Roxas ducked into the school's bathroom, dropping his bag on the floor before hurling himself at a cubicle, the door slamming against the adjoining wall as he clattered to his knees. He gripped the revolting toilet bowl with a deep breath and emptied his –pretty much already empty, he didn't have time to eat this morning- stomach into it. His blunt nails scrabbled on the ceramic in an attempt to find purchase, and upon finding none, they balled into fists to engrave angry little moons into his palms. When all that would come up was dandelion fluff and then wretched dry heaving, he stared into the disgusting mess and blinked the tears away that had gathered in his lashes at the acid forcing its way up his throat. He pushed himself off the gritty, crusty-grout tiled floor, careful not to tip backward with the unnecessary force used to get up. Panting quietly, he pushed the flusher and backed out of the cubicle, tripping his way over to one of the sinks.
As he twisted the hot faucet, he heard a sardonic chuckling from behind him and whipped his head up to the mirror to see who was there. A tall, lanky red-head leant against a cubicle door, uniform shirt hanging open and a clove cigarette dangling from his fingers, green eyes twinkling as they watched Roxas bend over the sink again with a roll of his eyes. The purple teardrops tattooed on his cheeks had winked at him under the buzzing fluorescent lights and made him dizzy. He knew who he was, everyone knew. He was Axel Peach, a year or so above Roxas, and rumoured to be warped in the life of underground fighting and everything else that came with it in one convenient package – hookers, drugs, numerous trips in and out of the ER, days of being out of school for no reason and then randomly showing up. Nobody cared though, they all loved him regardless. He had everyone -male, female, students, and even some teachers- wrapped around his little finger and dying to do things for him; and it was stupidly cliché in the way that made your toenails want to curl into themselves, but if he wanted you gone, you were gone. It was disgusting. A shitty reputation and rumours -that weren't even true, ninety per cent of the time- and everything was handed over on a silver platter. It was the fear that did it, and it inflated their egos until they could float away in their own worlds like nothing else mattered.
'You must do that a lot,' he remarked, exhaling a curl of blue smoke slowly as he watched the tumble of blond resume his act of scrubbing the scalding water angrily over his mouth and spitting into the sink. He didn't seem to care his shirt collar was getting soaked or that steam was billowing around his head, or the fact his lip was now split from all the rubbing. He merely grunted in acknowledgement, so Axel pressed on.
'No need to even shove your fingers down that pretty little throat either, just bend over the shitter and everything -or nothing, apparently, what a bummer- comes up, huh? Must be convenient. You look good.' He took a drag, shutting one eye at the sensation of nicotine and spicy-sweet clove flowing into the spongy tissue behind his ribcage. The younger looked up again, blood mixing with water and dripping off his stop-light red bottom lip before he spat into the porcelain. His eyes didn't deviate from Axel's as he did so, and the redhead smirked at him.
'There's lipstick on your belt buckle.' Roxas said, ignoring his observation, blue eyes reflecting in the age-specked sheet of glass. Red eyebrows shot up in question, before Axel looked down to examine said buckle. Sure enough, there was an obnoxious glittery, pink lipstick-and-gloss combo clinging to the metal in the vague shape of the lips of some girl that had been pestering him for a while. He scoffed to himself. Her hair had been nice and soft between his fingers, but she was lacking a lot in the way of the pleasure-giving factor.
'She wasn't even that good..' He mumbled dejectedly, holding his cigarette between his teeth and swiping a thumb over it, before wiping the offending colour on the stall door. He jumped slightly and nearly bit the cigarette in half at the sound of the bathroom door slamming, noticing with another eyebrow raise that the blond boy had disappeared.
Oh well.