Warning: Contains mentions of violence and cutting. Don't read if you're squeamish.
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It's dark, even as the sunrise approaches.
It doesn't matter why it's broken, if it can't be fixed.
A new day. It doesn't matter though. When has it ever? All it will bring is more pain.
Dreams, so many dreams, of keys and worlds, fire, running up a skyscraper in a dark city.
He laughs, a broken, hollow sound as he stares at the wall blankly.
It's all so wrong, he wants to go downthe stupid, fucking building, not up.
Help, it says, in a dark, staining red. Small trails of it have run down the wall, but have long dried over and ceased to move.
What would it be like? To fall, and never look back, crumple against the ground, tiny ant, insignificant.
It doesn't fucking matter anymore. He's not here, maybe he didn't even exist. He used to have hope, but now it's gone, withered away with the events still playing in his head of the day before.
No Sora, things will never be the same on your dinky little island. Kairi is suffering trauma, Riku is manic-fucking-depressive and you're all too fucking mature for your age.
It was his birthday yesterday. The slivers of red cresting the hills are proof that the joyous day of his birth is long over.
Did they even notice he wasn't there? He had heard them, heard singing, but he had long run away from their drunken voices, mixing up all the words.
What was so special about celebrating one's birth? To him it was just a grim reminder of how many years he had suffered.
Nobody would miss me, because there's no one fucking there.
Waiting. Waiting for eighteen fucking years for that useless bastard.
Let's meet again, in the next life. I'll be waiting.
It's too late now. I hate you, he wants to scream, but he's not there to hear it.
Last night he'd run upstairs, gift clutched in hand. He couldn't remember who the fuck had given it to him, and had spent a long time simply staring at it.
Cuts, still sore and bleeding, litter his arms. He didn't even do half of them, though some twisted part of him wishes he could say that he did them all. Smirk with pride and claim all the credit for them. They'll heal eventually, but they'll leave scars behind.
Blood, so much blood, in between harsh blows from the drunk looming above him.
After it was over he had laughed, hysterical. He had painted the help on the wall, giggling the entire time like a little kid with a fucking crayon.
Idly he watches. Little trails fall, run down the wall like tears. Does his blood cry? Or is it the wall?
He was worthless, a Nobody. It had felt so good, so nice to finally punish himself. He was scared at first, wouldn't anyone be, but the more he cut the easier it was.
Pain, so much pain. It doesn't matter. He deserves it, the little wretch. He knows he does. His father says so, so it must be true.
He watches the blood run down his arms, drip, dripping onto the floor. Pretty red, but it hurts so much. He was red, he was fire. He grins as the first light of dawn reflects off the little blade in front of him, red beading at the edge.
Fire. Pretty and red, but it never burned him, no matter how close he got to the flames. He never let it burn him, not even when they fought.
He sighs. He doesn't feel like punishing himself anymore right now. He just feels like sleeping, dead to the world, letting everything pass by, so he does, simply lying down on the floor. It's cold, but oh well. He'd better get used to it.
Dreams again, more dreams, this time of greengreen eyes and a promise. It doesn't fucking matter anymore, he's not coming. He kept his end of the deal, he waited for eighteen years, but he never turned up.
He wakes, and sighs. It's only been a few hours since he went to sleep. He's not going to wait much longer, but he just feels so drained. He can't be bothered to do anything right now, and vaguely wonders where everyone else is. Fuck them, they don't care. He doesn't bother doing anything to cover up his arms as he gets up to wander through the house.
They fought, they loved, they lost. We're best friends, right?
Everyone is still here from yesterday, and most of them are awake. They don't say anything, just stare at his arms. He can't tell what their expressions are, but he doesn't care. He hasn't cared for a long, long time. Then he walks into the living room, and he's stood there, hands on hips, back turned on him.
No one would miss me. That's not true, I would.
He can only see his back, but there's no one else it can be. Red, red hair, and if he were to turn around, he would see those green eyes that haunted his dreams. He gasps, and he hears, turns around, but it's too late, and he's already turned around and started running.
You can't turn your back on the organization. They'll destroy you.
He's following, shouting after him, but he ignores the desperate shouts. They're just part of his imagination, he's sure, out of a desperation born of so many years of waiting. He runs, until his heartbeat has drowned out the cries and he's sure that he's gotten away.
You really don't remember. It's me, Ax-.
He lets himself fall to his knees. Tears drip down his face, but he doesn't care. It can't be-
Axel.
It just can't be.
We were best friends, right?
It can't be. But who else could be holding him, wiping away his tears and muttering soothing nothings into his hair? "Axel?"
Roxas, number XIII. The Keyblade's Chosen One.
He smiles, soft and gentle, though there's sadness in his eyes. "I'm here. Sorry it took me so long."
See you, partner.
"I hate you!" He attacks, lunging at the redhead and trying to hit him, crying harder than before. Axel easily restrains him, holding him close. Roxas tires quickly and allows this boy to hold him; the one who he waited for his whole life, the one who he insisted he hated.
The one who he loves more than anything in this world.
See you, Axel.
"I love you, Roxas."
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Author's Note: Wow. I can't believe I wrote this, and I apologize if it doesn't make sense in any parts. Anyway, I've been working on this for a while, experimenting with writing in a different style. I finished it just today because I'm struggling with Genesis, but I promise that I will never put Genesis on hiatus, nor will I ever take it down. Anyway, this came from two of Tokio Hotel's songs; On The Edge, and a very small part of By Your Side. It's late now, so I'm not going to waste anymore space here.