Dial Tone

"Roxas, table four."

"Yeah, got it."

The blonde in question wiped his hands on his apron and picked the cardboard cup off the porcelain counter, wondering briefly why he needed to bring a take-away cup to a table as they were usually just handed over the counter. Pushing the small door which allowed the staff to enter kitchen open, he scanned the café.

Roxas' blue eyes landed on a booth in the corner of the quaint little shop, and he allowed himself to smirk. Sitting in the particular booth was a brunette who he'd served numerous times – so many times he'd come to suspect that they weren't coincidences. The blond ran a hand through his hair as he made his way over and smiled when he reached the booth.

"Here's your drink," he said. The brunette girl smiled as she looked up at him.

"We meet again," she grinned, green eyes humoured. God, she's pretty.

"Yeah," Roxas said, at momentary loss for words. To make up for his shitty conversational skills he smiled charmingly. The brunette seemed to take the hint and continued conversation.

"Morning classes suck, you know," she sighed, taking a sip from the cup.

Roxas quirked an eyebrow. "Morning classes? Never been to one. Are they mandatory?"

She laughed. "Only for the stupid kids," she joked, then shook her head. "I'm only going for calculus. I can't get my head around what we're doing."

Roxas smiled but didn't agree – he was doing alright in all his classes, and calculus was actually one of his better ones.

"Do you go to school around here?" he asked, nodding his head towards the window. The street outside was lined with tiny shops and cafés, the sidewalks becoming busier as the time neared 7 o'clock.

"Yes," she nodded, and pointed out the window in the general direction, "Brightcrest Academy."

Sure enough, on her blouse' breast pocket, was the school emblem – an intricately designed ivory star, entwined with vines of gold. Roxas whistled under his breath, making the brunette chuckle slightly.

"Fancy," he murmured, and she blew air out.

"I guess, but they're strict as hell."

Roxas nodded. That was pretty much common knowledge. Brightcrest, along with Orichalcum Preparatory College, were the two most prestigious schools in Twilight Town. Both private schools, it was generally understood that only the wealthiest families enrolled their kids. Scholarship-students had it particularly rough, though – they had to remain in the top 10% of the school or their scholarship would be retracted.

"Scholarship student?" Roxas asked impulsively. The girl turned to him, eyebrows high.

"Uh, yeah. Half. How'd you know?"

Roxas shrugged. "Lucky guess."

She smiled. "It's not as bad for half-scholarship kids. The lee-way's a lot more tolerable – thirty-percent."

"You must be pretty smart," Roxas chuckled.

The brunette sighed dramatically and then laughed. "Barely scraping past, actually. What about you," she continued, after taking a sip from the cup, "do you go to school around here?"

"Not really, it's on the other side of town," Roxas said. "Twilight Town High."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you work here then?"

Roxas scratched the back of his neck. "Best pay." Which was true. They allowed him to work shifts frequently and the pay accumulated quite quickly. His dad was also friends with the owner, Cid Highwind – nepotism was probably the main reason why he'd gotten the job with no experience, but he worked hard regardless.

"I hear Twilight High's pretty good."

Roxas snorted. It wasn't that she was wrong, it just felt ridiculous for someone from of the most prominent schools in the district to say it.

"I guess," he said finally, chuckling when he heard Cid call him back with the threat of cutting his shifts. The brunette winced and habitually twirled a finger through the brown locks on her shoulder.

"Sorry," she said, smiling apologetically. Roxas waved her off.

"It's fine, it's fine. He loves me, after all," he said, blue eyes gleaming.

The brunette grinned and went silent for a few moments. Then she said abruptly, "Do you want to go out sometime?"

Roxas lifted his eyebrows, but smirked lightly. "Sure," he said.

The girl smiled coyly. "Great. You know," she continued, sliding out from the booth, "I didn't actually need to sit down to wait for my coffee."

The blonde grinned. "I'd been wondering."

Roxas speculated if that invitation had only been a joke, as she offered no way of contacting him. However, as she passed him, she pushed something into his hands. It was a napkin, upon which a phone number was written in cursive penmanship.

She winked. "Call me…?"

"Roxas," the blonde supplied.

"Roxas," she repeated, and threw him a backwards wave over the shoulder as she exited the shop. Roxas half-smiled to himself and pocketed the number. But his eyes landed on a red car outside. And for a moment, red clouded his vision. Something twisted in his chest and something throbbed in his head. Everything, for a moment, felt painful.

As I thought. I really can't be happy right now.

The smiled ebbed from his face.

When he went back behind the counter, walking through Cid's routine harangue, he went into the empty backroom. He slouched back into a bench and rested his back against a locker, before burying his head in his hands.

"NA-MI-NÉ! Run faster!"

Damn.

The ache in Naminé's legs increased along with the momentum. The blonde weakly glared at her coach, Mr Strife, as she ran past. There was some kind of lead weight settling in her chest, making her vision lag sickeningly.

Wait. It's fine. Only one more lap. …Fine.

It seemed like ages to the blonde before she finally stopped running. She's retraced her course around the oval, the loop motion now familiar to her, to where she'd began running; in front of Mr Strife. Her breath was escaping in short exhales, shallow and raspy. The post-running heat circled her bones and made even the mild weather of fall seem unbearable. Nothing could cool the burning in her legs.

"Are you alright?" Mr Strife questioned as Naminé fell forward, her arms supporting the blonde on her knees as she attempted to gather breath.

The blonde nodded wordlessly and reached clumsily for her drink bottle. She downed half of it and pushed herself up into standing position, wiping a forearm across her face.

Mr Strife appraised her before looking down to his clipboard and tapping the surface with a pen. After glancing at the stopwatch around his neck and jotting something down with a pen, he said abruptly, "You've slowed down."

Dread threatened to overwhelm Naminé.

"Are… are you kidding?"

"Yes," her coach answered immediately.

"Oh."

The awkward thing was that both blondes were not jokers. It was quite difficult to make either of them laugh, and no shitty joke would ever rouse any mirth. The subsequent silence was uncomfortable.

Cloud cleared his throat. "You've improved your time by around ten seconds."

Naminé nodded.

"But it seems like it took its toll on you. You're never this tired after doing the mile run. How are you feeling?" There was genuine concern in his blue eyes.

"I feel better now," Naminé answered honestly. The burning had subsided and her breathing was pretty much back to normal, if not slightly shaky.

"…Okay. Just… make sure to drink a lot of water. Are you coming tomorrow morning?"

Wincing, Naminé remembered the History assignment she'd neglected until now. She'd probably spend tomorrow morning finishing it in the library. A lot of the time, she'd regretted applying as a scholarship student at Brightcrest Academy – her parents could probably have afforded it either way.

"Sorry sir, I can't. I'll come on Wednesday," the blonde said. The coach narrowed his eyes, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair

"Okay, fine. See you then. Good work today, Naminé."

"Bye."

On that note, her coach passed her, making quick strides to where Tidus, another track frequenter Naminé knew, was asphyxiating on the ground.

"Tidus, did you forget your inhaler?" she heard Coach Strife call. The sandy-blonde's raspy breaths seemed to answer the question for him.

Wiping at her mouth after drinking, Naminé walked from the oval and back towards the locker rooms. She shivered as a breeze rolled by. The blonde didn't know why she had continued with track for so long, since she'd begun attending the sessions a few years ago. It was practically torture from the beginning and hadn't gotten more enjoyable over the years.

She guessed she just liked the idea of being able to run far.

Plus, she was used to listening to Kairi talk about how she never did any exercise, even though the red-head had been the one to introduce her to track. Naminé could never really empathize when Kairi talked about how she would eventually become obese from never working out, and how the blonde would have to promise to roll her around and pay for her liposuction when she needed it, to which the blonde would passionately disagree. Naminé smiled as she remembered her auburn-haired friend's melodramatic jokes. But recently Kairi had joined the swimming team, so those jokes were pretty much just for laughs.

No one really used the school showers, which Naminé found weird. They were big, clean and, not that she really needed it then, they could generate hot water. She'd spent almost 5 minutes in the shower just standing still, focusing all her attention on the feeling on the water trickling down her skin.

The blonde quickly towel dried her hair and ran her fingers through the blonde tresses. She finished pulling her white school blouse over her arms and buttoned it up, fingers fumbling as she tried to do it quickly. The initial shock from the cold shower had subsided into warmth.

As she glanced in the mirror, her mouth twitched into a frown as she glanced at her chest. Not that she was flat chested, but being surrounded by much more well-endowed girls dampened her spirit a tiny bit – especially Kairi, who she was best friends with, and who had inherited gorgeous features from her parents in addition. Naminé absent-mindedly pulled at her bottom lip as she surveyed her face. A gray-blue eyed girl stared back at her, mirroring Naminé's look of dissatisfaction.

Sometimes she wondered if she was too thin, too gangly. She neglected her appearance – the blonde didn't really care about it. And consequently, as the lack of treatment payed to her exterior accumulated over the year, Naminé wasn't the best dresser or most sociable person, and small things like that took baseball bats and stabbed at her self-esteem, even when she tried to ignore it.

But the blonde batted away the thoughts. She ran her hands down the front of her skirt in a sad attempt to flatten in, and finished rolling the long navy socks up her thin calves and pulling on her black shoes.

By then, most had arrived at school. Some of the noise from the congested street was reaching Naminé's ears, and when she glanced outside over the pitch, she could see much of the student body trekking over the grounds towards the main campus. Muffled conversation also began to crescendo as the students filled the hallways and walkpaths.

In her head, Naminé counted off all the assignments she had to get done. At the same time, she sighed and shouldered her bag, walking out from the locker rooms as some sophomores entered.

Sometimes the world felt suffocating.

Roxas turned the napkin over and over in his hands. The train had travelled smoothly for most of the ride, but they were reaching the old, worn-out section of the tracks and the carriage jolted frequently.

Outside the window, the town's famous sunset illuminated the sky and the ocean as far as Roxas' eyes could see. The water was alight in hues of red and orange, looking more like some fiery liquid ready to scald anyone who entered. The sun was blindingly bright and he shielded his eyes as the passed, thankfully turning a few metres later.

No matter how much Roxas deliberated upon calling the girl, he couldn't muster enough enthusiasm to. Sure, they'd probably been flirting for a while and Roxas honestly did like her, but nothing even slightly reminiscent of happiness filled him.

'Roxas, just forget about this. I'll be fine. Don't let it get to you.'

Bullshit.

Like he couldn't let it get to him. Not when the silence that surrounded him prodded and scratched when he sat at night, waiting for a call. Not when there was no one to receive the brunt of his shitty mood. Not when there was no one who could tolerate him and his fucked up personality, as Seifer had so eloquently put it.

And certainly not when everything was basked in shades of fiery vermillion. The whole town was alight, burning, and the perpetrator was nowhere to be seen.

Roxas sighed and once again shoved the napkin into his pocket, closing his eyes.

Even the inside of his eyelids were red.

School had passed by without Roxas' notice. It was the same thing over and over. Get to the classroom. Listen to some guy blather on and on about something, eat lunch, go to class, hope Seifer gets run over, go home. Boring.

Roxas didn't really know what to do. School, even though he was already a Junior and had one year left before graduating, wasn't really entertaining. His other close friend, Xion, had been away, and the only company he had were guys who treated him warily and girls who either got too close or kept their distance. There was no friend anywhere in between.

A brief thought of his skateboard at home, laying dejectedly underneath his bed, flitter through his mind. He hadn't been to the skate park in ages, he wasn't sure why – maybe he subconsciously found it boring without company – but he felt the impulsive need to skate. He wanted that weird sense of freedom he got when the world flashed past and the only solid thing was him, while everything else was a blur.

Roxas' blue eyes opened again. They were a dark, greenish-blue shade, stormy like the relentless currents of the ocean. He surveyed the clock tower out the opposite window, illuminated by the sun behind him. The famous landmark rose prominently into the sky and its clock face announced that it was half past three.

He'd probably be on time for work. The blonde sighed restlessly. This matter couldn't be ignored; it was as pervasive as ever. But he was tired of it.

So Roxas tipped down the front of his baseball hat and closed his eyes, enjoying the oppressive blackness that engulfed him.

"I'm serious!" Kairi laughed over the phone. Naminé grinned. Kairi had spent the past fifteen minutes relaying to her what had happened when she and Sora, her boyfriend, had gone to the movies after school. Kairi had apparently got hit on and, while Sora could get angry, he just wasn't a scary or violent person –consequently, his attempts to ward off the suitors had mostly failed.

"They didn't go away until I asked them to myself," Kairi sighed. "But he's so adorable! He spent, like, fifteen minutes sulking over it."

"Yeah," Naminé agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes, "Cute."

"Oh shut up. It really was."

Kairi's boyfriend, Sora, was a charming brunette with a calm and sunny disposition. He attended Orichalcum Preparatory College which was, incidentally, Brightcrest' rival school. Kairi jokingly liked to entertain herself with thoughts of how their relationship was like that of star-crossed lovers, and in routine, Naminé would exasperatedly reiterate that the rivalry pertained mostly to sporting events and would casually remark that the lovers both died in the end anyway.

On the few occasions that Naminé had met the brunet, she could tell why Kairi liked him. He seemed like an honest, caring person who just happened to be handsome and cute at the same time. The two had also been friends from an earlier age, so technically Kairi had had a head start anyway. Through her meetings with both Sora and Kairi, Sora coming to meet them on an increasing basis, Naminé had also briefly met Sora's beautiful friend Riku; Naminé didn't know how she had come to know such attractive people, but found it hard to believe that the two boys and Kairi weren't as shallow and conceited as she would have expected them to be, judging purely from looks. They were all surprisingly down-to-earth.

Naminé and Kairi had been friends since their freshman years. The two had been classmates from earlier, but hadn't officially met until around the beginning of high school where they had been assigned partners for an English assignment. The two had collaborated surprisingly well, and Naminé found Kairi to be patient and hardworking, and also pleasantly funny – she was one of the few people Naminé knew who could make her laugh until there was an aching in her ribs. Kairi had also seemed glad to have been put in partnership with the blonde, and both had continued meeting even after their assignment had been completed. From then on, their friendship had just tightened.

Where Naminé was quiet, Kairi was outgoing. Where Naminé was reserved, Kairi was funny. Where Naminé was creative, Kairi was innovative and efficient. They complemented each other.

Of course, there were times when Naminé envied her friend. Where Naminé was at loss for words, Kairi was witty. Where Naminé was bad with relationships, particularly boys, Kairi knew what to say and how to act.

But the blonde refused to let this get to her.

"I have to go," Kairi said, "I have that Chem thing to finish. I really can't wait ' til we graduate, you know?"

"Yeah," Naminé agreed noncommittally. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye! And don't forget to –"

Kairi's voice cut off. Naminé looked bemusedly at her phone. Kairi had a habit of hanging up just before it sounded like she was going to say something interesting.

The thing was, Naminé didn't really want to graduate. Graduating meant choices. It meant university. Both of which Naminé wasn't keen on. She didn't want to learn about art, strictly speaking. She just wanted to do it. Probably the least objectionable place was an art college. Other than that… she didn't want to have to go to another school.

But her parents, her mother a business woman and her father a lawyer, offered criticism to this. While they weren't exactly stopping her, their blatant denouncements and condescension of the art branch were all she heard whenever she mentioned the topic. Because Naminé was a 'capable student', or whatever the hell they called her, she should pick something that benefitted the world.

Not doing something that benefitted the world was selfish, or so they made it sound.

And Naminé didn't really listen sometimes. She just wanted to do what she wanted. And she knew she was being selfish, but she didn't really care anymore. It wasn't as if she was tearing down walls and buildings. She just wanted to go to an art college.

She just wanted to be selfish.

Naminé went to place the phone on her desk when its screen suddenly illuminated and she felt the mobile vibrate. Only once, which meant she'd received a text.

Unlocking her phone, Naminé's eyes scanned the short text.

'Hey, it's Roxas.'

She raised an eyebrow. She didn't know any Roxas. Probably a wrong number.

'Wrong number. Sorry.'

She sighed as she set the phone down. She rest her chin in her palm for a moment, before shuffling the papers on the book in front of her and returning to finishing her assignment.

Boring. It's all boring.

'Wrong number. Sorry.'

Roxas frowned at the terse reply. That was the thing with texts. He couldn't tell if it was actually the person or not. Was it actually the girl? And for the first time Roxas realised he didn't know her name. He swore as he threw the napkin onto the desk, watching it flutter with a slight frown.

Maybe it was the brunette from the coffee shop. Maybe she'd only given him a number to humour him. Maybe this was her way of telling him to back off. Maybe she'd actually forgotten his name. Maybe she'd written the wrong number.

Thoughts raced around his mind. However, Roxas failed to wholly believe any of them. While he wasn't really conceited, Roxas could say with conviction that he was attractive. Or at least, attractive enough. Enough to get double turns. Enough to be slightly ostracized at school because apparently if you weren't butt-ugly you were crazy about yourself. So Roxas directed his thoughts from another perspective.

Maybe this was a sign. Maybe this was him being told that he deserved to be drowned in turmoil, because he'd taken Axel's advice, he'd agreed to let loose and try and forget, and it had failed him. All he'd garnered was disappointment. He buried his face in his hands and rested his elbows on the desk in front of him.

I hate this. I really do.

He sighed into his hands.

Okay. I get it. Whatever.

He pushed himself out from the chair and fell into his bed. Roxas' blue eyes stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't really looking forward to sleep, because he knew all it did was rest him up for another shitty day. He'd just close his eyes and when he opened them, it would be the morning, waiting patiently with folded hands for him to redo this mundane routine all over again.

A/N: This story is taking over the previous Dial Tone. Sorry to anyone who watched or favorited or commented on that story, but you would have ultimately been disappointed - it was going nowhere. I've written out the main plotline for this one, so at least I kind of have an idea of what will go on.

This one's also less humorous, so again, I apologize to anyone who preferred that. But this one, I hope, will be better.