Wisps of smoke and fire envelop my skin, lick at every crevice.
The burns will hurt later but I can't feel anything other than your touch.
Your name echoes in my head like a song.
Axel. Axel. Axel…
Roxas sat up in bed, gasping, clutching at the burn marks that must surely be present. He ran a clammy hand through his hair, listening to the annoying birds outside his window. "Shut up," he mumbled with no conviction.
Another dream of the stupid redhead with the too-tight leather pants. Roxas shook his head slowly. Always screaming his name by the end of the dream, but never remembering it when he awoke with a yell.
He scooted over to the edge of the bed and slid on some jeans. As he buttoned them, another "memory" burned its way into his consciousness.
Your fingers stumble as you undo the button with haste. "Ahhh—"
He shook his head with fervor, willing it all to go away. Finally gathering the energy to get off the bed, he made his way over to his dresser. Pulled on a white button up shirt.
Buttons flying everywhere, we can't get the clothes off fast enough—
Roxas let out an angry cry, throwing down the comb in his hand. What was the use?
Finally making it out of the room without much more incident, he slammed his door shut. In his haste he forgot to lock the door behind him. Naminé was waiting outside, a small clutch in her hands. Roxas examined every inch of her porcelain skin, the ruffles in her black dress. Each strand of perfect blonde hair.
"What?" She asked, not quite annoyed, but amused.
"You look beautiful," Roxas said, swallowing the lump in his throat. I just got done with a dream where I did questionable things with a man, and now I'm going out with my girlfriend. Does this make me bisexual?
"Thanks. You look pretty spiffy yourself," she murmured, running a hand over his cheek. She placed a small kiss on his forehead. "Are you ready?" He nodded and took her hand. They made their way over to the elevator.
The doors opened. The shaft was devoid of any life if you didn't look closely, but Roxas noticed a man standing in the very back corner of the elevator. His black trousers hung loosely at the hip, overlapped by a white button-up not so different from Roxas's. His red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail.
Naminé choked, a cry—of what? Roxas wondered—forcing its way out of her throat. The man cleared his throat, and Roxas finally looked at his face.
"Look at me," he gasped. I looked into his piercing green eyes and went over the edge, my eyes nearly rolling back into my head—
"You," Roxas spluttered.
