luck is what Demyx calls it, pathetic excuses is what Roxas thinks to himself.
Eventually the hangouts at the bar migrate toward Roxas's apartment and Demyx and Axel come over late at night bearing gifts—(booze)—and leave for the Bronx early in the morning. Demyx and Axel usually sleep on the pull out couch in the living room and Sora migrates back into Roxas's bed, occasionally teasing him about his object of desire being so close and yet so far.
Roxas usually beats his twin in the face with a pillow and wakes up earlier than usual to take a shower and relieve his … tension … so to speak.
XV.
February comes and although Roxas is turning twenty six in three days, he's never felt more discontent with his life.
Olette calls and lets Roxas know that she and Pence are coming down from Boston to come and spend the weekend with him to celebrate his birthday. Hayner is dealing with some crisis down in DC, and Roxas hates to admit it, but he's glad the weekend will be quiet with just the three of them. Or so he thinks, because since Sora's still squatting on his couch, his brother's old ragtag group of friends from high school joins them as well. The group slowly climbs up in number and Roxas hates the chatter.
They eat dinner in the heart of the city and head out to find bars in some sketchy part of Brooklyn where Sora pours shots of vodka down Roxas's throat and Roxas throws tequila right back at him. By the end of the night Sora has Roxas's phone in his hand and drunkenly slurs out that he should have Axel come out and meet them. Roxas is too fucked up to realize what a stupid idea it is and tells Sora to go ahead and send the text.
An hour they find themselves back in the city and at a shitty bar Roxas used to frequent with Hayner back in their early twenties. The ceiling is still sinking and held together with duck tape and the damp smell of mold is in the air. Something by Schoolboy Q and Kendrick Lamar is playing over on the stereo and Roxas can feel the bass line deep in his heart.
Axel appears with Demyx in tow and Roxas feels happy for once. Axel is here and he's drunk and it's his birthday. There's nothing else in the world that quite matters right now except the redhead currently smiling at him and the way the world is spinning all around him like he's the only thing that matters. He thinks Axel asks him how he's doing and he smiles again and hiccups. Axel smiles in return and comments on how he's never seen Roxas smile before. He thinks he should do it a lot more often. He looks nice. Roxas feels his heart lurch, a pulling feeling that makes him feel fuzzy from his head to his toes. He doesn't think it's love, but it makes him feel nice. Makes him feel alive.
But, then the door opens again and he hears the steady clicking of heels and a leggy blonde appears in the background, draping herself over Axel and pulling him close. She makes a show of digging her hands into the fronts of Axel's front pockets and pressing a kiss to his face even though Axel pulls away when she starts getting too touchy.
Sora can only wince and bite his lip when he sees Roxas's face turn green and he proceeds to spew projectile vomit all over Axel's leather jacket and Larxene's satin coated wine and gold Manolo's.