prologue 30
The trouble is, he doesn't understand exactly what it was that made him a Nobody, but not the hundreds and thousands of other people who've lost their hearts. He can't figure out why he's still breathing when there are so many homeless hearts out there. It's like survivor's guilt, almost. He doesn't know what makes him special, what makes him worthy.
Not that being a heartless peon of darkness is exactly a reward, but that's not the point, really.
When Xemnas finds him, it doesn't feel like coming home. It's good to have a name – Roxas – and a place to belong, but it's not home. He doesn't remember home, not really, but he knows that the Never Was, with its arching halls and empty corridors – that's not it. It's just a waystation, a place to rest for a while on some other journey.
mem3ory
The first thing Roxas does, once he's been assigned a room and a partner, is try to remember. His memories before today are a blank, not even a hint of something that might have existed – it's as if he were born today, fully-grown and functioning. And perhaps, something whispers in the back of his mind, perhaps that is exactly what has happened. Roxas is a newborn, thrust into a strange world with no memories and no coping mechanisms.
But that's not strictly true, not really, he thinks as he calls his weapons into existence in his palms. Two giant keys – they look as though they ought to be child's toys, only Roxas knows what they can do. He's seem them flay shadow from bone, in the single battle he fought before Xemnas' arrival. He saw the keys peel the shade-flesh of those creatures like peeling the skin from a peach.
Still. They're giant keys. Keys are for unlocking and opening, not for killing, even if the enemy in question is already mostly dead.
8 foreign
Roxas' partner is a sadistically cheerful young man – or at least he was a young man, theoretically – named Demyx, whose element is water and whose weapon is a sitar. This is all information that Roxas gains within two and a half minutes of being placed in Demyx's presence. To Roxas, whose mind is that of a mathematician, Demyx's willingness to let himself spill over and run ragged at the edges is disconcerting.
"Everyone thinks I'm pretty much useless," Demyx tells him, when they're off-world on their first mission. It's raining, Demyx is in a good mood, and Roxas is pondering sixteen different ways to forcibly shut someone up. "I guess that's how I like to keep it."
Roxas doesn't reply, just focuses on slicing his keyblades through shadow and keeping all of his limbs intact.
"I mean" – one of Demyx's water clones is destroyed, and he swears violently – "I mean, it's not like I've really got anything to lose from it, right?"
"Shut up," Roxas says, cleanly decapitating a Heartless.
It isn't until they're safely perched on the edge of a dock, nursing their wounds, that Roxas asks Demyx what he means. Demyx, who has been sucking at a bite mark, gives him a wide-eyed, startled look.
"What do you mean, what have I got to lose from what?"
That, Roxas assumes, must be the façade that Demyx had been referring to, the sheen of innocence that covers him like dew. He leans back on his hands, favoring his right, and gives a critical glance; Demyx looks his part, all wayward limbs and mussed hair and wide, wide aqua eyes. He is beautiful, Roxas thinks, or at least he would be if it weren't for the slight deadness in his eyes that no amount of smiling can hide.
After a moment, a slow smile creeps onto Demyx's lips. "See what I mean? It's easy to do, when you don't have a real personality to get in the way. Everyone believes it."
"I don't."
"Yeah, well, you're the Prodigal Son, aren't you? You wouldn't." Before Roxas has a moment to ask what that means, Demyx tilts his head back and inhales. "Smell that?"
"What?"
"Rain. You can always smell when it's been raining – the air is heavier, cleaner. Not humidity, just rain."
It is at approximately that time that Roxas decides that Demyx is absolutely, unredeemably batshit insane. It is also at approximately that time when Roxas realizes he can't decide if that's a bad thing.
breaking 17 the Rules
They go back to Demyx's room afterwards, which is technically forbidden, but when Roxas voices that concern, Demyx's only reply is a loud peal of laughter, so there's that, then. Demyx's room isn't quite blue and isn't quite turquoise, but some combination of the two, like clear seawater. It is also incredibly messy – books and papers and clothing are strewn across every imaginable surface (and some unimaginable). Roxas isn't surprised.
"So has anybody given you the lowdown on the rest of the Organization?" Demyx asks, shedding his uniform jacket and throwing himself across the bed. "You know. The de-tails."
"No," Roxas replies, settling himself much more cautiously on the only exposed chair he can find.
"All right. So you already met Xemnas, yeah? He's the fucking crazy one – okay, well, we're all fucking crazy, but he's even more than we are. He's in charge. Don't ever mention Kingdom Hearts in front of him, ever, if you value your eardrums." Demyx ticks off one finger. "Right. There's Saïx, he's like a giant dog. Big guy, blue hair, if he ever looks at you you'll probably feel like he's about to devour your soul. You're probably right. Uh .. Xigbar, he likes to pretend to be a stoner. He's only got one eye, but don't make the mistake of assuming he has a blind side. I did that, first time I met him."
"What happened?"
"Don't ask." Demyx pulls a face and shakes his head. "Xemnas, Saïx, Xigbar … Xaldin, his hair sort of reminds me of tentacles. He's okay, but only if you don't piss him off, because he holds grudges forever unless he has an immediate way of enacting revenge."
"Such as?"
"Uhh, one time Axel put cayenne peppers in his mashed potatoes. He spent the next day making really good friends with one of the toilets on the fifth floor." Demyx drew a finger across his neck, the universal sign for imminent doom. "Ipecac."
"Oh."
"So that's Xaldin. There's Zexion, too, he's practically a midget – well, taller than you, actually – "
"Thanks."
"Sorry, well, we're not used to having anyone shorter than Zex around. Anyway, Zexion, he likes to read a lot, he'll probably make you feel like an insignificant speck whenever you talk to him because that's just how he is. He's one of the originals, the first six who came through. He was like sixteen when it happened."
"Originals?"
"Man, you really are behind on this, aren't you?"
Roxas scowls. "It isn't like I've had many chances to ask around."
Demyx laughs again, and his laugh sounds like bells. "I guess not. Uh, the originals – that's Xemnas, Xigbar, Lexaeus, Zexion, Xaldin, and Vexen – they were the ones who started the Organization. There's a sort of history lesson, it gets passed down to new recruits. I don't really remember most of it, just that they started everything."
"And Zexion was sixteen."
"Right."
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Just that he's smart." Clearly done with that line of questioning, Demyx waves a hand in Roxas' general direction and continues his descriptions. "Lexaeus is a pretty okay guy, I guess. Kinda nondescript. He doesn't do a lot. Vexen is crazy, he's the scientist of the bunch – or, well, they're all sort of scientists, all of the originals, but he takes it really seriously." With a startled noise, Demyx sits up. "Damn, I forgot numbers. Who did I tell you already?"
"Xemnas."
"One, obviously. Next?"
"Xaldin."
"Five."
"Xigbar."
"Two."
"Vexen?"
"Four."
"Zexion?"
"Six. Is that all I told you so far?"
Roxas thinks back. "No," he says. "There was Saïx, too."
"Seven." Demyx counts on his fingers. "Right, seven. There's thirteen total, including you and me." He flops back onto the bed and kicks his legs over the edge. "I'm nine, and you're thirteen. Obviously, since you're the new kid."
"Obviously."
Obvious to sarcasm, Demyx carries on. "Larxene is number twelve. She's the only girl of the bunch, and I think it's sort of messed her up in the head. I'd avoid her, she likes to play games. Uhh, Marluxia is number eleven, he's .. really weird. I think he secretly has the hots for Larxene, he seems like the masochistic type. Luxord is number ten, don't ever take a bet from him. Ever."
"..Is that all?"
Demyx furrows his brow. "No, no, I'm forgetting someone. Who did I miss .. Xemnas, Xigbar, Lexaeus, Vexen, Xaldin, Zexion, Saix – oh! Yeah, Axel. He's dangerous."
It seems an inadequate explanation, considering all of the information that Demyx had provided on the other members, but it's late, and Roxas is tired and hard-pressed to find the motivation to inquire. Instead, he nods and stands up, wincing as tired muscles creak back to life. "I'm going to my room," he says, and leaves before Demyx can reply.
int5erval
In their next off-world mission, they are taken by surprise. Previous reports had indicated that this world had a level-one, maybe level-two population of Heartless, so Demyx and Roxas are understandably startled to find the land practically black with them. It's not as though they're much of a hindrance to defeat, but the flying ones – the yellow ones, specifically – are an annoyance, and lightning and water do not mix.
In the aftermath of the battle – from which they are rescued by Zexion and his book of illusions – Demyx is decommissioned for the remainder of the month, partially by way of injury and partially by way of incompetence. "Fool," Zexion calls him, and his voice is ice-cold.
Demyx shrugs. "Yeah, probably. But it was fun."
"Fun is not our objective, number IX."
"Oh, I know. There's no harm in having some, though."
Following Demyx's removal from the pool of available members, Roxas is reassigned. His partner is now the thus-far elusive number eight, Axel, about whom Demyx's only words were "He's dangerous." It doesn't bother Roxas.
When Roxas meets Axel, the first words from the other's mouth are, "Let's get this out of the way fast. I'm not your friend, I'm your interim working partner. Got it?"
Roxas gives him a long, appraising stare. Axel is tall and reminiscent of fire, in coloring and in temperament. In element as well, if the singe marks on his sleeves are any indication. Roxas shakes his head, then asks, "Are you done?" He stands and brushes dust from his jacket. "We're half an hour late for the mission to D-3287."
He strides away. Behind him, Axel grins.
deep in th6ought
The first thing that Roxas learns about Axel is that he has a deep-seated dislike of paperwork and all the bureaucracy that accompanies it. The second thing he learns is that Axel's sole purpose in life is to make Roxas' existence as miserable as humanly possible in the short time they'll be spending together – at least, that's how it seems to Roxas as he painstakingly fills in boxes and blanks and attempts to tune out Axel's meaningless, one-sided conversation.
"Been to Traverse Town yet? Sorta dismal place, lots of neon?"
"No."
"You should go. They have great hookers there, and probably the fucking best crème brulée you'll ever have in your entire life. Those were separate thoughts, by the way, unless hookers and crème brulée together is your thing, in which case far be it from me to stand in your way – "
"Axel?"
"Yeah?"
"Please shut up."
"Well, princess, since you asked so nicely." Axel lounges against the table, his presence oppressive at Roxas' left shoulder. "Almost done?"
"Why should it matter to you whether I'm almost done or not? You're not doing anything."
"I'm waiting," Axel replies, his voice full of affected hurt, "for you to finish, so I can show you what I mean about hookers and crème brulée. God, Rox, no need to be such a downer all the time. The Never Was won't suffer for a little happiness every once in a while."
Roxas grits his teeth in irritation. "And you'd know all about happiness and sunshine, I presume."
"Don't presume, it makes you look constipated."
The third thing that Roxas learns about Axel is that his train of thought very rarely makes sense to anyone but him. It's as though Axel's brain-to-mouth filter is permanently shut off, allowing every thought that crosses his mind to make itself known to whoever might be standing in the vicinity. Roxas amuses himself (and saves his sanity) by imagining what might happen if someone were to offer Axel a complicated theorem to solve.
22 written in stone
What seems like ages later, Roxas sets down his pen and works a cramp out of his hand. "Done," he announces, relief and triumph coloring his voice.
"Good! Hookers and crème brulée, here we come." Axel slings an arm around Roxas' shoulders and digs his chin into the top of Roxas' head. "By the way, we're staying overnight, so I hope you don't have any medications you need to take."
Roxas gives him a disbelieving stare. "Axel."
"What?"
"I don't exist. Of course I don't have medications."
For an instant, so quickly that Roxas is almost sure he's imagined it, something dark and angry flashes in Axel's eyes. "We exist," he says, and his voice is hard.
"..Right. Traverse Town?"
And as quickly as it came, the expression is gone. Axel flashes a shit-eating grin and waves his hand, opening a portal in the hallway. "Ready?" he asks. Roxas rolls his eyes.
"As I'm ever going to be."
"Great." And with that, they're gone.
not 19 afraid
Thing is, Axel's taste in hookers isn't quite what Roxas is expecting. The obvious convention for Axel to fill would be the easy catches, the busty, strawberry-scented colty-legged girls with short skirts and even shorter attention spans, the ones with shimmering curls and heavy eyelids. Axel seems like the type to go for airheaded and eager, so when Axel announces that the hunt is beginning, that's what Roxas keeps his eyes peeled for.
That's not, as it turns out, what Axel is looking for.
Roxas doesn't realize it until almost a full hour later – an hour full of passing by several eligible-looking prostitutes and even more brothels. He comes back from a conversation with the innkeeper regarding the rooming situation (one room – not ideal) to find Axel deep in conversation with a young man, the type who reminds Roxas of a jungle cat, all wiry muscle and lithe limbs.
The grin on Axel's face is predatory, and he leans forward – the boy leans forward, and their mouths brush for a moment, not quite a kiss but close enough, and it hits Roxas like a punch in the stomach.
Of course, it shouldn't really matter, right? They don't exist, so what should it matter what – or who – Axel does in his spare time, male or female or any variation thereof? It's lonely in the Never Was, Roxas knows that already, and he knows from Demyx's offhand comments that sex isn't exactly a stranger to members of the Organization – something about relative fullness, or something, he'd sort of stopped listening. So why is it bothering him so much?
Roxas swallows a lump and clears his throat, half-expecting a guilty jump. All he gets, though, is a glance from the boy and a smile from Axel, and the look in Axel's eyes is heated and unlike anything Roxas has ever seen before.
"Our room is ready. I can't believe you only got one room," Roxas says, his voice steadier than he'd expected. "You, Axel, are a horrible person."
"I know," Axel says, standing up in one fluid motion. "You can stay down here, if you're not into it."
Into what? Roxas thinks. Into sharing a room with you, or into sharing a room with you while you have sex with another guy?
"Whatever," he says aloud, and sullenly follows Axel and company upstairs to the room.
26 change
It is, without a doubt, the worst night that Roxas has ever endured in his (admittedly short) life.
This estimation includes all of the overnight offworlds with Demyx, all of the battles fought in pitch-black darkness, all of the times he's lost sight of his partner in the middle of a sea of Heartless. It includes every time he's spent the night in an undistinguishable corridor of the Castle because he took a wrong turn getting back to his room. It includes every night that he's heard the unintelligible screams coming from Xemnas' lab and been unable to sleep because of them.
Yes, it is definitely the worst night ever.
The inn's pillows are thin, and even with two of them clamped over his head, Roxas is still painfully aware of every sound that comes from the other bed. Every. Single. Sound. Every breathy sigh, every moan, every creak of the bedsprings, Roxas can hear it, and he's almost completely certain that the next time he hears the word "harder", he is going to kill something. Preferably Axel.
Of course, not all of his irritation is born of his unwilling insomnia. Part of it has to do with the fact that he's obviously subconsciously enjoying it – obviously, or he has some very Freudian sexual repressions, because how else would he explain the erection digging into the mattress below him?
Sorry, what? What erection? Nope, none of those around here.
After what seems like ages (but is probably only hours), Roxas hears the rustle of sheets as Axel settles back against the wall. "You can come out now," he says. "He's gone."
For a moment, Roxas hates his life bitterly. Then he removes the pillows from his ears and turns his head slowly to give Axel the most vicious stare he can summon. If looks could kill, Axel would be writhing. "I hate you," he says.
"Yeah, yeah, Rox."
"No, really. Hate. Consider how impressive this hate must be, since we can't feel."
Axel waves a disinterested hand and opens the pack of cigarettes that Boy Toy has left lying on the bedside table. With a flick of his finger, a flame appears, and he inhales deeply. "Minor details."
Roxas stares. And stares. And then opens his mouth. "You're unbelievable."
"That's what he said, too."
"Ugh. I'm requesting a transfer."
"You haven't had your crème brulee yet."
"I don't want to consume anything that has been within a hundred feet of your body."
"You don't like my body?"
"I hate you."
"You shouldn't look at it so nicely, then. It might think you've taken a shine to it."
"I hate you."
"Go to sleep."
"I hate you." It is slowly becoming a mantra of sorts – possibly the only foothold that Roxas has on his slipping sanity. Axel seems to have an indescribably insane-ifying effect, that much is obvious. Roxas rolls over and buries his head once more under the pillows, and Axel laughs, a totally different sound from the harsh, braying laughter of before. This sound is warm like syrup and smug, satisfied, like he's conquered the world, and it's the last thing Roxas hears before he falls asleep.
cho16ices
When they return to the Castle, the first thing of which Roxas is informed is the fact that Demyx has been removed from forced medical leave.
The second thing of which he is informed is that he now has to make the decision about whether he wants to return to Demyx or keep Axel as his partner. In all honesty, Roxas thinks this decision should not be very difficult to make, but Xemnas – in his incessant and somewhat irritating wisdom – insists that he sleep on it. Take a night, make sure he's comfortable with the decision.
Roxas would be more comfortable knowing he never has to see Axel's smirking face again.
But in deference to his elders, Roxas heads back to his bedroom and drops face-forward onto the mattress, hoping to inhale it and thus spare himself any further humiliation. The thing is – and this is what really gets him – is that it's not really as simple as Roxas wants it to be.
On one hand, Demyx is less crude than Axel is, and seems less dedicated to making Roxas' life a living hell. But on the other hand, and against every odd, Roxas sort of likes the bastard.
And it has nothing to do with – well. No. Nothing at all.