Rainy Days
So, lately it's been incredibly fucking cold here in Twilight Town. My teeth are constantly chattering, my hands shaking, and I'm pretty sure my nose is red from the stinging weather. And what makes it worse, is that just last week, it was like, 75 degrees every day, not a cloud in sight. Girls were even starting to wear their tiny little booty shorts to school again. Except then it started raining like hell, thunder and lightning included, and I was—am not pleased.
Anyway, right now I'm in the school bathroom, grooving out to disgusting Pitbull, warming my hands up under that hand dryer thing that shoots out hot air to dry your hands. Well, that beautiful creation is seriously the only reason I'm in here right now. My friends (what friends?) are probably looking for me right now, but I couldn't really give a fuck. My hands are warm and that is all that matters.
And then this guy—no, this kid walks into the bathroom and he can't be more than thirteen. He has this funky blond hair that swoops oddly perfectly, if that makes any sense. It's like, spiky, but he has bangs, and layers everywhere and I didn't know hair could exist like that. But then I remember my own hair and I realize it doesn't really matter. Well, anyway, he also has these gorgeous blue eyes that look like they could see right into your soul! I could probably just stare into them forever, if he wasn't staring at me like I was a total freak.
He gave me some well-practiced elevator eyes, and I felt strangely violated by the action. His blue, blue eyes travel from my two black tattoos under my eyes, down to my fantastic manly combat boots, and then slowly drag back up to gaze into my green. Then he starts shuffling over to, I assume, go do his business, so I decide it's probably best to look away. Bathroom manners, I guess?
I think for about thirty seconds, I was perfectly content here in the bathroom, actually. I'm keeping my hands warm, listening to horrible mainstream music, not really giving a shit about anything, really. And then, as if the heavens had discovered my perfect, pure contentedness (is that a word?), they decided I needed some...not contentedness, and freezing cold droplets of water hit me in the face.
I whip around, probably fast enough to give me whiplash, while ripping my ear buds out of my ears, ready to pummel my attacker. Turns out, it's that blond kid, and I narrow my eyes at him. He's holding his hands out in front of his stomach, and they're dripping with water. Or at least I hope that's water. But anyway, he gives me this look like I'm a total dumb ass, and I kind of want to punch his pretty little face in. I look away from him then, and start to put my ear buds back in.
"Ahem," he says then, not even trying to make it sound remotely like a cough or a throat-clear or whatever 'ahem' is supposed to be in English onomatopoeias. So I turn my face back to him with my eyebrows raised high enough on my forehead that I probably have those ugly forehead wrinkles.
"Can I help you?" I say, obviously knowing what he wants, but I obviously don't want to give it to him. He squints his eyes at me, probably thinking I'm a (totally attractive) jerk-ish upperclassman. Then he flicks his fingers at my face, and I'm splattered with ice cold water all over again and I send this glare at him that would scare most freshmen off.
But he is not scared off, he just stands there with an expectant, bored look on his face as he gets ready to splash me again.
"Jeez, chill kid. It's all yours." I move away from my sanctuary, otherwise known as the hand-blow-dryer, and shove them in my pockets, hoping to retain some of the warmth. It doesn't really work. He smiles a little, a smug smile and I lean back on the wall while I stare at his hands enviously and wait for him to finish up. He looks up at me.
"What's your name?" That shocks me a little, because most people don't really try to initiate conversation with me, considering I have this giant mop of hair that's so spiky that it looks like I could stab someone with it, small slanted green eyes, and tattoos on my face, and I blink before realizing that it would probably be best to answer the guy. I smirk.
"Axel. Got it memorized?" When I pull out my stupid catch phrase he sort of twitches and the corners of his mouth curl up.
"Sorry, what? I forgot already." He says this with a tiny smile on his face, his hands probably dry by now, but he's taking his sweet time under my machine. I falter a little bit when he retorts sarcastically, because this innocent little boy that can't be more than thirteen did not just use sarcasm with me, eleventh grader Axel Samoas. "I'm Roxas," he says, and all I can think of is if I were typing his name into a computer, Microsoft Word would want to change his name to Roxanne.
"Roxas," I try it out, the name rolling off my tongue with ease, "nice to meet you, squirt." I stick my hand out at him, feeling strangely friendly, and he grabs it and gives it a small shake. His hand is pleasantly warm, and I don't want him to ever let go. He grins and pulls his hand away, then walks out of the bathroom without another word.
I don't see him again till the next week, and the weather is still as bad as it was before. This time though, I was prepared and wore gloves, a scarf, and knee-high socks. It's a little much, considering it's actually only 40 degrees outside, but me, ever the pyro, I need full gear to handle the killer cold of winter.
I'm standing in front of my locker, trying to remember what the fuck class I had next and what the hell I needed from my locker for it, when this group of freshmen start laughing loudly like a bunch of monkeys. I really want to turn around and give them an evil stare that will hopefully scare them forever, but I don't, and I applaud my self-restraint. I'm still staring into my locker when the laughter gets closer and closer, and then all of a sudden there's a bang and my locker is slammed shut.
I blink like an idiot for a second, debating whether or not to open it up again to get what I need, or lock it up right then and there. But then I hear some quiet cursing, and I look down and see Roxas, standing with his hands pressed to his forehead and scowling. I turn the other way, and I see the group of laughing freshmen still walking, leaving Roxas in the dust with his aching head and I don't know whether to laugh or to feel sorry for him.
He looks up at me and his cheeks instantly redden, and he moves his hands to try to cover more of his face. I raise an eyebrow.
"Hey Rox. Long time no see. How's your head?" I say, somewhat sarcastically. He just grunts and gives his forehead one final rub and then pulls his hands away from his face, a bruise already forming.
"Can you drive?"
"Um, yeah, why?"
"Let's go out."
I make a perplexed face at him then, because once again, this is totally defying the normal freshmen-upperclassmen relationship thing that my school has. Also, I'm pretty sure that school isn't over yet, and we would get in trouble for ditching...which is totally something I would care about. I keep staring at him with my eyebrows all scrunched up and my lips pursed and he's just staring right back at me, like it's the most normal thing in the world for a freshmen to ask a junior out (is he even really asking me out?), for a freshman to ask a junior to ditch class, and we have only talked once, in the bathroom, for about thirty seconds.
"Are you crazy? We still have seventh."
"Are you stupid? We don't have sevenths." And then I realize that yeah, school's already over, and that's why I can't think of whatever I needed from my locker. It's only in the back of my mind that I think, 'how does he know I don't have a seventh?' I mumble a small 'oh' at him and lock up my locker, and he sends me the hugest smile I have ever seen. I also vaguely wonder about his friends that had clearly just ditched him, not even caring about the bump that would be on his forehead fairly soon.
I shrug and drape my arm around his shoulders, putting my other hand in my pocket, and lead him to the school parking lot that held my beautiful, giant 2009 Toyota Tundra Crewmax. I unlock the doors, the car's headlights blinking and greeting me happily. Or at least if cars had emotions, then it would be happy. You know. We climb in and I start the car, instantly turning on the radio and blasting some Panic! At the Disco.
I turn to him and say, "Where to?"
He hums a little bit, puts his finger on his chin in thought, then looks at me with this hopeful little gleam in his eyes and says, "Your place?" I blink and shrug, before pulling out of the lot and driving down to my giant house on Sunset Drive, the most uncreative street name in all of Twilight Town. Once we get to my street, he stops asking me weird questions (actually they're totally normal, like what my favorite color is, but this whole thing is so random that I can't help but think they're weird) and he gapes and the giant houses that are flying by his windows.
"You live here?" he says, amazed, the shock clearly evident in his voice. He puts his hand on the window and I can't help but smile at his adorable childish-ness.
"Yep," I say as I pull into my driveway, unroll my window and type in 08013 into the keypad to get the giant gate to open up for me, "welcome to my humble abode." He looks totally stunned by my leviathan of a house, which is actually only one story, but really long, with windows everywhere, and a front yard that rivals the Versailles garden. Actually that's probably an exaggeration, but whatever.
When I unlock the door, I'm greeted by the pleasant artificial warmth and the nice smell of vanilla that my house always has, and I quickly strip off my coat, shoes, scarf and gloves, leaving me in a t-shirt and jeans. I hear Roxas close the door and soon he's also only in a t-shirt and jeans. I turn to grin at him, but then he jumps on me, wraps his arms around my shoulders and presses his cold lips against mine.
TBC! Maybe. This was actually going to be a oneshot but I got lazy. Maybe if I get reviews, I can turn it into a two/threeshot? Or maybe a full blown chapter fic? Heheh.
R&R!