I know I should be working on Of Friends and Money, but this idea refused to get out of my head after I listened to 'Emergency' by Paramore about a dozen times. So we have this. It was originally going to be a songfic, but I felt that the lyrics broke up the story too much. Still, I decided to keep the title of the song as the title of the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, including Roxas and Hayner.

Emergency

I'd read the note at least four times before my brain finally began to function. I had trouble processing the meaning of the words scrawled on the white, slightly crumpled paper.

For a moment, all I could do was stare blankly at the note, uncomprehending. My vision blurred; tears distorted the colours around me.

"No…" I whispered. "He wouldn't kill himself. He wouldn't." I slammed my locker closed as the bell rang to signal the end of the school day. "He wouldn't," I repeated, promising myself that he'd be alright. Part of me knew that it was an empty promise, but still I hoped against hope that he was fine. If I wasn't too late.

I knew I couldn't wait. This couldn't wait; no, it had to be dealt with now. I ran through the hallways, dodging all of my empty-minded peers who refused to move out of my way. Couldn't they see that this is important? More important than anything? I made my way to a back door, the one we'd always use when we needed to escape. I threw my bookbag down, pushed open the door, and ran.

As fast as my legs could take me, I headed towards the Clock Tower, the tallest building in the district we lived in. Its roof was our haven, lifting us thirteen stories above the world and its problems. It was our sacred place, where we could be together without worries. Without regret.

My green camo pants sounded vaguely of rain as they rubbed against each other. I kept generating pictures of him, lying in a dark corner of the tower's roof, bleeding, dying. I shook my head to clear it. With at least six miles to go, my mind went back to the beginning, to when we barely knew each other.

It was in second grade that he'd shown up in our city. I remember the day he moved into the apartment next to mine, he and his dad. His dad was a huge, burly man with muscles that sat upon muscles. His face was set in a perpetual frown, and never quite seemed to talk in a quiet voice. He was constantly barking orders to a boy. The boy was no older than me, and he had weird blond hair that seemed to always twist and reach for the sky.

I watched them tow in box after brown box, staring at them through the small window in the living room—the only window in the eighth floor apartment. After all, it wasn't as if people moved there often; most people would never dream of living where we did. It was okay though; the rent was cheap, and so was everything else in the area.

Days later, he showed up at my bus stop. He didn't say anything, and I was curious. So I mustered up the courage to ask, "Hey, what's your name?"

He regarded me for a moment, then quietly replied, "Roxas."

I held out my hand. "Well, I'm Hayner."

He looked at my hand, looked at me, then stared at my hand for a moment before shaking it with his own. He looked up and smiled. He had beautiful eyes, even then; brilliant blue eyes that I couldn't help but smile at.

It was then that we truly became friends. For that point on, we were inseparable. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and months to years…yet we remained steadfast in our friendship.

One day, though, I remember: It was a Friday, and Roxas hadn't gone to school. It was in seventh grade, a time in which puberty was just starting to kick in, and everyone's hormones were ridiculously muddled. I'd gone through the entire day feeling painfully alone, for besides Pence and Olette, I didn't really have friends. Acquaintances, sure, but not friends like Roxas.

When I got home, I had to stop. Outside Roxas's apartment door, someone was curled up into a tight ball, sobbing. I took a few careful steps toward the person, my hands balled into fists in the case that a fight would ensue. The boy—I assumed the person's gender—had no more than a horribly torn shirt and a pair of shorts on; his hands covered his face. Between the tears in his dirty white shirt, I could see that he had scars all over his back, even on his arms. There was swelling in some places, and in even more places the skin broke and leaked crimson blood. A streak of blond hair caught my eye, and I nearly cried.

"Roxas!" I shouted. "Who did this to you?" I knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at my touch. Slowly, he uncovered his face. He had been crying, and for a long time. There were many paths left by salted tears lining his face: some traveled down to his chin, others across his face when he'd lain down. The worst, though, was his eyes. I'll never forget those eyes; the way he looked at me then…that memory haunts me even now. Those dull blue eyes, devoid of the bright intensity I had come to love. Those pleading, helplessly vulnerable eyes that looked into me, through me, as if begging to be saved.

I couldn't take it. I had to look away. For a moment, I listened to his shuddering breaths, the idea of a scared, tortured animal coming to mind. Then I turned back to him and asked again, "Who did this to you?"

I could hear the dangerousness in my voice. Looking down on him then, I could see that he was sweating too. Strands of his beautiful hair were plastered to his face, a few of them tinged red with blood. This only served to inflate my anger. My very heart ached, seeing Roxas, my Roxas, reduced to this small, pitiful state.

Only in retrospect do I realize that I referred to him as 'My Roxas'.

He only shook his head. He didn't speak. I asked again. Same answer. I sighed, my patience wearing thin. "I can't help you if you don't tell me who fuckin' did this to you!" I yelled, frustration cracking my voice.

His lips parted, and he said one word, his voice barely above a whisper. "Father."

I can truthfully say that I didn't know what to think then. Confusion mixed with the preexisting anger. What could I do? My usual way of going about problems was to confront them head-on; even if I had to fight my way out of them. Even so, I knew when I had no chance, and this was one of those times.

The most I could do for him at that point was to take him into my room and try and get him cleaned up. After a good half hour of struggling a few yelps of pain from Roxas—each of which got my heart racing for fear that I had hurt him further—we finally made it into my apartment.

It was small, as were all of the other apartments in the building. A shoddy threadbare brown carpet covered the whole of the apartment, save the kitchen and the bathrooms. There were only two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom; a luxury we were lucky to come across. His arm over my shoulder in support, I led Roxas to my room. Fortunately, my parents had gone on a vacation celebrating dad's new promotion, giving me the entire weekend to myself. Besides, I was sure that mom wouldn't appreciate the new bloodstains on the carpet.

I set him down on my bed and ran to get the first aid kit mom always kept in her bathroom. After retrieving it, I went back to my room. Roxas was sitting up, a pained expression painted on his face. He looked at me and said nothing. So, in silence, I set about wiping him down with rubbing alcohol. I was scared, and my hands trembled. I didn't want to hurt him, but he took off his shirt and helped me. My hand in his, he guided the small white cloth doused in alcohol over his arm.

He inhaled sharply, but he didn't hesitate. I knew then that he had done this before. Soon, we'd covered his entire body, the cloth that was once white now almost completely pink.

Roxas sighed. "Thanks," he said, his voice quiet and timid. Still, a single tear separated from his left eye and began to creep slowly down his face.

There was something in his voice, I still don't know what, that made me want to wipe that tear away. I knew I loved him, and until then I had always denied those thoughts. Forever being told that it was wrong to desire someone of the same sex, I had always adhered to the rule of society. Until then.

I lifted a hand and touched his face softly, my thumb moving beneath his eye to wipe that drop of pain from his beautiful face. Before I knew exactly what I was doing, I was leaning in to him until we kissed.

His tongue was warm against mine, and as we held on to that moment, his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer. I never quite got over that elysian moment, and it was almost painful when we parted. I looked into his eyes (Oh, those beautiful eyes!), and I could see that he was happy. And I was happy too.

We stopped pretending we were just friends after that. We had an unspoken agreement that our relationship wouldn't be mentioned at school, but we did figure that Olette and Pence had a right to know. Olette was fine with it, and actually congratulated us on finding love. Pence...he didn't take it too well at first. For nearly two weeks, he refused to talk to either of us, even Olette, but he came around eventually. Conversation wasn't the same, though.

In my reminiscing, my foot caught on a hole in the concrete and sent me sprawling forward. I hit the ground hard, and by the way the left side of my face throbbed, I knew that I'd scraped it. I was tempted to lie there, but a single thought came to mind.

Roxas.

Instantly, I was up and running again. I wasn't tired; or if I was, I didn't feel it. Looking up, I could see the Clock Tower. Silhouetted by the sun, it seemed like the only thing that mattered in the world. And it was. I calculated the distance between us: maybe two miles. It was one of the warmer days of December, though the dead-winter sun still set early. In its hue of reddish orange, it slowly descended to give way to night, like a last hope fading into the darkness.

My brief audience with the ground skipped my memories forward a couple of months.

Roxas and I were in my living room, looking out of the window. I stood behind him, my arms around his waist, and his fingers intertwined with mine. Between the curtains, the better part of town unfolded before us. The tallest buildings extended into the sky like so many stacked blocks. One building, though, rose above the rest. In the fading light, you could just make out the clock face looking at us from its pedestal, counting the seconds of our lives.

"We should go there," Roxas said softly. He tilted his head back until it rested on my chest; the tips of his peculiar hair tickled my chin.

"We can't. It'll take too long, and mom and dad will be back any minute," I replied.

He broke away from me and turned around, still holding my hands. "Of course not tonight." He giggled. I loved when he giggled. His soft pink lips were curved into a smile as he swung our arms together, then apart, then together again. "How about tomorrow? Right after school," he suggested.

I couldn't say no, I knew that well, but I could give him a hard time. "I don't know..." I started.

The next time our arms swung apart, he let go of my hands and hugged me. I automatically hugged him back, one rebellious hand creeping slowly down the small of his back.

If he felt it, he gave no notice. "Please, Hayner?" he breathed into my ear.

I melted. "Fine," I said after a moment. "But you owe me."

He giggled again, then turned to stare out of the window once more. "Thanks."

Standing there, with Roxas in my arms, I knew that I would do anything for him. I couldn't stop the beatings, which still persisted relentlessly, but I could take as much of that pain away as I could.

The next day, just as Roxas had said, we waved goodbye to Olette and Pence and began walking to the Clock Tower. It took us about an hour and a half, but we got there without incident. On the way, though, we stopped and I bought him some sea-salt ice cream, his favourite.

From far away, it looked big, but when standing at its base, the Clock Tower was mountainous. For a minute we stood there, noses to the sky. Then Roxas grabbed my wrist.

"Come on!" he said, leading me through the heavy brown doors that contrasted the cream coloured stone.

After sneaking past the mediocre security guards, we ran up the stairs, a near-endless succession of beige stones winding around and around the walls. Roxas led us all the way to the top, and we, after pushing open a wooden door rotted with age, stood in the enormous room that was the clock proper. Giant gears wound slowly in a great clamour, forever churning with the beat of time. Four colossal faces of coloured glass refracted the light all around us, leaving colourful patterns on the floor: teal here, lavender there, deep red in another place.

Roxas found another door. It opened to a ledge which presumably ran around the entire tower. After a few minutes, he finally got me to step out onto the ledge. It was wide enough, I'm sure at least three men could have stood its width shoulder to shoulder, but I still felt uncomfortable being so high up. Roxas, on the other hand, didn't have the slightest problem with heights. He sat down, his legs swinging above oblivion, happily sucking on his ice cream.

I smiled, watching him. Though I failed to conjure enough courage to sit beside him, I took up space right behind him, one of my legs on either side of him. He leaned back, resting on my chest, and we listened as the great clock proclaimed the hour.

"You know I love you, right?" I asked when silence fell on our little heaven. For a moment, I feared he would say no.

He crushed that fear. "I know. I love you too," he replied. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling too.

In silence, we watched the sun set.

Months and years passed again, and we still stayed together. Our loved conquered time, but not Roxas's father. As months progressed, Roxas became more and more reticent. He spoke to me, but only fleetingly. I could see that he was dying. And I couldn't do a thing to stop him.

Then I found the note.

A small part of me knew that it would come to this. Why couldn't I do anything? I felt useless, like everything I had tried to give him, all of my love, my passion, my desire...everything was for naught.

My memory winding down to the present, I rounded a corner and was faced with the Clock Tower. The sun had nearly fallen, and on the opposite end of the horizon, the dark blue sky was already showing off its stars. I could feel exhaustion creeping into the back of my mind, but I pushed it away.

With the newfound vigor of being so close, I tore into the Tower and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I slipped once, about halfway to the top, and my head collided with stone. I got up dazedly, but still I pressed forward. I reached the top and shrugged open the ancient door.

I paused. Everything was tinted dark red. I dying rays of the sun poured in through the east clock face, making the entire room seem covered in ethereal blood. I held my hands up to my face.

Blood red.

"Roxas?" I whispered, a question met only with silence. "Roxas?" I said, louder. Nothing.

I opened the door that led to the ledge and took a step down. I looked up the length of the perilous walk.

Empty.

I couldn't believe it. He had to be here. He had to be here. Sticking close to the wall, I began to slowly edge my way towards the far end of the ledge. Precious seconds passed, and I cursed myself for this wretched fear of heights. With Roxas, it was okay. But now, alone, it was far harder than it had ever been.

Suppressing an urge to go back, I made it to the corner, where the ledge took a sharp turn to border the other side of the building. I looked around the corner, and my eyes filled with tears.

He was there, halfway down the ledge, right beneath the minute hand. He sat there, just like the first time we came up here; one hand holding a sea-salt ice cream to his mouth. The other hand lay flat against the stone ledge, right beside a white pill bottle, its contents spread carelessly about.

Seeing him, I left my fears forgotten at the corner. I dashed to my love, my Roxas, my beautiful, blue-eyed, damaged Roxas. I dragged him from the edge and pulled him close to me, sinking down to the stones, weeping bitterly. With my arms around his shoulders, my head against his, he said nothing. After a moment, I stopped crying violently and held him up.

Eyes, dull, empty, unfeeling eyes stared back at me. The better part of me died at that instance. I knew there was nothing I could do. He'd taken the pills; he'd killed himself. And despite all of the love I gave, all of the joy I tried to bring him, it just wasn't enough. I knew it was his father's fault, but I blamed myself. I should've done something. I should've said something. I should've—

A finger brushed lightly against my cheek. I was so lost in thought that I hadn't noticed him move. Just before his hand left my face, I grabbed it and ran his fingers through my hair. A flicker of life sparked in his eyes, and a smile ghosted his lips ever so briefly.

"You know I love you, right?" he whispered distantly.

I nearly began crying again, but no; these tears would stay for me. I refused to cry for Roxas like he was already gone. I pulled him into my lap and wrapped my arms around his waist, his fingers and mine entwined. And as we watched the sun slip into darkness, I whispered into his ear.

"I know. I love you too."

How was it? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Your review would be greatly appreciated.