Author's Note: This was originally written as a submission for a deviantart Halloween contest back in 2011 (hence the dates at the top of each chapter). I limited myself to 500 words and that was supposed to be it for this idea. Instead, it blossomed into a full-out novella of 40K-ish words. Because that's apparently just how I roll. No one beta read the vast majority of this, so please excuse any errors (I did several revisions, so it should be relatively solid in that regard). I'll also try to keep the author notes succinct (exception: the epilogue).
Reviews: I love them, particularly for this fic, as it's the one nearest and dearest to my heart at present. If you enjoyed reading this story, please let me know. Who knows? It might just encourage me to write others.
Rating: Overall, M for mature themes, including but not limited to sexual situations and memories of suicide, self-injury and sexual abuse. Not that every chapter will have this content in it, but expect it to increase as the story moves along. If you are not of legal age to be reading content like this in your country of residence, go find another, more legal hobby (not that I can stop you, but...).
Credit: Days of the weeks lyrics are from a fortune-telling song entitled "Monday's Child," author unknown. I shamelessly reworked them for the epilogue chapter. I lay no claim or ownership right to the Square Enix and Disney Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy games, or their respective characters. I'm only using their names and likeness for enjoyment, not financial gain.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday's child is fair of face...
He couldn't say why he'd been so willing to go home with someone he didn't know.
More accurately, Axel didn't want to acknowledge it.
He hated Halloween and everything this day entailed. He hated the memories. He hated himself for remembering.
The sex had been rough, impersonal, and by the time they had finished, Axel was spent in both the physical and emotional sense.
He'd left the older man sleeping, uninterested in the prospect of conversation or commitment come sunrise.
The night air was brisk, yet people were still out celebrating. For a moment, Axel just watched, willing himself to become numb, yet enjoying the bite of a chill breeze against his exposed face and neck.
The right side of his neck. A flash of spiked blond hair.
If he'd stopped to think about it, he'd remember the other man's groping hands and the way he bit with rough abandon at his neck, his stomach, his thighs. Axel wasn't that far gone on the scotch, the vodka, the tequila not to recall.
The thoughts were pushed aside as Axel caught a glimpse of blond in the distance, looking back at him with wide, blue eyes.
He was dressed like a vampire, a tailored suit and cape attached.
Plastic fangs probably completed the look, although Axel couldn't see from this distance.
The boy's name caught in his throat.
He found himself stumbling, clumsily, toward the crowd. Roxas. The name was like a mantra, calm and soothing in his mind.
Roxas. Roxas, Roxas.
It took a moment for Axel to realize that the familiar voice in his mind wasn't his own. And by the time he arrived at the spot at Town Square's center, the blond was gone.
He was losing it, and tonight of all nights. Axel's expression hardened, and he turned heel to go. From the dim light of a nearby tavern, a few women called out to him, their voices teasing, welcoming.
All he could think of was Roxas, the bathroom, the blood.
His dreams were fitful that night. Although he didn't wake from them, Axel tossed and turned. He even saw Roxas before him, still in costume, confident and carefree in death as he never had been in life.
And his features remained beautiful as ever.
"I miss you," he'd cried out once, but Roxas had merely smiled, his eyeteeth glinting from the nearby light of a streetlamp, and an index finger placed playfully over his lips. "Shh," the blond whispered. "Soon now. Soon."
His kiss had been tender, a stark contrast to Axel's earlier foray. It had dropped from lips, to jaw, to neck. That was where it lingered, Roxas' breath cool against Axel's feverish skin.
A sudden pain had awakened him, shot him straight up into sitting position in his bed, hand clasping his burning neck.
A dream, Axel had consoled himself. It was only a dream.
But his fingers were covered in blood, and it didn't take long to locate the two even punctures on the left side of his throat.