Two men living with each other wasn't anything unusual. A young man whom was very nearly an adult adamantly refusing a bath, however, was very peculiar.

"My duck." Axel demanded, the fury in his voice as violent as his hair colour.

"I didn't know," an exasperated Roxas whined. The incessant squeaks had just been too much, and it had just been such a long day. When Axel had left, he had thrown it away. Away, in the dark damp garbage behind their apartment that reeked of ancient scraps. There was no way Roxas would dumpster dive- in something that reeked of decaying meat and was covered in gooey sea salt ice cream sticks- for an annoying squeaking duck.

"I have had Señor Squeakorz since I was a … a … a.. well, since I found him on the side of the road. I took him in, I cleaned him, I raised him to be awesome. AND YOU THREW HIM AWAY?", the fire and intensity grew with every word.

Roxas was starting to panic. He recalled what a battle with Axel was like, and didn't wish to incur that kind of wrath again. He knew he had to appease him, or else he would suffer some third degree burns, or be kept up all night with his endless whining.

Roxas sighed. He knew it was a long shot, but he knew it was his only chance.

"Is there any chance I could be your rubber duck?"

Axel stared blankly for a moment.

"I... guess your hair is the right colour. Do you squeak?", Axel questioned.

"I can if you do it right.", Roxas said with a vehement blush and downward glance.

"Okay then." And without another word, Axel grabbed Roxas's hand and splashed into the bath.