They called him Roxas. But he couldn't decide with any certainty whether it was a name, or even his for that matter.
He stood next to a lanky man who might've looked tall if he didn't slouch. Axel, they called him. Although one time, he'd heard the man answer to something else. Something shorter.
Axel led the way, plucking produce, cans, and boxes of all sorts off shelves and depositing them in a cart. A ritual that everyone else also seemed to be doing.
Everyone else. People he'd never seen before, dressed in many different colors.
Axel shook his head, blaze of crimson hair flicking with the motion. "They won't notice us."
Roxas looked up at him, then back to the strangers.
He watched as people did just that. Children tugged at their mother's sleeves. Mothers and fathers chatted. The clerks toiled at their cash registers, exchanged pleasantries with customers, and rung up goods.
No one looked at them. Sure, people looked their way, but their eyes glossed over, never actually seeing.
"We're ghosts to them." Axel's green eyes tracked his even as he pushed the cart along. They passed an empty checkout and parked their cart at the bagging dock. Axel began sorting the groceries. "Pretend we're shopping, pretend we've paid, and they'll never know any different."
Something in his mind shuddered into place.
Shopping. Stealing. Shoplifting.
Roxas ran a hand over the vacated conveyor belt, weighing the farce against his conscience. "Is this alright?"
Axel paused for a moment. There was something strange in his expression, like he'd been waiting for something so long, and when it finally came, he didn't know how to react.
One large hand scooped up a cantaloupe, and Axel looked away. "Honestly? No, not really. But it's do or die, kid. We can't do things the right way even if we want to. Respectable normal people get jobs, make money, wait in line, and pay for their grub. Nobodies can't do any of those things."