I do not own. Drabble, 100 words not counting the title.


Stockholm

There are days when Marluxia is tender, almost, fingers gently playing in the girl's pale hair and trailing down to the frail shoulders.

She is timid then, more so than when he is rough and snarling and tearing her sketches in tatters.

It makes Axel smile that jester-smile of his, and Larxene watches in approval at what she thinks are mind games.

They don't know.

The truth is, Marluxia waits and hurts and cares and makes plans, and does not remember what to feel.

The truth is, he is but a caged eagle, and Naminé is holding the keys.