A/N: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. Also, before you get keen on correcting my many grammatical 'errors', allow me to point out that I have written them in as such on purpose, along with the emphasized repetitiveness and chop.
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His frame seemed so delicate, so soft and childlike. Maybe that was why nobody ventured near him, in fear of breaking this pretty boy made of china. No, the pretty china boy was just teeming with relentless wrath. This wrath, the Flurry of Dancing Flames vowed, would be soothed.
Roxas was what the Superior called the pretty china boy. Or Number Thirteen, the Key of Destiny. Known to the others as the scary new kid who could wield not one, but two Keyblades.
His appearance eerily echoes that of his Somebody, Sora.
Known to the others as the bratty pipsqueak who could wield a Keyblade quite efficiently.
He wore the same gentle features, smooth yet startlingly prominent. His expression was fixed in that similar determination as his counterpart, his lighter, blonder hair just as spiky, his jaw set and those azure eyes as captivating as ever.
Too bad Axel never knew who his Somebody was.
Maybe he eerily echoes that person as well.
---
Number Eight sat next to the pretty china boy today.
What a shame.
The pretty china boy never talked back.
He only smiled.
His sad porcelain smile, so easily breakable.
---
Number Eight sat next to the pretty china boy today.
He asks why the pretty china boy's smile is so sad.
The pretty china boy smiles again.
The same sad porcelain smile.
He says that he doesn't know.
---
Number Eight sat next to the pretty china boy today.
This time, the pretty china boy talks.
He talks of a dream he had the previous night.
The chills it gave him.
He asks Number Eight if he ever had a dream.
He tells the pretty china boy that he doesn't know.
---
Number Eight sat next to the pretty china boy today.
The pretty china boy still ponders on his dreams.
Number Eight wonders if that is why his smile is so sad.
He asks.
The pretty china boy shakes his head.
He still doesn't know.
---
Number Eight sat next to the pretty china boy today.
The pretty china boy smiles when he sees Number Eight.
That same sad porcelain smile.
He asks why Number Eight always sits by him.
Number Eight says he doesn't know.
---
The pretty china boy sat next to Number Eight today.
Number Eight questions the pretty china boy.
He asks why he is here.
The pretty china boy smiles again.
It is not so sad, yet still made of that breakable porcelain.
---
Number Eight and the pretty china boy, they act as brothers.
Maybe even more.
Now, the pretty china boy's smile is no longer sad.
His porcelain smile sparkles, even in the darkest depths of his heart.
---
Number Eight sat next to his pretty china boy today.
His pretty china boy talks of the adventures in his dreams.
He talks of leaving the Organization.
This worries Number Eight.
Never would he want to lose his pretty china boy.
---
Number Eight talked with his pretty china boy again.
His pretty china boy wants to leave.
Number Eight grows furious, outraged at the thought.
He burns his pretty china boy.
He apologizes to his pretty china boy.
His pretty china boy isn't listening.
He only says he is sick of never knowing.
---
Number Eight hasn't talked with his pretty china boy in a long time.
He sat with his pretty china boy.
The pretty china boy doesn't sit with him.
He says he has other things to do.
And he's gone.
Number Eight lost his pretty china boy.
---
His pretty china boy came back today.
Number Eight asks where he has been.
His pretty china boy smiles.
This smile is neither happy nor sad.
Just a porcelain smile.
Fake. Empty.
He says that he knows.
Number Eight presses him on.
His pretty china boy clarifies.
He says that he knows he wants to leave.
For sure.
Number Eight asks why.
'Was it something I did?'
His pretty china boy smiles once more.
His sad porcelain smile.
'No, Axel.
It's not you.
It's me.'
---
That pretty china boy is naught but a figment in Axel's memories now, long faded from his foremost existence in Axel's life.
To Axel, that pretty china boy wasn't just anybody lost in his memoirs. He was the pretty china boy that lurked in his shadow, stalked his every footstep. Late at night, his haunting face would swim before Axel's eyes as he drifted off to sleep and sometimes, he could even recall that chilling yet most exhilarating skin-on-skin touch he had known all too well. Every now and then, he'd remember how to trace the outline of that pretty china boy just right, or how he preferred kisses on the forehead than the cheek, sea-salt ice cream over candies, or that soft snore Axel had heard often as that pretty china boy lay fast asleep in his arms. The seemingly petty things Axel memorized.
And that lead Axel to wonder whether that pretty china boy had ever felt the same as he did. If he ever cared to think of the sacrifices he had made for that pretty china boy, if he ever was aware of the immense pain Axel had gone through, if he ever knew what that pretty china boy meant to him.
Yet, that pretty china boy did treasure his memories of Axel. Every time his sad porcelain smile would fail him, or when he couldn't quite remember the shape of Number Eight's crooked smile, or when he yearned to be whole, all he needed to do was to trace that small scar on his hand, etched into his skin in the form of a heart, he swore, and Axel's pretty china boy would find his way home.