Generation X, a kingdom hearts fanfic

Hello, all. Figured I should post something, let you all know I'm thinking of you, even if my head's not on straight. So I wrote this. Well, as usual, it wrote itself, but…you know. I actually posted it. So. Generation X. It's not what we think of as generation X - 'we' meaning my fellow earthlings - because this has nothing to do with our world. However, this story was influenced a bit by earthling affairs (when I say bit I mean a tiny, tiny, miniscule bit). What can I say? I used to be a library junkie (when I was a little middle school kid with no friends), and I had "Kiss Me Deadly" stuck in my head. 'Nuff said. Srsly. (And at the end, there's a nod to a recent Disney film not featured in KH. Can you spot it?)

Just…thought I should let you know, though, that this is a little bit dark. Just a little, though. It's the third story influenced by my weird idea of a warring world, but - as with the other two - it stands alone. It has nothing to do with the others except a few concepts. I wasn't sure if this could be rated T, so I rated it M. It's not overly sexual or horrific or anything; I really just rated it M to cover my own ass.

Dedication: The one who somehow always manages to inspire me by completely overshadowing me, Versace Frolic; who - when I was in a funk and being retarded - gave me some good advice, and told me to write. (Stop being awesome. I want to find someone else to dedicate things to.)

Disclaimer: goes right here. Because, you know, I don't own Kingdom Hearts.

PART ONE

It's ten after four when he drops his stuff by the front door and calls out, "I'm home!"

He knows there won't be an answer. But he does it anyway; partly because there are a couple of old women across the street who would love nothing more than to have something substantial to gossip about, but mostly because it gives him five seconds of satisfaction until the door shuts and the silence sets in.

Shoes are kicked off unceremoniously - no one will be home to stumble over them until later - and instead of locking the door, he kicks it defiantly and wanders into the kitchen for a snack.

There's a note attached to a package of Oreos, and he has to smile, even if everything is frustrating. They were probably on sale at the surplus market, but the fact that she thought of him…

Roxas -

Happy Monday! I'll have a surprise for you when I get home, so don't eat them all.

I love you,

Mom

P.S. Happy 11th birthday, too!

His mother loves him, and that gets him through the tough days, but he misses her. The job at NDC makes stuff like Oreos possible, but…he misses her.

The other kids used to call him a mama's boy and always tried to steal his lunch money, but he never had any so now they go for his backpack. He thinks he probably is a mama's boy, because the only reason he doesn't beat them up is that she asks him not to show anyone what he can do. She says it's a special secret and he believes her, because it's just been the two of them for as long as he can remember.

Stuffing two Oreos into his mouth at once, he guiltily goes back for his backpack and locks the door.

But he leaves his shoes out. Where she can see, of course, so she won't trip over them, but he's still mad. He misses her, and he loves her, and he appreciates what she's done for him, but he's still mad. Some kids would love to be alone every day, but those kids are the ones whose parents embarrass them at parents' night. Those kids have friends. Those kids are the ones who tease him about the 'new' jacket he showed up in, the one he only wears in front of the woman who worked so hard to buy it for Christmas, even if it means being cold.

But those kids, he thinks as he hoists his bag up onto his shoulder and walks the thirteen steps from the doorway to his room, probably know what they're going to get for their birthdays. So like his mother always says -

They should be jealous of him, not the other way around.

XIV

"Wake up, you lazy bum," says a voice, and his eyes fly open.

"Mom!"

The woman stumbles a little as he launches himself at her. He's unable to keep a big smile off his face, even though it isn't cool to have a best friend named Mom at his age. She's finally home, and he had that weird dream, and…

"Happy birthday, Roxas," she says, kissing the top of his head softly and putting her hands on his shoulders. He looks up and she smiles at him. "Now, let's see…nope…nope…huh."

"What?"

"Well, I'm trying to see if you look any older, but you still look thirteen to me."

"Well, duh," he replies, rolling his eyes. "I still look the same as I did yesterday. And the day before…and the day before." He bats her hand away as she tries to ruffle his hair and folds his arms. "I'm the shortest boy in my class anyway. I probably still look eleven."

He knows he hasn't been able to keep the resentment out of his voice when she purses her lips slightly and says, "Your father wasn't very tall, Roxas. I'm afraid you're out of luck."

He wants to say, "Well, go back and marry someone taller," but he doesn't, because he doesn't want a different dad. He doesn't want anyone else in his life, and he's afraid she'll take that as some kind of approval. So he just shrugs and mutters, "It's not fair."

There's a beat of silence in which he worries that he hurt her, but then she perks up and says, "Come on! I have your birthday present on the table. I'm sure you're gonna love it."

He follows her and he tries not to think about all the things it could be, because he doesn't want to ruin the good mood. But it's kind of ruined anyway when she holds out a big envelope. An envelope? Unless it's money - and it isn't, he's positive - then it can't be anything interesting.

Her smile slips, so he holds out his hand and says, "Come on, can't I open it already?"

It's a letter and a picture and another envelope, with something inside that makes a funny clinking noise. He doesn't really understand why she's given him a picture of herself standing with a group of strangers, but if it's important to her…

"Who are these people?"

"This is your aunt Naminé," she says, pointing to a blonde in a white dress. She has the same blue eyes as his mother does. "She was an artist."

He notices quite a few scrapes when she moves her hand to point at a man with oddly silver-colored hair and funny aquamarine eyes, and he worries again. She doesn't notice. "This would be your…uncle Riku, I guess. He and Nami never actually married, but they would have if…they had…"

"I get it, Mom," he says quickly. He knows her sister died during the war, even though she never actually told him.

She clears her throat and pretends there aren't tears behind her quick laugh. He pretends with her. "This one is Selphie. Sweetest girl you could ever meet…she got a little too romantic on occasion, but my head was up in the clouds a lot too. The blond next to her is Tidus, and the redhead behind them is Wakka."

"Where'd they go?"

"They left the Islands almost immediately after this was taken," she says, in a funny flat tone. "Anyway, the three girls under the tree are Yuna, Rikku, and Paine - our very own celebrities. They were singers, you know."

"Who's that guy," he asks, even though he has a fairly good guess. He wants to hear the answer. He wants to be absolutely certain that the goofy-looking brunet in the funny black outfit is -

"That's your father, Sora. He was the only one who could ever call me Miss Kai and get away with it. He was…the greatest, most amazing person I've ever met. You…he looks a lot like you, doesn't he?"

"Yeah…" Suddenly the importance of this photo becomes clear. Once the New Order had moved in, all traces of the deceased fighters were wiped out. But she somehow found a picture of his father, and she isn't even keeping it for herself. "When is this, anyway? It looks so…bright. And everyone looks happy."

"Your first birthday," she tells him. "And the day before Sora got called out."

He knows not to ask if it was the last time he got called out, because he already knows it is. "Anyway…this stuff is from him. I was saving up for a mansion by the sea, but then I heard a few of Sora's things were still floating around, so I bought these instead."

The laugh isn't forced, even though the subject isn't exactly a safe one. Instead of voicing his questions, his concerns, he nods and opens the letter.

Roxas,

If you're reading this, I'm either dead, or old and we're having a laugh at how paranoid I've become. I hope it's the second, but the realist in the camp downriver (his name is Riku) said it'll most likely be the first, before he left.

So I really should probably apologize for leaving you alone with your mom. I didn't exactly have a choice, you know - I know that doesn't make up for anything, but I hope you can at least forgive me for going off to save the world and all that stuff. Trust me, after the first two times all I wanted to do was stick around and watch you grow up.

The next part is almost completely hidden by the big red CONFISCATED stamped across it, but he can pick out things like Alliance and boring and love you.

And then, of course, there's the end.

I can hear something funny. It's probably some new kind of Soldier - they always make weird noises. I feel bad for seeing them as Soldiers instead of people, even though they're ruined people who don't have a chance at restoration…but you probably don't care about that. I should wrap this

He can guess what happened.

He can see the brunet, Sora, being called away quickly. He's there as Sora brings the letter to his lips once, promising to finish once the stupid Heartless Soldiers are taken care of. He's there instead of at his mother's side when a funny-looking black keychain slides out of the smaller envelope. The flash isn't an abnormal manifestation of his usually controlled 'secret;' it's the sunlight hitting the inside of the tent as Sora opens the flap.

The darkness is his and his and Sora's, and he's thrown back into the dream from which his mother woke him - the one in which she's floating away on a small island made of white sand and he's reaching out for her, but he just can't reach.

And then he's sharp and alert when he falls onto the stained glass platform.

So much to do…so little time…

New-order Destiny Correspondence fired her. Of course they did - they had to, after they found out about the missing photo, even though they couldn't link it to her. So they're eating little six-pack powdered doughnuts from the surplus market instead of cake, and even though he feels it, he doesn't do anything. He doesn't answer the call of the Keyblade.

The Keyblade Wars aren't his business. They're over. They were over when he was six. The First War was the result of a very small political conflict. He doesn't know or care about politics; he finds it all dull and unworthy of much notice. So he ignores the pull of the Keyblade on his heart and focuses on his mother's face. She's thinner than usual, and starting to get frown lines.

Something is wrong.

And she knows he knows.

"Roxas…we're moving," she says, licking powdered sugar off her thumb. "I haven't withdrawn you from school yet, but we don't have time for that."

"They know about me, don't they?"

It's a little funny that this is his birthday present - they're going to leave tonight, he knows. She hasn't bothered to hide it from him, but it would have been stupid to make it look like they were getting ready to run.

"If they don't, they will soon. If you have anything you want to do…I suggest you do it before sunset."

So he hugs her tightly - he really doesn't care about it any more; she's his best friend and the one who gave him life, and the others at school are cretinous douchebags anyway - and leaves his last doughnut in the secret place she showed him last year. The one They used to love.

When he unlocks the door and finds his mother bleeding on the floor in front of six oddly-armored figures with weapons, he sighs and brings forth the black Keyblade in a flash of light. Within four minutes, they are all nicely dead, and he doesn't regret it. He doesn't feel any satisfaction either; it is just fact.

The charm on her own mundane keychain is lying next to a flowery Keyblade, which is rapidly disappearing. So she had her own secrets. He is not surprised. Swiftly, he picks up the star-shaped charm and attaches it. When her Keyblade changes shape and accepts him as its own, he isn't moved.

He uses his secret, the power he never told her about, and disappears into the darkness, leaving her to be found by Order patrolmen. It's only after the portal collapses that he does too, and he whispers to the night sky that he doesn't want to feel anything ever again.

"You know…I know someone who might be able to help you with that."

PART TWO

XIII

"Number XIII. Roxas. The Key of Destiny."

The untimely death of XI put him with XII, and he can't say he's broken up about it. VIII was probably a better match, element-wise, but she's so…irritating. Her strangely masculine voice grates on his ears and she is much too tall.

So the Experiment was placed in VIII's care, and good riddance to bad rubbish. At least the Experiment can keep VIII in line, and if he remembers it - or rather, she - is called Xion for three days in a row, he will thank her. Probably. Perhaps.

She looks so much like someone he can't quite remember…

But he doesn't have to worry about that. XII - Larxene, as she is called during their time off - is a very pretty girl, and he appreciates the way she swings her hips when she knows he's looking. Lack of emotion notwithstanding, he is a sixteen-year-old boy, and she likes to exploit that. Two months in and she's already got him addicted.

He doesn't mind.

She's fun and interesting and she doesn't talk about XI; but from what he can gather, the man - Marluxia - was something like a lover. He doesn't ever ask if he's a replacement, because he knows he is; but he knew that from the beginning. She's fun and interesting and she doesn't make him talk about his life before the failed Drafting.

Lady Maleficent should have been more careful in dealing with the new Keyblade Master, but that's not something he thinks about much any more. Six months in and she's already got him forgetting.

He doesn't mind.

XII

The feel of lightning coursing through his body is completely intoxicating, even now, as she's attacking him.

"We planned to leave these fools behind," she spits, eyes narrow in a perfect display of anger. "I just never thought you'd betray me."

He gives her a gentle smile and a swift death. He doesn't want pursuers. It's a pity to let all that beauty go to waste, but the Organization is falling apart and she held too tightly to the memory of XI, even subconsciously.

The Experiment (Xion, Xion, why is it so hard to remember when she's not around any more?) is gone. VIII has been killed by the Order - fortunately. And now Larxene is gone as well. He's free. Twelve months in and he's already forgotten what it was like to care.

He doesn't mind.

PART THREE

XVIII

He thinks it's fitting that today he is eighteen.

This place holds so many memories - things he remembers vividly, things he's forgotten but can now vaguely see silhouetted at the edges of his mind, people he used to know. For a moment, his 'heart' lurches, and he frowns. He doesn't have a heart - the Alliance made sure of that. He's not a Heartless Soldier either, obviously, which means he is a Nobody.

Nobodies do not feel.

So why…

It must be the memories; he is remembering what he used to feel. That must be it. Being back in Twilight Town, his hometown on the Islands…these are only memories. He doesn't need to cry, because he is not sad.

The old apartment block is abandoned. He knows which apartment is his as soon as he sees the little D-13 below the useless knocker. He doesn't need to unlock the door and if he could, he'd be sad - Kairi Featherstone had always said locking the door would keep the darkness out.

"I'm home," he calls, dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes. It's almost like he never left - of course, the standard-issue furniture is too dusty and there are still bloodstains on the baseboards. It's almost like he never left, but he did and he won't find any surprises in the kitchen.

He spends the night in his metal-framed bed, dreaming about a brunet kneeling and offering a ring. He tosses and turns as he sees the a new enemy - his old best friend, Riku, captured and used in the Ansem Project.

He wakes and doesn't remember anything except the feeling. He remembers it, but he doesn't feel it. He doesn't. He can't.

This place is harming his thought process, but he has nowhere else to go.

His first thought is a simple one: That man has the same hair color as VIII did.

His second is a bit more relevant: Is he dead?

There's a man in the back alley, leaned against a trash can. If any patrolmen come around - and they will, next week - they wouldn't see anything, because the man is frighteningly thin and his legs are touching his chest. Roxas sees this through the back window and wonders if it's really worth the trouble of searching through the trash cans and flowerpots for those little green healing orbs.

But then he thinks - why not? Because he can't give himself an acceptable answer, he leaves the apartment through the back door and is surprised to find many healing orbs in the flowerpot by the door. Hauling the man up and over his shoulder, Roxas thinks that much blood really shouldn't be on his shirt already.

The man is breathing - it's probably a good thing, unless he's some kind of spy, but the nice thing is that Roxas can kill him. So it doesn't matter after all.

The orbs take some time to work, but he already knows this and he has a book to finish.

So he sits, and reads, and waits.

VIII

"XIII?"

His heads jerks up and his eyes narrow. He knows it is pointless to pretend innocence; he is not a very good liar. He was never interested in subtlety; he much preferred search and destroy.

"Who are you," he asks.

"You're…you're serious? You don't remember me?" The man looks incredulous and Roxas is not pleased.

"Should I remember you?"

"We were in the same Organization. You and XII were nightmares. I figured you hated me enough to at least remember. It's me. VIII."

He laughs - it's a cold, sharp sound. He hasn't done it in a while, and he's out of practice. "VIII was female. Unless you had a sex change, it's very doubtful you are the same person."

"You…" The laugh he receives in return is full and sounds real, but it does not register in the man's eyes. "You thought I was a girl? How…oh, you saw me in that dress on your first day, didn't you?"

'That dress' was the only reason Roxas noticed VIII in the first place, because it showed off curves far too exaggerated to belong to a male. This man has wide hips, but they are not as wide as VIII's were.

Roxas doesn't respond.

"That was me. You just happened to catch me after the most humiliating mission I was ever assigned. You…heh. I don't know if I'm amused or totally devastated that you just didn't pay that much attention to your best friend's partner."

"That girl was not my best friend," he says stiffly. "And if you were VIII, you would not have the capacity to be devastated or amused. Why are you being so loose with your words?"

He isn't used to conversing with people any more and he doesn't know how to ask the question most prominent in his mind, so he opens conversation and hopes the man will take care of it for him.

"Well, if you were still with the Organization, you wouldn't have healed me. I'd be dead - they don't have a use for me any more. They hate traitors, as I'm sure you know. The stuff I'm telling you isn't really important, either, so…" He shrugs. "I can't exactly sit up, and you're not exactly hospitable, so I'm doing something other than move my eyes around."

Roxas doesn't acknowledge the pain he can now recognize in the man's face; he simply shrugs and waves a hand. "By all means, then, continue."

"Thanks, but I'm done."

"Suit yourself." He's curious, almost too curious, but he can't ask because he doesn't know how. So he turns back to his book, because he can be a patient person, when the need arises.

"…The name's Axel," says the man after nearly three minutes of pause. "Commit it to memory…will you?"

The almost subdued tone is…odd. But he doesn't react except to say, "Okay."

After his chapter is finished, he folds the corner up to mark his place and says, "I am Roxas."

The brilliant smile he receives is irritating, but he doesn't do as he'd planned and tell 'Axel' to leave.

It has been two weeks and Axel is still there at the apartment. Roxas has not asked him to leave, because the he can ignore the bloodstains when Axel is holding his attention, blocking the trigger for the bothersome phantom 'feeling.'

He says and does odd things he probably considers 'hilarious' every day; today, he is wearing the dress, because he wants to 'see if it still fits.' Roxas can now see the difference; Axel is not healthy, and VIII was.

He realizes he's been staring when the corners of Axel's mouth pull up slightly and he asks, "Like what you see?"

"Not particularly," he says truthfully.

He doesn't know why truth is the wrong answer. Nor does he know why he cares about giving the right answer anyway.

III

Axel has an interesting way to show his gratitude, though truthfully, Roxas doesn't understand why the redhead bothers in the first place. He can't really be happy about receiving gifts, and it isn't really a gift at all.

"You," says his companion, lowering his head for another kiss, "Are amazing."

"It's only a cloak." Axel really is being unreasonable.

"No, it's my cloak. I have no idea how you got it or where you even found it, but I missed this little baby."

"You have been here too long," he explains. "We need to hide your fire from those who might be looking - for either of us."

"Oh. Still…" Axel lingers at his lips during their third kiss, and Roxas doesn't understand why it sends a tiny flare of heat through him.

He knows something is wrong inside him when he invites Axel into his bed. He's not alerted by the invitation itself - he knows this was a long time coming - but by the spontaneity.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't walk straight for weeks," Axel promises into his ear, making something invisible flash.

"I believe that's my line," he replies, and presses his lips awkwardly to the hollow of Axel's throat. He's never had to pay attention to another's body before; Larxene usually tied him up, and he's never bothered with anyone else. He's only truly kissed Axel - and only four times.

Hands sneak down his back and the breath on his forehead is heavy. "Oh yeah? You really think that? What makes you so sure I'll let you get that position?"

He scrapes his teeth along a protruding collarbone and murmurs, "I suppose we could fight for it."

"Ha," says Axel, and his voice is unbearably shaky. Then, in an interesting display of submission, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. "I could never win."

Roxas doesn't know what to do with the confession, but Axel is still undeniably aroused and he supposes it to be an invitation as well.

It's an awkward mockery of camaraderie they share, now. Roxas doesn't know how to converse or interact with someone he is not planning to kill, and Axel doesn't know that Roxas can't understand. For all intents and purposes, they are best friends; it doesn't mean anything, as they don't bother with other people.

But he remembers hearing once that best friends tell each other everything; if that is so, then they are not truly best friends. Axel has not told him why he was left to die in the alley, and Roxas has not told him why he lives in the abandoned apartment block in the poor part of Twilight Town. They have coupled together ('fucked,' Axel always says) nine times already, but they are honestly little more than strangers who happen to live together.

When he realizes he wants that to change - he wants to know Axel - he thinks it must be nine times too many. But when he hears the seduction in the voice outside his door, he folds up the corner of his book and sets it aside anyway.

He wonders why Axel hasn't tired of their sexual arrangement. Roxas has never been a particularly submissive person, and he can't understand how anyone could enjoy that kind of thing - perpetually receiving. He hasn't pegged Axel as submissive either, but perhaps he made an error in judgment.

"You seem rather complacent about all this," he says quietly.

Axel raises an eyebrow and shoves a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. "I'll be honest here - I have no idea what you're talking about."

He sighs, irritated - no, not irritated, though his body seems to be disagreeing - with the man. It is not too terribly difficult to understand, is it? "You're disgusting," he says, eyeing the new crumbs on the table.

"What does that have to do with complacence? Seriously, Roxas, you're being weirder than usual."

"They were two completely separate thoughts," he explains tightly.

"Okay, well, what did you mean by 'complacent,' Rox?"

"It doesn't matter." He can't ask.

"You never say anything you don't need to."

There is silence for a beat, before Roxas gives him a condescending smile. "Clean this up, would you?"

If Axel can't understand something is wrong, it would be a waste of breath to ask for help. But Roxas doesn't want help - or need it, for that matter.

XVI

"Do you know why we all have the letter X in our names?"

Roxas gives Axel a hard look. He doesn't know why Axel knows exactly what to ask, but he is always a little too interested in subjects Roxas refuses to discuss.

"Yes," he says shortly. Then, for the sixteenth time that night, "Come to bed."

Axel pulls himself up slowly - one vertebra at a time, it seems, even though Roxas knows very well it doesn't work like that - and smiles at him. He recognizes it as the same condescending smile he's used on several occasions, and he does not appreciate it. He does not tell Axel, either; he wants what that smile is promising.

"Generation X," says the redhead, walking to the bed at a painfully slow pace. "I did a little digging at the library while you were out stealing grocery money from those poor, defenseless Heartless Soldiers."

"You are frightfully nonlinear," he snaps. Then, he draws a breath; he's been trying to speak like Axel and the local Islanders, and he slipped up because he wasn't calm. "Sorry. You're not making sense, is what I mean."

Axel stops completely. "You're…being stupid again."

"Yes, I know." Roxas closes his eyes. "Come to bed. Please?"

The sudden warmth atop him is comforting, and he isn't surprised because he can't be - no matter what the funny sensation in his chest says.

"You know, I still want to fuck you," he hears whispered in his ear. "I've wanted to since we were sixteen and still in the Organization."

"You haven't done much about that," he replies. He doesn't know why Axel hasn't explained this before.

"I didn't think you'd let me." There's a hand on him now, working to arouse him. "And then I didn't want to lose you. I…I love you, Roxas."

He does not open his eyes. He lies still, obedient, as Axel shows him what it's like to be on the other side of a sexual encounter. He only dares to look after it's over, and they're shaking, and the practical side of his subconscious mind is already taking note of what might hinder his movement in the morning.

It's only then, when Axel is beside him, watching expectantly, that he says it.

"I hate you."

Axel sighs and smiles a little. He doesn't bother to look sad; in fact, Roxas notes, he looks rather pleased. "I know."

VII

They're in the secret place, and Roxas very pointedly does not wonder what possessed him to bring Axel here. It makes a very strong current run through him which he doesn't understand, and he hates not understanding.

Not for the first time in the seven months they've been roommates, he thinks the redhead might have cast some kind of spell on him. He knows Lady Maleficent's armies are able to do magic, and he doesn't know where Axel was before he nearly died…

"It was Saïx."

"Pardon?" He pretends to understand why Axel takes his hand gently by obediently lacing their fingers together and continues to stare at the almost completely faded drawings on the wall of the cave.

"He's the one who tried to kill me. I'm only alive right now because he doesn't know about you. He was hunting me from the very second they realized I wasn't dead in the first place."

Roxas frowns and looks up at the redhead, who is worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "Why are you bothering to tell me, after all this time?"

"Well…this is a secret of yours, right? I thought I should reciprocate." He's presented with a teasing grin. "You probably have a lot more secrets, so I figure - I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He thinks maybe it would be a good idea to exchange stories. In another lifetime, perhaps. But he can't communicate anything very well, even now.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't really remember much."

XVII

It's an ironic turn of events and this is absolutely ridiculous, but there's nothing he can do about it. The blindfold makes sight impossible and the chains make movement impossible, and every time Axel touches him, his mind fuzzes.

He hasn't felt so helpless since he was seventeen and trapped behind virtual bars in the Order's experimental prison. Quick analyses and brute force helped him out of that situation, but in this one…

"I will kill you," he promises, "if you do not let me out of these within thirty seconds."

"Oh yeah?" It's odd to hear Axel's breath so close to his ear, odd to feel Axel pressed up against him, without having initiated - or agreed to - anything. "Well, fine, kill me. They say…" Axel rolls his hips and Roxas knows the hypersensitivity is due to his being temporarily blinded. "Curiosity killed the cat, right?"

He hears a shaky laugh and he decides to humor the doomed man on his lap. "What do you want to know?"

"Just…you."

"Pardon?"

The laugh comes back for a moment. "I just want to know you. You…you're amazing, Roxas, and if this is what it takes to finally get a chance…I'm willing to risk anything."

It's very strange, the practical part of him points out, that he's become so soft that he isn't going to kill Axel after all.

He ignores it in favor of exchanging a promise for the best orgasm he's ever experienced.

They are sitting against the odd wooden door in the secret place again - Axel says he likes it, and Roxas humors him because watching someone try to feel can be an interesting vicarious experience.

There are no tears on his face as he relates his childhood to the redhead beside him. He can remember almost nothing from that time, save for a few birthdays and a sense of disdain concerning his classmates. He doesn't even remember what his mother looked like.

Axel hisses when he explains his unknowing recruitment by the Alliance. "You practically gave your heart up?"

"I didn't know such a thing was possible," he says, looking at the wall because Axel's eyes seem a little too searching.

"But something went wrong, obviously. That's good."

He recognizes the probe. "When the Keyblade Master loses his heart, he does not become a Soldier. Lady Maleficent did not know that - it was her mistake, and my fortune." He frowns. "I mean, her bad luck, my good luck."

In times like these, it's hard to remember the cues he's given himself. It's hard to remember what he's written down and studied. These phantom feelings make it difficult to speak like Axel does, because he now has two concerns.

"So…" Axel looks at him oddly, but does not ask the question Roxas can't answer. "You became a Nobody, Xemnas swooped in and saved the day, XII corrupted you, I pretended to get killed by the Order. Why'd you leave?"

"Why did you leave," he shoots back. "Quid pro quo, remember?"

"Didn't want to deal with it any more," Axel says, shrugging. "They gave me orders I couldn't follow, and I didn't want to get killed for failing, so I disappeared."

"Orders you couldn't follow," he says. "That's ridiculous."

"Hey, they wanted me to kill you. At that point, I didn't love you or anything, but you were a tough son of a bitch and I knew I had a snowball's chance in hell. It ended up saving your life. What would you have done?"

"My duty," he responds, deciding to move the conversation along quickly because he doesn't know whether Axel's admission is a compliment or an insult. "When I left, it was out of boredom. And curiosity, I sup - I guess. I wanted to see what real life was. I was beginning to remember those things I forgot during the proc - uh, when I turned into a Nobody. I killed Larxene and spent almost one year trying to find my heart. I didn't find it, so I decided to come here. There was nowhere left to go."

"I spent a lot of time in Hollow Bastion. I told everybody my name was Reno. I got a job, working under a certified asshole, and met a few people. One of them looked a lot like you - his name was Cloud. He was kind of annoying."

"I wasn't ever supposed to involve myself in the war," he says, deciding to ignore the hypocrisy of Axel's statement. "My mom was angry when the Keyblade chose me, because it meant someone needed the Keyblade Master and the fighting was supposed to be over. I think…I think if I could, I would be glad she isn't around to see how far the world has fallen."

"You really loved her, didn't you?"

He laughs. "My only real friend was called Mom. The rest were characters in books."

"Heh." Axel puts his arm around Roxas' shoulders and he is immediately suspicious. "I really do love you, Roxas."

He tries to shrug the arm off, but he can't because of their awkward position. "No you don't. You can't."

"Oh yeah?"

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't use that ridiculous expression when you want something from me," he snarls.

"Hey, listen." The other arm swings around to cup his chin and he is suddenly weighted down by Axel himself. "Sure, I can't love you, and we both know it. But I know that if I could, I would love you. So I love you. Q." Axel shakes his shoulders a little. "E." And again. "D. Got it memorized?"

"You're an idiot," he says, though the last word is almost silent - he's shaken again.

"I can love you."

"You can not love me."

"Can, and do. So shut the fuck up, Roxas, unless you're going to stop being stupid."

"You can't love me, because…" He is frustrated, and he shouldn't be. Because "I can't love you. We can't feel. I can't love you."

Something twists inside of him, and he feels something wet at the corners of his eyes. "You can't love me, because I can't love you!"

The pain in his jaw and the back of his head is unexpected and almost unbearable. Axel is still straddling his lap, eyes narrow, and his fist is still clenched. "I can, and I do. If I have to beat it into your stupid skull, I will."

He catches Roxas' eyes and suddenly looks down, rubbing his unclenched hand on his thigh. "Or. I mean. I'll try to. Because I do."

There's something absurd about the situation, though he can't quite put his finger on it, and even though he laughs involuntarily, the wetness leaks out and runs down his cheeks. Axel wipes it away and grins, but doesn't say anything else.

XIX

The Organization doesn't appreciate traitors, and they are not afraid to fight dishonorably; he learns this intimately when VII, Saïx, puts a claymore through him from behind. Gravity pulls him, but he's still being supported by the weapon, and he laughs lightly because the situation is a little ridiculous.

"You should not have betrayed us," VII says. Roxas recognizes it as an apology; they had gotten on fairly well during his year with the Organization. He is doing the duty Axel neglected so long ago - nothing more.

"I did it anyway," he says defiantly, pretending he's not going to die in a few moments. "I'm not sorry, VII."

"You can't be." It's only because Nobodies are unnaturally durable that Roxas is having this conversation at all. VII picks up Axel's nineteenth birthday present and laughs. "Really, Roxas, have you fallen this far? I'll take this to him in your place."

"No." But he can't do anything about it.

"Because you love him," VII says mockingly, and Roxas wishes he hadn't waited. Now he'll never get to say it aloud. "He'll be very happy to hear that."

As his vision blurs and he watches VII's legs as they disappear into a swirl of darkness, Roxas thinks of Axel - it's unfortunate that the last thing Axel will hear will be the last thing Roxas thinks - the most important thing he never actually said.

Maybe it would've been kinder to leave him bleeding out in the back alley.

"Mom? Why do all the kids here have the letter X in their names?"

Ten-year-old Roxas is delighted to see his mother's gentle smile and feel her hand ruffle his hair. She is the best mother ever, no matter what the other kids and their parents say.

"It's kind of a new thing," she says. "Everybody wanted their kids to be better than them - everybody wanted to X out the war, because we all knew it was about to end. It'll make sense when you're older, but…you belong to a new generation - generation X. You kids are the kids of the future. Our bright future."

The bright future that never was.