Title: While Our Blood's Still Young
Author: unwinding fantasy
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts doesn't belong to me.
Rating: T for language.
Pairing: Axel x Roxas
The lightning-lit night before his inspection, Roxas narrowly avoided jabbing out his eyeball with an umbrella spoke as he stumbled up to his apartment block, fuelled only by the urge for clothes that didn't feel like they'd been holidaying in Canada in November. This psychotic weather, see-sawing between bone-breaking cold snaps and torrential downpours, was taking no prisoners, giving him the perfect excuse to ignore what was probably the second overdue rent notice poking out of the letterbox. He wasn't looking forward to cleaning his tumbledown apartment, the only place he could kind of afford in the city, but he was sick of being pelted by raindrops that felt more like coconuts so he'd take the slave labour, thanks.
It hadn't been what he'd expected when he'd uprooted from his sleepy seaside village in favour of the big smoke, starry eyed with the promise of fame and, cha-ching, fortune. The plan had seemed straightforward: do some demos, find a producer, have his deceptively chipper tenor tones echoing from every department store, iPod and car radio in the country. He imagined catching snatches of his music from the mouths of people shrouded in anonymity: a shared commune, a meeting of minds, and goddamn if having his song reach obnoxious proportions due to overexposure didn't sound like a fucking dream come true. That had been the plan at least. Everything is simple in the honeyed warmth of daydreams. He hadn't realised he was trading free food and accommodation along with his college fund for pushing coffees at Starbucks eight hours a day, trying hard not to commit mass murder every time some dipshit decided to write a retarded name on the cup (there were no real Jon Snows; it wasn't funny the first time and it certainly wasn't the seventh). His songwriting slowly ebbed away, a casualty of the Daily Grind, his guitar practice going the same way, and he stopped singing anywhere that wasn't the shower. He would've given that up too but the warmth was good for his vocal chords and the small confines did wonders for his vibrato, turned it full-bodied, resonant, the stuff of old world cathedrals. When nothing else was satisfying, he always had early morning Bohemian Rhapsody's. Sure, it pissed off his upstairs neighbours but whenever they mustered the guts to confront Roxas about it, the blonde ignored their persistent knocking at his front door and sang all the louder.
Singing for an audience of lemon meringue pie-smelling shampoo and disgruntled neighbours wasn't going to pay the bills though. He'd had exactly one disastrous meeting with a producer, who'd criticised everything from his lyrics to his appearance, slamming Roxas as "too short and too gay". Roxas had wanted to point out there was no such thing as "too gay" - you either were or you weren't - but he'd held his tongue, quietly seething as he tried to slam the door on his way out only to be foiled by one of those impact dampeners. He'd almost given up. It wasn't like there was anything keeping him in the city except his own pride. Not like there was anything except Roxas, a quitter? He'd sooner shave all his hair, eyebrows included.
Wind-spun and saturated, he swore colourfully as he fumbled for the right key, convinced the weather gods were playing some almighty practical joke by prolonging his exposure to the elements by just that much longer. It was with a deranged sort of triumph that he finally staggered into the stairwell, pulling his inside-out umbrella through after him with a vicious twist. He kicked the door closed and tossed the wrecked umbrella beneath the staircase, resolving to dump it on his way to work tomorrow. That made four in as many weeks. Roxas totally did not have the funds for this perverted cycle of deaths. He frowned and conceded Hayner was probably right; he should invest in a raincoat. The only reason he hadn't already was because the current styles dropped down to his shins and made him look all of twelve.
Developmental challenges aside, he took a deep breath to savour the moment he'd survived a cyclone, and unlocked his apartment. A steaming hot shower was sounding nice right about now. Maybe some of that caramel choc chip tea his sister had gifted last visit. He flicked the light switch as he wriggled out of his sodden Vans, wondering if it was possible to develop gangrene in such a short period of time or at the very least some nasty foot fungus.
Huh. Pitch dark. He tried the light again. Still nothing.
Are. You. Fucking. KIDDING. He checked the other lights plus the television for good measure all with the same result. Roxas raged for a grand total of ten seconds before he thought to extricate his phone, switching on the torch function to inspect the fuse box. It was probably just a power surge. He had to drag a chair from the kitchen so he could see the damn thing where it was mounted on the wall beside the entrance. Yanking off his socks – his mum always told him wearing slippery socks on the wooden surface was flirting with danger - he finally reached eye level. All the switches read ON, Impact font, the mocking letters probably put there by asshole weather gods still joking at his expense. Roxas' heart dropped.
It was hard not to punch something. There was the night wasted drinking with Hayner and his e-tard buddies after the blonde had bugged him incessantly about going out with them, and the subsequent clubbing they'd strong-armed him into because now that he was a city slicker, enjoying the nightlife was mandatory. There was the guy with the terrible Hawaiian shirt who'd hit on him while he'd been morosely sucking down sours and the attempted sloppy kiss, which had earned the guy a swollen lip and Roxas what felt like a broken hand. And then there was the double shift he'd pulled after Hayner called in "sick", the prick, and that was the last time Roxas did anything to appease that co-worker slash friend. People were definitely overrated. Somehow, Roxas convinced himself violence was not the answer (mostly because his hand still ached like a bitch), deciding that a more productive course would be ascertaining whether he was indeed the sole target of some otherworldly prank. He braved the minefield of clothes, vinyls and discarded shoes that was his lounge room, wondering how he was going to clean in the dark while gingerly manoeuvring to the windows to peer down the street. Black, black and more black. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was at a goth convention.
I'll call the landlord. He was dialling the number when he realised the power company was a more direct route and he was halfway through that number when his phone carked it, merrily flashing the spinning wheel of doom as it powered off. "Really?" Roxas deadpanned into the darkened room.
Before he could contemplate further action, something caught his attention. He squinted and pushed aside the curtain, taking a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He'd thought every house was suffering the same condition but… There. A dim glow from the apartment next door. Roxas' eyes slid shut and his mind began rifling through the various faces of the neighbours he'd half-noticed in his four months here. He was pretty sure that apartment belonged to the smiley blonde with the mullet. Hm. He seems friendly enough, even if his hairstyle's a relic. Maybe I'll go ask if he's heard anything about this.
Making a brief pit stop for fresh clothes, Roxas slipped into his shoes again, suppressing a shudder at the chill, and pulled his hood up. After waiting a few moments for the rain to let up (it didn't), he made a break for it. The buildings were cramped together in the city, which had the disconcerting effect of making him feel like his neighbours were breathing down the back of his neck every time he took a piss, but now he was grateful for the limited distance, meaning he was exposed to the elements for only a handful of seconds before skidding to a stop in the entryway of the apartment that hopefully housed the blonde. He almost wussed out. Ordinarily, Roxas liked keeping to himself, would never entertain fancies of gatecrashing somebody's home, but the exceptional circumstances ultimately propelled him to knock on the door of Apartment 8, 45 Sunset Drive, Daybreak Town. He waited for a small eternity, trying to avoid the leaky downpipe that left water pooling across half the entryway. Footsteps. Indistinguishable words bubbled behind the door, which was promptly flung open.
"—keys again?"
Roxas blinked. This was definitely not who he'd anticipated. Maybe his calculations were wrong: maybe the mullet guy lived elsewhere? But no, Roxas was sure he'd gotten that part right at least. He was also sure he'd never seen this person in his life though. The slashes of tattoos beneath his eyes coupled with the sunburst of red hair razoring out behind him, almost an obscenity in this weather, was unforgettable. A veritable army of earrings trekked haphazardly along the guy's left ear, each metal ring twinkling in the strange light. "Uh," Roxas said, the epitome of perfectly articulated thoughts as he stared like he'd had a blunt or twelve.
The guy echoed his blink. "Hiya."
"Sorry," Roxas rushed, "Wrong place." He spun away, face heating with mortification.
A hand curled around his wrist. Something in the touch set Roxas' heart pounding, probably the concept of the guy being a contender for Felon of the Century because while Roxas didn't exactly hang solely with sugar and spice types, this guy was something else. He would've been intimidating enough to make Roxas run for his life if not for the flannelette pyjamas he was decked out in, decorated with clownfish and cut off halfway up his shins, making him look like he was prepared for a flood. The redhead gently pulled him back and said, "Sorry, didn't mean to be a jerk. You're just not who I expected, is all. Need a hand with something?"
"I…" Again with the aborted sentences. Had he reverted to actual toddler now? This sinking suspicion was not helped by the fact that the guy was taller than Roxas. Much taller. Roxas shook his head, noticed the way the guy's mouth quirked. Roxas managed to say, "I was wondering if you knew anything about this outage. I tried calling the power company but my phone kinda died so…" He wished his cheeks would stop going supernova already so he could affect a slightly less embarrassing appearance.
"You and me both, man. But hey, my housemate should be back soon and he might have more luck. Wanna wait for him?" The redhead relinquished his hold on Roxas' wrist like he was making it obvious Roxas had complete freedom of choice, fully pulling back the door to allow the soft light (How?) to wash over them before adding, "And because it's weird otherwise: Axel."
Roxas licked his lips. Should he be concerned that he hadn't really noticed this Axel guy had been holding onto him for longer than was necessary? It was the eyes, Roxas reasoned. The green was electric, something that whispered absinthe, made him feel like he was tumbling down a rabbit hole. "Only if you don't mind," Roxas found himself saying, already tugging off his shoes. Axel just smiled and led him inside.
Being in somebody's apartment is a highly personal experience. With such limited space, people don't hold onto things that don't matter. The sitar beside the television that had a PS4 rigged up to it, the half full ashtray by the windowsill, the CD collection that rivalled Roxas', it all drew the blonde's attention but nothing more than the reason this apartment had light: candles upon candles upon candles, on the bookshelf, the coffee table, the window ledges, even a few nestled in the odd drawer or two. As Axel closed the door and Roxas pushed back his hood, the rain suddenly became muted against the unearthly glow, the entire scene soft, perfect for curling up on the couch in your pyjamas with a mug of hot chocolate, extra marshmallows. That looked exactly like what Axel had been doing, Roxas deduced from the sweet smelling beverage on the coffee table, steam undulating enticingly through the air. Immediately, he realised he hadn't eaten or drank in hours thanks to the Starbucks shifts from hell and his stomach complained loudly. Roxas grimaced.
If Axel heard, he paid no particular attention, instead choosing to indicate Roxas should get comfy. "Can I get you anything? Food, dry clothes, hot shower?" He followed Roxas' gaze and added, "Hot chocolate? The stove's gas so I can heat up some milk if you like."
"Sure," Roxas agreed, tummy burbling in anticipation. Even if he hadn't been hungry he would've said yes for something to occupy the time. He watched Axel potter around the kitchen, opening seemingly random cupboards and extricating all the required utensils and ingredients. All the while, pinpricks creeped up Roxas' neck as his awkwardness rose, the disjointed sensation that comes with being in a stranger's home. Before the silence could turn defeaning, "I don't think I've seen you before," Roxas offered.
"Yeah, I only moved in the other week. My old housemate abandoned me for domesticity with his girlfriend of a whole month. I can't afford the rent on my own so Demyx suggested I crash here for a bit." Axel waved the wooden spoon around like an extension of himself, punctuating every other word with a jab.
Roxas thought of Hayner jumping ship. "That blows. Your friend ditching you, I mean."
Axel held his hand over the heating milk to gauge the temperature. "Yeah, well, at least the crappiness of Vanitas is offset by the awesomeness of Dem. How long have you been here?"
"Couple of months. Moved from Twilight Town."
Axel whistled lowly. "Must be a culture shock, coming here."
Roxas gave a carefully casual shrug. "It's okay. Not like I had a choice anyway. My hometown is pretty small. Not much room for a music career."
Axel tipped the steaming milk into a black mug that gradually lit up with a Phantom of the Opera mask, stirred through the chocolate powder and handed it over to the blonde before settling on the couch beside him. His green gaze was unsettling in the candlelight. Intense. Roxas wondered if it was the norm for this guy. "Are you in a band or something?" Axel asked.
The blonde blew on the beverage, enjoying the warmth seeping into his bruised hand. "Nah, I'm better at flying solo."
"Not a people person, huh." Axel smiled to take the sting out of the words.
Roxas sipped his milk, suppressing a wince as he felt the skin get stripped from the roof of his mouth. It was hard not to worry the wound with his tongue. "More like… good people are hard to find. I gave up looking after a while."
Axel guffawed. "You're only, what, eighteen at best and you've given up on people already?"
Roxas bristled. "I'm twenty-one and they're not worth the effort." He heard Axel suck in air. Roxas closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, feeling the candlelight pressing against his eyeballs. Axel had welcomed him into his sort-of home, offered him every kind of comfort a drenched boy with no power could ask for. He didn't deserve to be punished for it. Roxas sighed. "Sorry. It's been a rough couple of days. I have an inspection tomorrow and my place is a mess, like an absolute warzone, and I can't even switch on a fucking vacuum cleaner." He was pretty sure he was scowling, or at the very least pouting.
Axel shrugged, tucked his feet beneath him. It seemed impossible that such a lanky person could fold up so neatly like something straight from Ikea. "It's cool. We all get bad days, right?" He didn't seem offended at all. A sense of calm washed over the blonde. Axel nodded pointedly at Roxas' hand clasping the mug. "I'm guessing that was a bad day too."
Roxas flexed his bruised knuckles. "Yeah."
Axel's eyes glittered. "Hate to see the other guy. Was he one of the not good people?"
The blonde wriggled, slightly embarrassed to be discussing his outburst the other night. It had just been such a long day, and the guy had been hitting on him despite numerous attempts at deflection, and who the fuck wears Hawaiian shirts anyway? Certainly not actual Hawaiians. "Ever had someone kiss you against your will?"
The colour drained from Axel's face. "Shit. No."
Roxas smiled, wriggled his battered hand. "Me neither."
Axel became very interested in his mug's contents. As the seconds dragged on, Roxas' smirk slowly faded into concern. Was it something I said? I seriously didn't think he'd care about a two second scuffle. If anything, I thought he'd be impressed. I mean, look at the guy. He must get all kinds of people hitting on him. He can't like all of them… Right?
Axel's eyes darted to Roxas' hand and he muttered, "Must've knocked her head off to wind up with such a massive bruise."
Her? Ohh. "It was a guy. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt. And just to be clear, it was his fashion sense and overall seedy-ness that made me deck him." It was important the redhead knew this.
That did the trick. Axel broke into a grin. "So, the kid has some bite. Nice." He raised his mug in salute.
Roxas figured he should move the conversation in a safer direction. He went for the pedestrian,"So what do you do?"
"Me? Well, I—"
A loud clatter resonated from the front door. Roxas blinked. Axel just lifted his eyebrows and a few moments later, a very bedraggled blonde staggered into the room fighting with an equally battered umbrella, which obscured most of his face. Roxas winced as the guy's wild flapping narrowly missed about five candles, an unnaturally cheery voice emanating from behind the broken brolly. "Phew, that is some storm! Any more and this place is gonna go Waterworld. Good thing we weren't planning anything tonight. Can you imagine transporting the equipment in this?" He made a wordless sound of annoyance as he struggled with the lowering mechanism, umbrella swerving in a dangerously wide arc. Roxas saw it coming. He yelled in warning just as the umbrella dislodged a candle from the bookcase. Like a falling star, it plummeted towards the carpet. Roxas had a moment suspended in time, a perfect moment where his brain helpfully provided a list of every flammable object in the vicinity before a streak of red flashed across his vision, making him recoil in shock. Axel, swan diving off the couch, arms outstretched and seeking. Miraculously, the candle tumbled into his hands, leaving Roxas gaping. With a final grunt, the newcomer managed to fold the umbrella into something resembling a tiny rhinoceros and his eyes grew to saucers as he took in the redhead sprawled at his feet, ass up, groaning. In the ensuing silence, Axel wriggling backwards like a concertina, Roxas' brain completely short-circuited with the comment, He has a nice ass, a thought he elected to attribute to post-brush-with-death jitters.
"Er, you right there, Ax?" the newcomer asked. His eyes fixed on Roxas, gave a couple of surprised blinks. "Hey, you brought a man friend!" He gripped Roxas' hand and began shaking enthusiastically. "I'm Demyx," he said. The introduction was delivered in such a casual way that Roxas figured he was either extremely laid back or just used to random people turning up at his home. Demyx's gaze slid sideways, taking stock of the redhead while a sly note creeped into his voice. "So Ax, you gonna introduce me to your pal?"
Axel rolled his eyes as he straightened again. "He lives next door and he's only here because of the power outage. Name's Roxas."
Roxas liked the way Axel said his name: the hard bite of the R, definitive, clear. He almost didn't catch anything strange but then his brain switched on and, "How did you know?" he demanded. The fact that he hadn't actually told Axel his name but the redhead somehow knew, well, that was ten kinds of creepy.
Axel held up his hands. "Relax, kiddo. I overheard your little buddies yelling goodbye last night. Believe me, I wish I hadn't. Could've used the uninterrupted sleep."
Roxas had the grace to look chastened. "Er, sorry about that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I only met them yesterday. Most of them. Not my usual crowd."
Demyx beamed. "A fellow mellow man. That's my kind of guy." His eyebrows knitted and he canted his head at Axel. "Did you say something about a power outage?"
"You didn't notice? Every single light in the street is dead, man. Although," Axel tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Can't say your obliviousness is surprising."
Demyx's mouth dropped open in exaggerated outrage. "Well excuse me, Sherlock, but every single light in the street is not out, something you'd notice if you bothered to open the curtains."
Axel stared. Roxas' gaze darted between the pair. With a smug smile, Demyx casually flicked the switch and lo and behold, the lights burst into life. Roxas squinted against the sudden onslaught, the electric beams blinding after the soft candlelight. Flapping a hand airily, Demyx tutted, "And you're normally such a cluey dude. I can't believe your obliviousness. If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a ruse to keep our neighbour cosied up here."
Roxas' eyes bugged out of his head. Axel choked on air. While Demyx cackled and Axel controlled his breathing long enough to muster a glare, Roxas quickly placed his mug on the coffee table and began making a hasty exit. "Thanks for the drink and everything. I'll leave you guys to it." This is getting way too mental asylum for me. He'd already pulled open the door and stepped into the gloom when Axel's voice interrupted his escape. "Ignore him. This most definitely was not some twisted ploy to keep you here, scout's honour."
Roxas glanced over his shoulder, saw the ridiculous image Axel cut in his unintentional cut-offs, standing to attention, hand up in a salute. Almost against his will, he felt a small smile tug at his mouth. "Yeah, I know. I just really need to go clean. Inspection and all."
"Oh." Axel's face fell. "Right. Well, ah, good luck to you."
"Thanks. I'll need it."
He pulled his hood up and was about to step into the rain when Axel spoke again. "You like egg foo young?"
Huh? Roxas swivelled, eyebrows crinkling in concentration. The term wasn't remotely familiar. "Is that like some Jedi from the new Star Wars trilogy?"
Axel laughed. Any other situation, Roxas would've turned testy and bit out some scathing remark to cover his embarrassment but there was something genuine in Axel's amusement, head thrown back, entire body shaking with spasms of mirth, hands fluttering around his stomach. He sounded like he was laughing with Roxas, not at him. It made Roxas smile. Axel said, "No, but I reckon you should run that past George Lucas or whoever's in charge nowadays. Egg foo young. Chinese dish. I'll hazard a guess that you don't know whether you like it or not so why don't you come out with me Friday night and find out for yourself?" Hands shoved in pockets, Roxas blinked as he processed this information. Axel scratched at his neck before adding in a rush, "The décor's tacky as hell but the food is amazing. Dumplings to die for, kung pao chicken you'd disembowel your own mother to get at. Say yes and I'll even shout dessert."
Roxas opened his mouth to say no like he always did. Avoidance kept him safe, kept him away from situations like the Hawaiian shirt guy. While Roxas still wasn't convinced Axel wasn't a serial killer, the redhead was looking at him with an expression of puppy-esque earnestness, eyes shimmering hopefully. Roxas opened his mouth to say no and what came out was, "Sure."
Axel positively beamed. Roxas was half-surprised the clouds didn't part, divine light spilling down from the heavens. "Cool. Pick you up at six?"
Roxas nodded, wondering what he'd just agreed to, and turned back into the night.
The first sign was a nagging sensation around his tonsils that couldn't properly be called pain but was definitely bordering uncomfortable. The second was the mother of all headaches that saw him sleeping through his landlord's inspection on Thursday night, during which the guy must've poked his head in the bedroom and observed Roxas dozing, which brought unsettling to a whole new level. The third and final sign was a series of sneezes on Friday morning and a sore throat that snowballed to agony by the afternoon, the glands in his neck so swollen he couldn't even turn his head without gritting his teeth. This meant he spent his shift speaking in the mechanical drone of the truly sick, which, when coupled with his rigid movements from the counter to the espresso machine to the food cabinet, probably left people speculating that he was some kind of android purpose built for the dispensing of caffeinated goodness. He suspected the illness was the by-product of being caught in that storm, something that never would have happened if a certain blonde bitch hadn't been nursing the hangover from hell necessitating Roxas cover his shift. Fucking Hayner. If the guy didn't make such kickass brownies (not hash-laced; legitimate chocolately perfection laced with chunks of caramel fudge and an oozing decadent sauce) Roxas was sure their friendship would be non-existent. The only thing fuelling him was the concept of his date with Axel and even that was taking on a sour edge because at this point in time, doing anything other than sleeping for a thousand years was overwhelming.
Roxas collapsed onto his couch, took a shuddering breath. He'd never felt so shit. He said as much during his sister's daily check up call. Her patient voice threaded across the distance, giving him some small comfort. "Sure Roxas, you're dying. I'll tell Mum and Dad to cremate you so we don't catch the deadly disease either. Honestly, you're the only person I know who endures such serious cases of man flu on a semi-regular basis." Naminé was teasing but he heard the concern underlying her words.
"Make sure they scatter my ashes somewhere nice." He laid down, careful not to upset his neck, legs dangling over the edge of the couch. "It hurts to swallow. It hurts to talk. It hurts to just exist."
He could practically hear Naminé rolling her eyes. "That's the human condition." A pause, followed by, "Guess there's no point asking how the singing's going."
Roxas hummed in agreement.
"Listen, if it's not better in a couple of days, make sure you go to the doctor."
"I will, Nami." He toed off his shoes and rolled onto his side to stare blankly at the TV, which was muted on some cooking show.
"I'm serious, Roxas. Use your judgement."
"Okay."
The next sentence was uttered with a healthy dose of hesitance. "And maybe you should give tonight a miss."
Roxas pinched the bridge of his nose. From a logical standpoint, she was right. Through the entire week however Axel's memory had kept persistently poking around Roxas' mind. Taking into account how much Roxas had been looking forward to this… Not to mention what a dick move it'd be to bail at such late notice… He tried to put on his best not-sick voice when he assured Naminé, "I'll be okay. Like you said, it's just man flu."
"Roxas…"
"Really. If it makes you feel better, I won't stay out long."
"Well… if you're sure," his sister said dubiously. "At least have a nap beforehand."
That wasn't a bad idea. "I will. Thanks, Nami." He hoped she could hear the smile in his voice.
They exchanged goodbyes and Roxas set his alarm for five thirty before curling up on the couch, determined to recharge and make good on his promise. Within moments, he slipped into a deep sleep. When his eyes cracked open again he was met by a sports reporter wrapping up what looked like the latest on the regional Struggle tournament. Roxas flicked the sound back on and stared at the screen through half the weather report before he noticed the clock down the bottom beside the ticker. Five forty-five? That couldn't be right. He checked his phone for veracity and… Shit. He'd set his alarm for five thirty AM. Shit! There was a moment where he contemplated abandoning his plans, shoving them in the rubbish bin along with a drugstore dumpster's worth of empty packets of painkillers, but quitting never figured into his vocabulary. Besides, there was the promise of egg foo young and tacky décor and good company. And Axel's smile. There was that too.
His resolve hardened. No way he'd let the evil microbes win. He jumped up, ignoring the protesting stab in his neck as he raced into the bedroom (well, as much as a sick person can race. It was more of a death-lurch really) and began rifling through his wardrobe. Clothes billowed everywhere. Roxas had no idea what to wear to a Chinese restaurant of questionable quality but by his calculations he had fifteen minutes before his intercom would start sniping so a snap decision was in order. "Shit," he muttered again, shimmying into a pair of distressed jeans that were arguably a size too small depending on what decade you were born in. This was followed by a long sleeved tee, camo jacket and splash of cologne, all the while Roxas wondering if he was putting in too much effort or not enough for this date. Christ, it had been a long time since his last date. A real fucking long time.
Stop it. You keep catastrophising, this'll be a disaster. His jitters persisted despite the mental pep talk. Roxas resorted to cursing the fact that he probably reeked of poorly brewed cappuccinos. Raking his hands through his hair did nothing to fix the flatness so he gave up and jammed on a beanie instead right as the intercom buzzed, making him clench his teeth on another expletive. He performed a hurried hop towards the door, tugging on his boots before stuffing his wallet in his pocket with one hand and pulling on the doorknob with the other.
Roxas didn't recognise the emo kid on his doorstep, half his face obscured by a ridiculous blueish-grey fringe so for a moment he was left wordlessly questioning if he'd got his months mixed up. Roxas stared expectantly, wondering where the kid's parents were, waiting for the chorus of, "Trick or treat!"
Instead he got, "Zexion," and a hand extended towards him. The voice was deep enough that Roxas had to reassess the age he'd mentally conjured for him. Still somewhat mystified, the blonde clasped the proffered hand and introduced himself, wondering if this was a new neighbour. A car horn tooted from the curb, a shock of red sticking out of the driver's window. "Hurry it up!" Axel hollered. His face was drawn tight. Roxas' smile fell.
Zexion's solitary visible eye rolled in his head. "Don't mind him. He's just riled up because Demyx took forever getting ready."
Um, why is this emo of diminutive proportions coming along for the ride? Is he like our chaperone? Wait a minute. Demyx?
Maybe it was his error for assuming this outing was of the romantic inclination. In any case, Roxas had no excuse so he forced a cheerful expression and tailed Zexion towards the car, a beat up station wagon the wrong side of vintage with a vague aroma of chemicals and cheap beer that assailed his nostrils when he slid into the back seat. Demyx, sitting up front, was saying, "Do you have any idea how much that pomade costs?" Roxas' heart fell a little more. Clearly he'd misunderstood the particulars of this date.
"Pomade? Pomade? How the fuck are you not gay?" Axel groused, giving the wheel a savage spin that made Roxas' teeth clatter. Unnerved, he fumbled for the seatbelt. Where are they taking me? What are we doing? He said dinner, right? Kung fu young or something?
Clipping himself in, Zexion interjected coolly, "That is a crude and stereotypical observation, not to mention highly offensive."
"You're not even gay!"
A pause then, "A minor point. I am still fully capable of taking offence on behalf of minority groups."
Axel grumbled about social justice crusaders and flicked the radio to something loud and fast, body hunched over the wheel, which his fingers clutched like it was the only thing stopping him from punching someone. A few wordless minutes crawled by, Demyx staring out the window with knitted brows, Zexion tapping along to the heavy beat while different topics of conversation rushed through Roxas' mind, a thousand ways to break the oppressive atmosphere without offending anybody or sounding like a moron or making things worse. Staying home and wallowing in diseased misery was looking more appealing with each passing moment. Eventually, Demyx dialled down the radio, prodded Axel and insisted, "You can stop sulking now. You're making Roxas uncomfortable."
The blonde's heart jumped into his throat. He babbled something about how they shouldn't worry over him, wishing he could teleport home. Whether it was the content of his speech or simply the way it was delivered, stammered sentences and half-assed reassurances, Axel's grip slackened and he sat back, glancing at the blonde through the rear vision mirror. He flashed an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Rox, I'm just stressed about getting a table. Even if it's full up though I'm sure I can use my wily charms to sneak us through." Zexion snorted. Roxas met Axel's gaze in the mirror. The redhead winked, saying, "Ready to get your fortune cookie on?"
"My what?" Roxas mentally slapped himself. "I mean, yeah, I guess."
"Good good." They pulled into a parking spot and filed out, Demyx leading the way as he gushed to Zexion about stuffing himself with xia long bao until his stomach distended. Figuring he might at least try to have some one-on-one time with his supposed-to-be-date, Roxas lingered behind while Axel locked up. The redhead stuck a cigarette between his teeth as they started following the others and Roxas suppressed a grimace. Noticing the blonde's gaze, Axel tilted the packet in his direction. "Smoke?" he asked around the unlit cancer stick.
"Nah. Not great for the voice," Roxas explained. It would agitate his flu too but he wanted to keep his infectious status secret, well aware that virulent wasn't high on anybody's list of qualities looked for in a potential mate. It was doable. His nose had skipped straight from streaming to blocked and they didn't know him well enough to detect the change in his talking voice so there was no real evidence of his plight.
Axel made a surprised grunt. "Serious? Never stopped our old singer." His brows furrowed and he returned his cigarette to the packet, tucked it safely away where no carcinogenic fumes could assail Roxas' lungs. "Although to be honest, Vanitas never gave a flying fuck about the proper way to do things."
The name tickled Roxas' memory. "Your ex-housemate, right? Wait, so he's a singer?"
"Yeah. Used to be our frontman but a bunch of shit happened with some venue owners, Demyx's ex, blah blah blah. Van… isn't really known for his tact."
Roxas had stopped listening after the first half of Axel's spiel. "Frontman?" he sputtered. "You're in a fucking band?" He actively tried to keep his mouth from flopping open.
A small smile pulled on Axel's mouth. "Well, yeah. Surprised?"
Roxas considered. "Not really, I guess. Maybe… caught off guard?" Axel chuckled. Roxas pursued with, "What kind of music do you play?"
"Soft rock. Mostly covers for the moment. You ever heard Fall Together by The Temper Trap? That's our current opener."
Roxas knew the song although not intimately. "I like it. Hard to reach those falsetto parts and sound like you mean it though."
Axel snorted. "Yeah, well, that's why I stick to guitar. My voice is rotten, man. Somebody once told me they'd wanted to re-gift my singing but then reconsidered because they didn't want to be arrested on terrorism charges. Probably all those cigarettes, right?" He winked to prove the comment was made lightly.
Before he could mine this musical revelation for all it was worth though they turned into a decrepit little building strung with flashing lights in the windows, bold letters across the storefront declaring Lucky Star Restaurant and Bar. Zexion and Demyx were already seated at a booth in the corner so Axel beelined towards them, weaving through the plethora of patrons that had Roxas questioning the legality of cramming so many people into such a tiny venue before sidling into the seat. The redhead made a show of lifting the butcher's paper-covered tablecloth and peeking beneath the table. "Lose something?" Zexion queried.
"Just wondering where the bodies are. Clearly you had to kill somebody to get this spot."
The chatter disarmed Roxas, helped his slowly abating nerves. He studied the restaurant's interior and decided it was nice in a run-down sort of way, the peeling wallpaper chased with dragons somehow charming when illuminated by brass lanterns. "We got lucky. The guys here were ready to leave," Demyx explained as he poured glasses of cucumber-infused water for the group.
"To speed up the process, we told them the great Axel Spence of Void Gear wanted their table," Zexion added.
Axel's eyes shone. "Seriously?"
"No."
Axel threw his hands behind his head, slumping until he was eye level with Roxas, who was trying hard to conceal his laughter. "Fuck, man. Don't go getting me all excited over the prospect of having actual fans."
"It's not Zex's fault you're so gullible," Demyx said. "I mean, seriously, we suck."
"We don't suck suck. More like our lead singer, who just so happens to be the guy handling our publicity and also just so happens to be an asshole of the highest calibre, sucks." Roxas wished Axel would stop saying "suck" or any variants thereof. He gulped his cucumber water to hide his burning cheeks, mentally chastising himself for reacting like a goddamn virgin.
Demyx's expression darkened and for a split second Roxas freaked out, wondering if the other blonde could see the desire in Roxas' eyes and disapproved of a gay guy eyeing off his guitarist. "Former lead singer," Demyx spat. Roxas shuddered, relieved.
Axel inclined his head in contrition before flagging down a waiter and rattling some items off the top of his head, egg foo young included. The waiter scurried off. A contemplatively silence descended.
"Void Gear, huh," Roxas said.
Axel leaned on the table, resting his head in his hand, body slightly inclined towards Roxas, expectant. "You like?" he asked. Roxas shrugged, glanced away. "No, seriously, tell it to me straight," Axel insisted.
"Well… It sounds kinda… bleak," Roxas trailed off as he realised he was inadvertently insulting all three of his dinner companions. When he mustered the guts to look them in the eye and apologise for the blunt appraisal he was surprised to see smug satisfaction resting on Demyx's features, Zexion gazing at him neutrally and Axel nodding vigorously.
"It was Vanitas' pick. What would you suggest?" Zexion said.
Roxas blanched. They seriously wanted his opinion? He had small idea what music they played aside from some rock sub-genre. "Nothing yet. I'd have to listen to some tracks first, get a feel for your style."
"I think he's asking for a mix tape," Demyx needled. Axel elbowed him in the side, almost toppling the pitcher of beer the waiter deposited, which Zexion reached for eagerly. A foamy glass of alcoholic bliss was pushed towards Roxas, who swigged with the gusto of a guy who'd been staggering around the desert for days. It hurt to drink but the alternative was to continue blushing like a schoolgirl. No way in hell Roxas would countenance that.
Demyx's whining about a ruptured kidney ("Lucky you have two," Axel gibed,) was interrupted by the unmistakeable screeching of feedback. Voices escalated in consternation. A guy up front raised his hands in apology, moving the microphone he was gripping away from the nearby speakers. For a moment, Roxas wondered what kind of entertainer this establishment would hire then a drawn out note punctuated the waning complaints followed by a tinny backbeat and the realisation slapped him in the face.
Axel had brought him to a karaoke bar.
"Not this guy," Zexion groaned, recoiling from Demyx who leaned across him to skewer a chili chicken dumpling with his chopsticks. "I swear he sings this every single time. If the fate of the planet depended on him hitting the high notes, I might as well slit my wrists now."
Demyx shoved the dumpling in Zexion's mouth. "Cram it, Sylvia Plath," he said over Zexion's indignant squawk. "At least he has the balls to try. I don't see you up there."
"Pot, kettle," came Zexion's muffled answer.
Axel glared. "You know Dem and letters don't get along."
Before Roxas could ask, Demyx supplied the explanation: "Dyslexia."
Not to be outdone, Zexion stabbed a dumpling and returned, "He could always, I don't know, sing something he knows."
Demyx opened his mouth, brimming with mashed up Chinese food, to retort but Axel cut in. "Anyway," the redhead glared until Demyx subsided, which thankfully removed the massacred remains of chow mein from Roxas' vision. "Since we're on the subject, why don't you jump up there and sing us something, Rox?"
Roxas' stomach plummeted. Any normal day he would've leaped for the mic stand, artist's instinct kicking in, anxiety quashed by the concept of delivering not just a pleasant performance but one that commanded people's attention. Most people looked at him and thought two things: safe and small. Give him a song though and Roxas was a bright light that would force this restaurant's patrons to stare, long strands of noodles left dangling helplessly from their chopsticks as he stirred their souls, each chord thrumming along with his pulse. Always, it had been about more than fame and money. Always, Roxas had wanted to connect with people's hearts. But how could he express himself with music when it felt like he'd swallowed a porcupine in his sleep, like he'd guzzled razors with his morning tea? "I'm not much of a singer," he muttered, gaze rooted to the stained butcher's paper.
Axel's palms slapped against the tabletop. "Bullshit, my dear Roxas. You see this?" He pointed at himself. "This is what 'not much of a singer' looks like. I hear you every single day chirping your little heart out. Gotta admit, I was dubious at first because all I heard was Justin Bieber and Jesse McCartney and the like but one glorious morning, there it was: Beezlebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for meeeee!"
"Shut up," Roxas whispered, aghast. He didn't know what was more horrifying: that Axel had been spying on him in the shower or that he'd clearly invited him out with the intention of securing a new singer for his band. The reality of their not-date was clear now. All Axel saw when he looked at Roxas was a meal ticket. Rage coiled in Roxas' belly.
Axel's hands fluttered, placating. "Say what?" he probed.
Roxas' eyes flicked to Axel's face, took stock of the shark smile, rows upon rows of teeth. The asshole looked so smug, so fucking… pleased with himself. Roxas felt like strangling him. "You think you can drag me out here with your shitty excuse for Chinese food, pretend you're my buddy, act like you wanna get to know me—"
Axel's face lit up with shock. "It's not an act!"
"Shut. Up," the blonde hissed, roiling with venom, hands balling into fists. Demyx made a soft gasp; clearly he hadn't thought the quiet blonde was capable of being callous. Zexion merely folded his arms, looking vaguely impressed. Roxas only noticed their reactions peripherally, too intent on the fiery piece of shit that had strung him along all night. "You made me think you actually gave a crap about me but this isn't about me at all. This is about your fucking shithouse band and the singer you don't have. What did you do to him, Axel? Light some candles in his house, almost burn the place down because you were too fucking dumb to keep an eye on them? Peek through the cracks of the bathroom door while he was trying to take a shower? Huh?"
"Roxas, sit down," Zexion said softly.
He staggered under the words, unaware he'd jumped to his feet, the previously forgotten headache flooding back with vengeance. Roxas' eyes darted from one guy to the next, heart thundering in his throat. "You don't have to sing," Demyx tried, shuffling over and patting the empty spot beside him.
Axel looked at him with pleading eyes. "Food's getting cold," he said. What he meant was, I'm sorry. What he meant was, Can we please forget this ever happened?
Why was it so bad if these guys were just using him? A career in music. That had been the plan all along and now here was his opportunity, his golden chance. He could explain his flu, offer to sing for them once he recovered, admit he'd love to be in their band because even if it wasn't the kind of music he'd envisioned performing, he wasn't so narrow minded that he'd avoid giving it a shot. None of that was the real issue though. Truth was, Roxas had wanted to believe there was more to this than a paycheck.
"Please," Axel said.
Roxas opened his mouth to say yes but what came out was a wordless choking sound. He snatched his jacket off the seat, tried not to look betrayed as he gave Axel one final glower, and turned into the night.
"So the sore throat's eased up?"
"Yeah."
"You're eating again?"
"Mm."
"Well that's great! Now if only you could evolve past Neanderthal we might be able to have an actual conversation rather than me asking you questions and you grunting back monosyllables."
Roxas ran a hand over his face, kicking off his shoes and flinging himself onto the couch. "Sorry, Nami, I'm just tired," he said, trying his best to sound convincing, feet dangling over the armrest, aimlessly treading air.
It had been a week since his disastrous encounter with the trio that was Void Gear, a week spent rehashing his overly dramatic behaviour despite his desperate attempts to forget he'd made such an idiot of himself, a week spent wishing he could rewind the clock to when he'd yanked open the door and seen Zexion's calm face. Time travelling Roxas would smile, genuinely pleased that he was being taken on an informal interview with the members of an up-and-coming band, excited at the prospect of finally getting into the music industry. Or maybe he'd go further back to when Axel had proposed the not-date, would politely decline because Chinese gave him heartburn then he'd invite the redhead over for drinks and pizza later in the week. Or maybe further, just a little bit further, to when he would close his curtains and sit alone in the dark and never raise a fist to the wooden door of Apartment 8, 45 Sunset Drive, Daybreak Town.
Between these flights of fancy, Roxas had been walking home from the train station extra quickly to minimise the likelihood of bumping into any Axels or Demyxs or Zexions, had taken to showering in silence. The easing of his sickness hadn't lifted his spirits, a fact that wasn't lost on Hayner, who made no effort to sugar coat things, instead calling Roxas out for every grouchy comment or snide remark. Hayner had delivered a batch of brownies on Roxas' day off though and they'd spent a few hours chomping away while marathoning the first season of that hyperviolent HBO series that must've had some clause stating there had to be either tits or blood in every scene (sometimes both). Roxas had appreciated Hayner's roundabout concern if not the predictability of Sean Bean's death.
Naminé's voice sliced through his musing like a well-kept katana. "It's that guy next door, isn't it?"
Roxas bolted upright. He spoke through clenched teeth, choosing his words carefully. "Why would you say that?" Too late he realised the measured phrase would tip off his sister straight away. With dignified deliberateness, he loosened his vice-like grip on his phone as Naminé giggled and said, "Don't bother trying to hide it. You were so excited when you told me about the power outage and the hot redhead. The last time you mentioned him was eight days ago. I've been counting. Does that mean your crush has been crushed?"
Roxas tried channelling the yoga breathing the stay-at-home mums on TV always praised. "Who said he was hot?"
"Nobody. I've just got a hunch. I mean, I'd like to think my little brother has good taste," Naminé said, cotton candy sweet.
Roxas couldn't help it. Despite the small part of him that was annoyed at being found out, he was mostly relieved at finally having the opportunity to vent, maybe garner a little sympathy. A wry smile worked its way onto his face. "Can't fault your logic," he said.
"So what happened?" The fwump of his sister bouncing onto her bed followed by the crackle of some packet. Roxas didn't relish the thought of being tonight's entertainment but he figured if anyone would have sound advice for his situation, it would be Naminé. He spilled his ugly and demented guts, Naminé munching away on the other end, offering the occasional murmur of surprise or sympathy or disapproval. The more he spoke, the more he realised how utterly insane he'd been that night. Axel had never explicitly said he was taking Roxas out on a date. By assuming otherwise, Roxas had set himself up as the victim. "Guess I overreacted, huh," he finished morosely.
"A little. You had a crap week, you weren't feeling well and you really wanted to impress this Axel guy. I guess I understand."
"But how do I fix it, Nami?"
"Well," Crunch crunch crunch, "You said he wanted you to sing for him, right? Maybe you should."
Roxas scoffed. "Oh, so I just waltz over there and start serenading him through the door? Why don't I put on some spandex and pleather and a gigantic pair of star-shaped glasses while I'm at it? Throw some sequins into the mix, give Elton a run for his money?"
He could imagine his sister rolling her eyes. "Okay, too far. Maybe you should just go over there and explain, no bells and whistles, plain old apologetic Roxas."
"He'd probably slam the door in my face," Roxas said.
"A letter?"
"Kind of a cop out, isn't it?"
"A mix tape featuring Justin Bieber's Sorry?"
"Naminé!"
"Okay, okay, I'm thinking." The silence stretched on. Roxas crossed his fingers, hoping his sister would have a solution to this clusterfuck but in the end, Naminé just sighed. "I don't know, Rox. There must be some way… Look, I'll give it some thought and text you if I get any good ideas. I gotta run though. Mum and Dad are expecting me for dinner."
"Oh. Okay. Say hi to them for me."
"Will do. And Roxas? Try not to beat yourself up over it. Everybody has bad days."
The words struck a note inside him but Roxas couldn't pinpoint why. He ended the call, tossed the phone away and rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Suddenly, he felt like the only person in the universe. He wished he was going to dinner too. He wanted to be surrounded by people, needed noise to blot out the black mass inside his head. Hayner. I'll call Hayner and go out with his drug buddies or something. He was already moving towards the bathroom, stripping off his work uniform and turning on the hot water, determined that this time he would be properly prepared for a Friday night romp. Standing there shivering in his boxer shorts, waiting for the water to heat, he wasn't really thinking. The strings of notes originated somewhere deep within his chest, coaxed out by his desire for company, for solace. It wasn't anything he'd sung before – how he knew the words was a mystery; probably absorbed by osmosis or some other organic process – but the lyrics flowed naturally, spilled from his lips. When he reached the bridge, his voice rang in a vibrato he didn't even know he possessed, something clear and true like a church bell on a winter's day or a candle struck in the dark.
Knock knock knock.
The next line stuck in his throat. Roxas tipped his head towards the sound. Maybe he'd imagined it?
Knock knock knock.
Great, his upstairs neighbours were at the front door geared up to complain about his "caterwauling" again. It wouldn't be the first time Roxas ignored the dipshits who had no taste in music, who thought it was a crime to bring a little joy to this shitball planet. Whatever, Roxas groused. He was sick of rolling over for the literal higher ups so this time he left the shower running and padded towards the door, ready to put an end to the persistent drumming. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his hurry to deliver a pissed off piece of his mind.
"What the fuck do you—" The words died on his lips.
"Hey," Axel said once he stopped gaping. His eyes flickered over Roxas' bare torso, down to his toes, back up again. A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. "Geez, Rox, couldn't they have made you a little uglier?"
It took far too long for Roxas' brain to process this. When he caught up, the blonde's own cheeks started warming, which was ridiculous considering it was cold to the point that his nipples were so pointy he could drape a scarf off them. It was reflexive, the next sentence that burst from his mouth: "Sorry I'm not disgusting enough for your twisted taste."
Axel scratched the back of his neck, eyes swinging skyward like he could discern answers in the stars. "That's… not what I meant," he sighed.
Roxas stared at the redhead for a good minute. Axel refused to meet his gaze. He spoke to the ground when he said, "I gotta admit, this isn't exactly the reception I imagined when I heard you belting that song. Guess I read into things too much."
This triggered something in the blonde. He internally slapped himself for his shotgun surliness. "That's my line."
"What do you mean?" Axel asked the ground. It was disconcerting, seeing this blazing beacon of a man so tamed, subdued. The wrongness of the situation struck Roxas like a physical blow and he stepped back, inadvertently permitting Axel entry. He had time to change his mind – Axel didn't seem ready to lift his gaze anytime soon – but Roxas decided he owed the guy an explanation at least. "Come on," he uttered, gentle, and was rewarded with such a look of purest surprise that he almost laughed.
The door thudded closed behind them and Roxas knew this was his chance. "Axel, I owe you an apology." He frowned, aware how formally awkward he sounded. He took another breath and just dove in, the words a veritable cascade, "I was tired and sick and way way way out of line. I expected too much. I always expect too much because I'm just full of this fucking horrible hope and—"
"It's okay," Axel said and somehow that was enough. They were quiet for a long moment before the redhead continued.
"The first time I heard you singing, I didn't think much apart from how to recruit you. Money was tight. I wanted to get out of Dem's hair ASAP. I mean, I know he doesn't mind but it's not right, you know?" He spread his hands, palms up, beseeching. "That was before I met you. Imagine the shock when you rolled up on Dem's doorstep looking like a drowned kitten. Up until that moment my mind had been a whirl of green dollar signs but you changed it all. Changed me. Money was the furthest thing from my mind, swept away by the bluest goddamn eyes in existence."
Holy shit holy shit holy shit. "Axel…" he said, testing how the name sounded with this new knowledge.
"No no, you did nothing wrong. Let me finish. All I could think," Axel continued with a self-deprecating laugh, "was holy shit, I am in the company of the most perfect human being and I'm wearing clown fish pyjamas two sizes too small. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I do give a crap. I'll probably always give a crap. I've known you for a handful of hours but I feel like I've always known you or like I've been waiting for you or something. So Roxas."
Roxas swallowed. "Yeah?"
He dug into the back pocket of his worn black jeans, extricated a rectangular object. His fingers were warm when they brushed against Roxas' as he placed the CD in the blonde's hands. "Wanna listen to my mix tape?" he asked.
The blonde wanted to play it cool with a casual, "Sure," but he was pretty sure Axel wasn't buying it - Roxas was grinning way too hard. He wanted to say "sure" but what came out was, "I thought you'd never ask."
A radiant smile on his face, Axel said, "Sweet! This time, let's order in."