A/N: This was begging to be written. I blame the awe-inspiring band Vampire Weekend, as well as Love, Robot. I was just thinking about how much I adore drabbles, and that I ought to write more. And, yeah, Akuroku is nice too. I only used them because I couldn't think of any other pairing, and I'm fresh out of ideas for crack-pairings. Except for CloudXemnas, and...that's just too odd for words. Even I am not quite ready to transcend that sort of madness. Ready, ready? Set. GO.

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

Axel/Roxas

you criticize the pracitce by murdering their plants,

ignoring all the history and denying them romance

I. chatterbox

He talked too much.

Strings of words winding around the air (it's too open, it's too free, where's my cage?) and falling in a pile at his feet, sticking themselves underneath his sneakers. SlickFastEasy words being used and abused (you talk like you're waiting for something) and thrown at him like cheap flowers. Like it actually matters. Like he expects something.

"You're an idiot."

Tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, eyes glazed over with irritation and possibly submission. He's sitting upside down with his hair dragging on the good carpeting, probably shedding hair all over it (you're kind of like the dog I never wanted, you know?), probably going to drop on his head in a minute. And talking. Spewing words and obscenities and the occasional proverb until it all registers with a thunk, and he screws up his face and counters, "But I'm your idiot."

And he smiles, just like that—(like it never quite happened, like I wasn't ever mean to you, you're so—god, just forget it) — and you sigh.

Talking with Axel makes your head hurt in a way that pains and aches but also elevates you.

II. gotta have you

Once upon a time, there was a time when you weren't together (not stuck or somehow connected, yeah, doesn't that seem weird? Can't think of it being like that now.) and you were the Quiet Boy and Axel was the Loud Boy across the street who went to your school and sometimes teased you in the hallway. The two of you didn't collide until junior high, when they start teaching you about hormones and unnecessary things. Stupid things.

Or, at least you thought they were stupid. Boys didn't interest you. Girls didn't interest you. You really didn't see the difference between them—one cried a lot and the other didn't (or maybe guys do cry a lot, and no one ever sees them. Or maybe their tears are invisible?) and they didn't ever mix unless they were having Hormonal Urges, which could be anything, really. Could be holding hands. A kiss on the cheek. Sharing drinks. Hugging each other. Except these were signs of love, or the common "like-like" employed by giggling grade-school children.

You were content, up until eighth grade. A bit isolated, but by choice. A wordy sort of boy. Not talkative, but someone who had countless streams of letters rotating in his skull and begging to be let out. You were just waiting for the right moment.

The Right Moment came and died the day Axel jogged up to you as you turned in the school corridor, trying desperately to make it to class on time. You told him to move, and he did; downwards lips screwed up like he knew what he should do, but couldn't quite get it right, colliding on the bridge of your nose.

Not so much of a proper first kiss as a, "Hey, um, I just hit your nose….with my mouth."

Axel sputtered and turned redder then his hair and ended up blurting, "That's what you get!" He turned on his heel and fled, and you stood there, fingers pressed to your nose.

(You're too cute for your own good.)

III. friendly competition

Axel was allowed to date other people, and you were fine with that. Not like it mattered. Not like you were his—mate or something.

("boyfriend" sounds too weird to be voice aloud.)

He saw this girl, this one girl named something like Kairi or Namine or Selphie, or something hopelessly boring. She was a nice girl, a pretty girl, and made polite conversation with you. She would say hello to you at school, waving her hand in that small, tinkly, girly wave that made you want to snap her fingers off. "Hi, Roxas!"

(It's not that I hate her, that's not what I'm saying. I just severely dislike her. And yeah, sometimes I dream about shaving her bald but that's irrelevant.)

And then they broke up, her crying on the shoulders of her girl squad in the cafeteria, blubbering about, "How'm I supposed to compete with a boy?"

You smirked as you went past her, fingers curling around Axel's bony wrist.

IV. mind reader

He infuriated you as much he became the cause of your adoration, as much as he made you want to slam his head against the wall and cause bruises to pop like goosebumps on his skin. He was too cocky, too stupid, too loud. You were too apathetic, too smart, too quiet. Neither of you ever really got around to saying much. Just shrugs and nods and shakes of the head and sometimes calm fingers pressed to veins, an unspoken "I already knew that." You couldn't finish each other sentences or guess what each other might be thinking (the subjects were too wide. Yours switched from books to small scales of violent acts committed to Axel's person, to films, and to slightly-less violent acts committed to Axel's person. Axel moved from cars to you to food, back to cars, and then back to food).

"You just don't act like a couple." Sora said, bemused. "You guys act like you can't even stand each other."

You raised your eyes to meet Axel's, and he grinned.

Shows how much he knows.

I thought Sky-boy was supposed to be smart?

Apparently not.

(You're all those words rattling around in my mind, did you know that? I bet you didn't.)

V. baby, it's a fact

Axel decided one day that you loved him. Without your permission, or any prior warning—just those three little words sitting out there, naked for your mind to comprehend.

You gaped at him for a few moments, before he said decisively, "It's impossible to ignore."

"Or," he said, thoughtfully (and this is big, this is really big, because Axel's a lot of things, but a philosopher he is not), "I love your existence. I love the embodiment of you." And surely, he was out of words, but he grinned at you and said, "Oh, and you love me too. It's as simple as that."

VI. vertigo

"When I see you," you explained seriously to him, "I experience vertigo. An acute dizziness of the mind and body. You make me feel dizzy and silly and somewhat stupid. I'd ask you to stop, but for that to happen, you'd probably have to be taken off of the face of the earth. I'd welcome it, but I also think I'd miss you quite terribly."

He laughed. " I love it when you talk nerdy to me."

VII. [in]security blanket

"What if this isn't right?"

"Suppose, maybe, I'm not the right person?"

"What if you love me, and I can't help it, so I love you back?"

"What if you grow old and I grow old, but we aren't allowed to die together?"

"What if we are allowed, but we don't want to?"

"Suppose we lie to each other so much that we don't want to see each other. We're aren't anything anymore…just shreds of what used to be?"

"What if I start to hate you?"

(What if you hate me first?)

"What are you going to do, Axel, if all that happens?"

"Well." Slow breathing. "I'm going to love you." A nod of certainty. "And then we can go from there."

VIII. etiquette

He's pissed, he's pissed, oh god is he pissed; eyebrows draw down, eyes turned to slits, veins bulging in his temples. You swallow dryly and croak, "Don't be mad?"

"Ha." He snarls, turning the wheel around. He scowls in the rearview mirror. "Don't think so, buddy. Not this time."

You squirmed behind him, twisting your toes inside of your sneakers. Shot a look at Hayner, who was flat-out asleep against the window, drool leaking out onto the ledge. There was a small, swollen shape on his jaw line, the origins of which were Axel's fist. He'd probably ask you about it in the morning; finger it tenderly and groggily ask as to what had happened. You would lie, say you didn't know. But you would know and Axel would know and Hayner wouldn't, but would feel like he'd done something not-so-polite.

You looked out at the streetlights and muttered, "Sorry."

Axel sneered. "Yeah, I bet you are."

But I am, I mean it this time, I am, I am, believe me. "Screw you."

IX. broken social scene

You were not a fighter. You could throw a few punches and sometimes they landed, but you weren't a destroying beast. Sure, you could win a fight, but it depended on the person. Hayner, Sora, Pence, yes. Riku, sometimes. Seifer, never.

You knew it was coming. Sitting there out in the hall, feet pulled up to your chest. Could even hear the footsteps. Could see their breath, the vowels and consonants being twisted up to form your death sentence.

"Smear the queer."

Hands grabbing at your shirt and pushing you against the wall in the boys' bathroom, teeth clamping down on lips (I can't scream, girls scream, I'm a man and I endure.) so hard blood leaks from the skin. Being shaken, nonsensical threats. "You queer, you faggot, you fairy, what're you looking at, huh? You looking at us? You checkin' us out, you little queer? Huh? Huh?"

Shoulders slapping the cement wall, again and again and again, your head touching the floor, bruises on the left side of your scalp, a swollen eye, that's going to be a shiner for sure. And then,

"OUT."

Thin hands pulling you up, kicking away the bullies, the monsters, the bad dreams. Threatening them with, "I'm going to count to three. You better be gone by the time I get to one. I know your names, you scumbags."

Running feet (but this time, away from you, thank god), Axel swearing under his breath and apologizing (what for? You can take a hit.), tracing the size of your bruises, your blackened eye. He kisses your forehead, props you up in his lap and administers the butterfly bandages; it's almost like he knew this would happen. How come you didn't know? You should've expected it. Should've known. Athletes are supposed to be straight.

Axel tilts your head up and says gruffly, "I don't care. I'm still your fag."

There's a two-second thought of He shouldn't say that, it's so offensive to If we make it our own, does it still hurt us? to Does he hate me for this?

And you know, you are absolutely positive that Axel likes you when he kneels down on the dirty bathroom floor and shows you how to make a proper first.

X. supporting cast

"Do you think we get a happy ending?" you asked, eyes scanning the sunset. It looked too nice to be real. No wonder it was on a billboard.

He shrugged. "This isn't a movie, Rox. And even if it is, you can bet anything that we're not the leading actors."

"That's sad."

"A lot of things are sad. You leaving is sad. My grades are sad. Sora's sad."

Raised eyebrows. "Why on earth is Sora sad?"

"…Because he's not as cool as you are?"

You laughed, voice wobbling with the pitch. "You're ridiculous."

"No." Axel said, eyes growing flat. "I'm imaginary."

You blink, confused (you're real, you're real—you are the sum of my parts, the missing equation, the fill-in-the-blank), and then it's over. You're waking up alone in a place you can't name ("He's awake! I repeat, Roxas Strife is awake! Call his family. What do you mean, you can't find the number? Find it! Now!"), struggling to breath and about to cry or scream or maybe both. You gasp once and vomit over the side of your bed, mouth quivering as the sentences you never said released themselves into a red bucket.

A/N: This was fun. Think of it as a present for all you Pure Sunshine readers who were kind enough to review.