A/N: This is what happens when smooth jazz takes you on a magical ride at two a.m. Horrors untold up until now.
Disclaimer: Major suck, indescribable badness, much fluff. Axel/Roxas thingymajiger because clearly I don't own them or this series or even any sticky notes, sadly.
For vinesse. Seriously? Check her stuff out, like wowzers.
The first thing you do when you get home is slam the door shut and tiredly press your back against it. With a deep sigh, you run your fingers through your messy golden locks and let the pounding in your head subside.
It's quiet. Unusually quiet. You slip open an azure eye and examine the living room, noting that, for once, it is tidy. The apartment is lacking its typical hammering of music and clutter of wrappers, making the small space appear almost empty. Even more empty from the room is scarlet hair and a welcoming grin, their usual spot on the couch vacant and cold. Curious, you step further into the area and drop your bag on the floor.
"Axel," you call, your voice echoing off the sloppy blue walls, "I'm home!"
No reply. It's strange for him to not be home, and even stranger that your home is clean. Your eyes scan the room until you see it – a small pink heart sitting innocently on the stair's landing. And then a green one on the first step… and then a yellow on the next, and then purple then orange until the surface of the steps are out of sight.
You crouch down and pick up the purple heart, automatically recognizing it as that chalky candy you never really liked. "Luv me". You scoff. What has this madman done now?
You proceed to collect the sweet hearts as you ascend the stairs, once in a while sparing a glance at the ever-eloquent messages of "Call me", "XOXO", and your personal favorite "So fine".
The trail leads all the way into your bedroom where it curves into your dresser and gathers in the formation of – what do you know – a heart. In the center of the colorful shape is a festive sticky note with neat cursive letters scribbled across the page and a drawing of a case in the corner.
You take it from its designated place of honor and quickly read the message.
Unlikely pairs overcome the mundane,
Much alike yin and a brass-coated yang.
Games are for fun and for skills to improve,
My solo has ended, and now it's your move.
A smile tugs at your lips. A game, huh? It's a blatantly obvious hint, so you know exactly what you're looking for and why.
. . .
Band was for geeks, and you certainly were not a geek. You didn't come close to being a parent's perfect poster child; no, you preferred to enjoy the subtleties of life, and joining a marching mob of thumb-twiddling, metal-blowing losers was not at all a subtle pleasure. That's not to say that you didn't like instrumental music, or even instruments themselves.
In fact, the violin was your favorite.
Smooth surface, rich sound, the feel of a bow's whiskers gliding across strings – the violin was an elegant instrument, one that you could easily find yourself lost in. One that your parents used as a basis argument that there was still hope for you to be a good kid, which in your opinion proved nothing, but was apparently enough of a reason to sign you up for a summer session of band camp.
That was how you would spend two weeks of your entire summer, shuffling along with asthmatic outcasts in scalding heat to play hot cross buns a thousand times over, engaging in awkward conversations and worst of all wearing a uniform.
It was a nauseating thought. Though when you settled into your quarters and went to the first session of practice, you realized that maybe it was only just a thought. You had decided it was true when you met a middle school girl with a lovely voice to match her outstanding piano recital as soon as you entered, and learned later that her name was Xion. She became your first friend at camp.
There were others, like Riku who would quietly strum his guitar along with Kairi's clarinet, Aqua who would hit the most indescribably satisfying high notes on her flute, and Sora who would also play the fiddle "like you", but you still deny that they are the same thing.
It was entertaining to say the least, to play among the various instruments and hear their sounds blend and harmonize and become a single unit of sound, and surprisingly not one musician was a mediocre, sniveling geek like you had suspected.
It wasn't until a few days in and you had free time that you met the one who would show you up like no other. You and Xion were playing a simple tune together that you learned at the last session, pointing out notes and running through some of the sections as the other musicians practiced their own songs. When you started an impromptu scatter of notes to Xion's generic tune, you heard a distinct, obtrusive, metallic echo from behind you.
Thinking it was only coincidence, you began another series of notes only to hear it echo once again from a different source than your own violin. You turned to see a boy, who looked a little older than you, with bright scarlet hair, irritating leer, and golden saxophone at the ready, his sea-green eyes playful and expectant.
Slowly, you begin moving your bow again as you let your muse decide what sounds emitted, starting in sharp and plucking into a more complex tune, to which the red-head responded with his own onslaught of notes, quick and rich and competitive.
By now Xion had stopped playing to observe silently your small, heated exchange of melodies just like everyone else, tough you hardly noticed. The only thing on your mind was a smug saxophonist and beating him at his own game. And by the time your heated brawl had exhausted itself, you felt you had.
Maybe it was because of that reason that you and Axel had engaged in several more improvisational battles which led to friendly study and duet sessions, and by the end of two weeks, an exchange of phone numbers.
. . .
You shuffle through layers of clothes and junk in your closet, feeling around for the leather cases that you know are buried deep within the tiers of long-collecting items. Finally, you find the hard cover of a worn case and you pull it out, setting it on your bed. Inside is a smooth spruce instrument, a sticky note gently lain atop its slender neck, a bench drawn in the corner.
Blue as the sea and as sweet as the sky,
The flavors amass till a bitter goodbye.
Through seasonal weather and days full of glee,
There was never a time which couldn't please me.
. . .
Every Friday after school was when Xion, Axel, and you ate ice cream in the park.
During the summer you three had unlimited time to explore the city and each other, but once August began coloring the leaves in hues of red and orange, separate schools and large workloads intruded on your previously inconsistent schedules.
You continued to chat on the phone or through IM but outings became difficult to regulate. So, a weekly event was planned for all three of you to enjoy. Every time was something different, but every time it began with ordering three sea-salt flavored ice cream bars from the ice cream truck that usually stopped by the park after school let out. You would sit on the same bench in front of a pond and watch the clouds, idly discussing the week's happenings and feeding the gathering sparrows before either disbanding or finding something new to do.
Often times you had music sessions together, reciting songs learned in camp and practicing your impromptu performances. Most of these sessions ended with curling up for a movie or mindless gossip but the important part was that you were together.
Maybe it was male bonding or something, but you found yourself hanging out more with Axel than Xion beyond your ice cream outings. Entire weekends were spent at each other's houses, days full of instrumental duets and video games and laughter. You had never had a friend quite like him, never knew that you could have so much fun with these two and all the others from camp – some from your own school – that you still kept in contact with.
Maybe you were all band geeks all along, or maybe the clouds finally cleared and you could really let the sun light the world up for you. Either way, the one thing in life you had looked forward to the most was Friday evenings and sea salt ice cream.
. . .
It didn't take long to drive down to the old park, and even less time to locate that same bench sitting by the pond. Ignoring the passersby, you got down on your knees and peeked under the wooden seat to find another sticky note.
You easily pulled it free from the gum-covered surroundings, and like the others, this paper was decorated with neat writing and a quick sketch, this time a little tree doodled in the corner.
Midnight's stroke ends all gamblers' luck.
That's why gifts must be brought before dusk.
Sticks and stones may break one's bones but something else is true:
Figurative speech should stay as it is for the alternate meaning of falling for you.
. . .
It had never occurred to you that having a second-story bedroom could be somehow detrimental to your best friend's health.
You had mostly enjoyed the view over the city and the fact that you were able to decorate it with all your favorite band posters, but this revelation came quickly and unexpectedly on a cool spring night, one in which you typically kept your window closed.
A tap interrupted you from your video game, but after a few seconds of silence you return to the game. Another tap, then another, and finally you got up in frustration, searching for the source of the noise. You locate it coming from your window when a louder thunk slams into the glass, and you hurriedly look out onto the yard, a grin growing on your face before you open the panes to lean over the window sill.
"Oh, good," Axel laughed, dropping the pile of pebbles held in his hand, "I was about to throw my shoe next."
You hummed in acknowledgement, leaning onto one hand as you checked the time with the other.
"So what brings you to my place of residence at eleven thirty at night?" you cooed derisively down at the figure on your lawn, knuckles digging into your cheek.
Instead of replying, Axel clambered over to the tree outside your window and began to climb. You almost laughed at his efforts as he cautiously and slowly inched across a branch and stumbled onto the small patch of roof under your window. Panting, he clutched to the pane with damp hands and gave a nervous grin.
"You could have just asked me to let down my hair, sweet prince of mine."
"Yeah, you've got enough here for the both of us," Axel ruffles your hair and you spare a protesting grunt. "I came to wish you a happy birthday."
You raise an amused brow. "It's not even my birthday yet, idiot."
Axel shrugged, flashing a grin. "In twenty three minutes it will be."
You rolled your eyes and stepped back, gesturing a hand to the rest of the room. "Get inside, you're letting all the cold air in."
He shook his head, suspicious leer still in place. "Nope, I'm afraid I can't. I just came by to give you your gift." He paused, letting you take a moment to demand for the present.
"C'mere."
You leaned against the sill, elbows bumping Axel's while you waited for whatever it was that he had. And then something entirely unexpected happened – your vision became a blur of tan and red and your breath hitched at the feeling of warm lips pressed against yours.
In retrospect, you really couldn't be blamed. Being a natural born hockey player, your instincts were sharp and automatic, which proved to be disadvantageous in this situation. A surprised yelp caught in your throat and you leaped back from the assailant while shoving his shoulders away. Unfortunately for him, the only away was into the open air and straight down.
Fortunately for him, however, he got away with only just a sprain that night, after whining all the way you drove him to the emergency room. It was on a sterile white bed in a musky hospital room that you celebrated the first minutes of your seventeenth birthday, and on that bed that you decidedly might not have minded that first kiss, and that you might have initiated a second.
. . .
As suspected, a note is stuck to the aged tree in front of your former home. You're thankful the new home owners hadn't seen it. You observe the white house and out-of-date roof encasing your old bedroom window before taking the note and returning to your car.
We're all like sand in so many ways.
There's a thousand takes on the same basic phrase.
Existentialist mindsets are all about why;
How, who, and when –
Where am I?
. . .
"Why are we here?" you mumbled almost to yourself, drawing a stick figure in the sand with your index finger.
Axel gave you an inquiring look which you ignored instead to watch Xion and Namine surf on the tide.
"I mean, why are we here at all? Why is anything here?" you elaborated, swiping your picture into an indistinguishable mess before starting over. A sigh came from beside you and a hand slithered onto the crook of your neck, making you hum softly.
"Stop thinking about it too much, you'll only make your head hurt."
You didn't reply to this, figuring it probably was true. But you really did wonder a lot about these kinds of things, the philosophical aspects of life. It was your last year of high school and you still didn't even know what you wanted to do for a living, how you wanted to spend the rest of your days.
"You graduate college the year after next, yeah?" you turned back towards Axel, his sunglasses blocking his eyes but you knew he was looking at you.
"Yeah."
"Well, what are you going to do when you get out?"
He thought for a minute as cries of laughter and roars of crashing waves sounded from the shore.
"I dunno," he says finally, and you left it at that. Until some time later, he spoke again.
"Do you want to move in with me?"
You blinked in surprise at the offhand question, your drawing long ended.
"Sure, why not."
It was probably a far more casual conversation than it should have been, but it didn't matter because it was a promise that wasn't going to be broken. It ended with Axel kissing you softly on the cheek and you racing him to the ocean, and you hadn't thought much about your existential worries after that day.
. . .
Living on the beach is convenient and luxurious, and it's also a quick drive to that sandy white site from just last year. You aren't entirely sure where you could find another note, but once you approach the water, an unmistakable heap of red notifies you that you don't have to search for one.
Sea-green eyes and a familiar grin greet you from under a palm tree's shadow.
"Soo," you drawl with hands stuffed in your pockets as you come to a stop in front of Axel, "was there a particular reason for this whole cat and mouse chase?"
He just keeps grinning at you.
"Valentine's day."
…What?
"What?"
"It's Valentine's day, and you're my valentine," he says like you asked what two plus two was.
You gawk at him for a few moments before breaking down in laughter. "Oh my god, I can't believe this. You went through all of this for a commercial holiday? You are such a dork."
Axel mock-frowns and ruffles your hair, "Hey, look who's talking mister went-to-band-camp-three-years-in-a-row. Besides, nothing wrong with mixing things up a little every once in a while. We're even now for the bar incident."
You chuckle under his hold, slapping his hand away so you could wrap your arms around his neck.
"Thank you Axel, seriously. It was quite the nostalgia trip."
He bobs his head side to side in a half-hearted agreement. "Ehh, I got tired of writing bad poems about half way in, so I hope three was enough to refresh your memory of me enough so that I'm not completely booted out of your mind when the sudden onslaught of finals cram your mind's capacity; we all know how limited that is-ow!"
You pinch his shoulder, scowl in place at his innate ability to always ruin a good moment.
He hums humorously, leaning down to place a light peck on your lips.
You sigh happily, chest soaring and the smell of the wind and ocean and Axel filling your senses.
"Happy Valentine's day."
A/N:So endings aren't really my thing but you know what if you read it then I pity and love you. Drop a review or something to let me know how much of a waste of time this was aaand with that I'm out.
Happy valentines day!