CHAPTER 1: WARNING: Radioactive pants ahead
I stared. I couldn't control myself. I mean, the kid was wearing the most obnoxious bright neon green pants, complete with black pinstripes and a few silver chains descending from his waistline here and there. To make matters worse (as if he didn't stand out enough!), the pants were tight. Too tight. I openly, unabashedly stared as he ordered whatever from the barista. What possessed him to walk into the neighborhood corner Starbucks, right across the street from the university campus, wearing this latest fashion travesty? There were senior citizens here! Had he no shame?!
Ok, maybe that was a little uncalled for. So, yeah, my own jeans were a little tight. I mean, they don't call them skinny for nothing! At least mine weren't so obnoxiously bright they could be used to guide incoming aircraft. I was wearing perfectly-fitting, clean-cut black jeans. And damn did they look good on me. If I weren't me, I would be staring at myself instead of that kid in the bright pants. Hell, why wasn't I staring at myself?
As I stole a quick look down at my long legs and ran a hand through my gorgeous, perfectly spiked fire-red hair (I know, I can be a little conceited sometimes), smiling contentedly at how well my pants fit, I heard the barista announce "Venti Mocha Frappuccino, extra shot of expresso!" I shot to attention, ready to claim my drink (finally!) and get the hell away from the neon freakshow, and reached my hand out with the full intention of grabbing that baby and enjoying every last sip of my five damn dollar gift from God, bliss from a blender, when another hand touched my fucking mocha.
"Excuse me?" I spluttered as we simultaneously seized the heavenly portion of chocolatey espresso paradise (my LIFELINE, because let me tell you the only reason I got up in the morning was to drink this little cup of sinful liquid decadence), my fingertips brushing those of the little blonde thief who STOLE – eh?
I found myself looking down at the culprit. I couldn't say another word as the shorter male looked up at me with an emotionless expression on his face. I could feel his icy blue (and damn were they blue!) eyes burning into my dazzling green ones and I could only glare at him fiercely, hoping I could get the message across with a particularly nasty facial expression as I thought randomly to myself, he should be wearing bright blue pants.
"Excuse me but there must be some mistake. This is my drink." I explained, finally regaining my voice after the shock that he would dare make eye contact with me after infringing upon my personal mocha space, as I nodded towards the blended drink sitting on the pickup counter that we were both still clutching (if his hand warmth melted my frappuccino he would die).
He looked at me coldly and stated bluntly, "I just ordered a venti mocha frappuccino, no whip, extra shot of espresso. You told the barista that you wanted extra whipped cream. This mocha has none."
My blood boiled and I just wanted to smack this kid. Damn him and his so-called observations. Smart aleck. Who the hell did he think he was? Of course I didn't order whipped…shit. The kid (well, kid was probably not the right word. He looked about my age.) was right "Dammit, " I swore, "But I ordered first! Where's my MOCHA?!" I slammed my fist on the counter, looking around wildly. For the first time since ordering, I actually glanced at the pickup counter and cringed in palpable humiliation. There was a second, identical (except for the gigantic mound of whipped cream at the top. I would have to tip the barista extra next time!) drink about a foot away. Fuck. How did I miss that?
"Your drink must be that one over there. I guess you weren't… paying attention," the kid smirked slightly, glanced straight into my eyes, claimed the mocha which I had the good sense to relinquish, turned around and started walking out the door. I flushed from embarrassment when I realized that he knew I had been staring. Ugh. That little-
"Hey," I growled and he twirled around abruptly to face me, "Who the-" I stopped there, knowing that if I continued speaking a stream of choice obscenities would flow from my mouth, and I'm pretty sure I didn't want to aggravate this kid. I mean, he seemed more than a little psychotic (ok so maybe I was stereotyping him there, but good GOD those pants just screamed I am an emotionally insecure who-am-I why–am-I-here darling little bundle of teen angst and I am ready to validate my existence on your ass, bitch) and I really didn't want him poisoning my mocha next time we happened to run into each other at Starbucks. Though, I was a bit curious about him. So, I decided to just be the better person (I am awesome, after all) and let it go. I mumbled gruffly, "Sorry about that. Umm, nice pants." It killed me to admit that, let me tell you. I compliment no one (except myself. Hellooo, if your derriere looked this good in these pants then you would totally compliment yourself, too). It took IMMENSE effort and self control to speak those words.
His striking blue eyes met mine again and we held eye contact for a few seconds as he hesitated. I saw a shift in his blank expression as he contemplated how to react to my unexpected flattery. Looking at me with a question I didn't understand, he simply stated "…Thanks." With that comment, he took a sip of his mocha and exited the little coffee shop.
I felt like he had stomped all over my dignity. Nobody tells Axel where his mocha's at. Axel is intimately connected with his daily mocha and does not need you to clarify its precise location, because Axel has venti mocha Frappuccino, extra shot of espresso and extra whip radar. So there.
That day would go down in history as the day Axel uttered the phrase 'nice pants' to someone other than himself. Three days later, on the first day of the fall semester, I immensely regretted letting loose those words when I found myself waiting in the immensely long I-NEED-CAFFEINE-BEFORE-MY-NEXT-CLASS-OR-I-WILL-DIE line at the on-campus Starbucks behind Mr. I-Tie-Dyed-My-Pants-In-
A-Vat-Of-Radioactive-Goo. Yeah, I was behind you-know-who, praying to the dear lord up in heaven that fancypants would not turn around and notice me.
Why would I have ever thought that I'd be so lucky?
Today his pants were red and black, checker-board style. You want to know how I know? I was totally admiring his ass (not like that. I had no interest in emotionally challenged males) when I heard an unfortunately familiar voice say, "Oh, you again."
I glanced upward quickly, trying to conceal the fact that I was closely investigating his style choice for the day. Pretty sure he noticed.
"What's up, Mr. No-Whip?" I asked him nonchalantly, as if my eyes hadn't been glued to his backside for the past minute or so.
"Nothing much," he stated simply, glancing over to see how close to the front of the line we were. Fantastic. He thought I was a total freak who had been checking him out and now he wanted to get as far away from me as fast as possible. Just great.
Shifting my position a little to lean on my other leg, I decided that talking to neon pants (well, checkered today) in front of me was better than waiting silently for the fifty people (I mean, seriously, guys, did everybody have to get Starbucks in between classes?) ahead of us in line to order their goddamn drinks and get the hell out of here. I, Axel, cannot take awkward silence for long, and this lack of dialogue was a severe indication of the hate waves I could feel oozing from the stuck-up blonde.
"Sooo… you're a student here at the university, right? Are you a freshman? Because I definitely don't remember you and I'm sure I would've recognized you… you're quite noticeable, you know," I smirked, knowing I had captured his attention with that last comment. He looked at me, still no hint of an expression on his face. God, didn't this kid care about anything? What was his problem? I was just trying to make some fucking friendly conversation.
"Junior. You know….," the blonde turned around briefly and looked at me expressionlessly, cocking his head a bit, "there are 18,000 students at this school." He turned back around, once again inspecting the menu. Like he didn't already know what he was going to order. This kid was aggravating. In retaliation, I decided to press further and continue our dying conversation.
"Cool… I'm a senior… and trust me, I know a lot of people. I am quite popular." I refused to let him one-up me. 'There are 18,000 students at this school.' Pfft. I would not let that snarky-ass comment go unpunished. Ok, so maybe he didn't mean it that way, his tone wasn't quite snippity, but still. He had already trampled on my dignity enough. Let me tell you, I am a very prideful being under the influence of a severe superiority complex.
I eyed the counter. About five more people to go before mini-blonde (he must have been at least a full head shorter than me!) ordered his drink. I wasn't done playing with him yet. Oh no, there was more than enough Starbucks time to crack through neon emo-pants' shell. I wouldn't just crumble this kid's defense, I would burn it to the ground. I was going to make this kid regret the day he touched my mocha and embarrassed me in front of everyone in Starbucks.
The younger boy remained silent, but started rummaging through the pockets of his backpack, eventually withdrawing a black and white checkered wallet (where the hell did this kid shop, anyway?). Three people left before he reached the cashier.
"I'm Axel… by the way." I held out my hand in a gesture of civility. He looked at me blankly, then down at my outstretched arm. He shook my hand warily, looking up at me. Once again, I was stunned by the color of those eyes. Daaamn. I had never seen such a gorgeous blue, and it absolutely killed me to even think that. I wasn't used to complimenting other people.
"Roxas…" he said, and turned around to place his order with the waiting cashier.
"Eh?" I uttered. Roxas? What does that mean?
"It's my name," he explained, glancing back at me over his shoulder while the woman behind the counter rang up his order.
"Oh… that's badass!" I exclaimed, drawing his attention again, "Names with x's in them are just freakin' awesome, if I don't say so myself!" I flashed him a dazzling smile as I stepped up to the cashier next to him, which had just freed up. He looked away quickly, his cheeks a little rosy, and proceeded to dictate his order. Did he just blush? I thought, curiously. Maybe he doesn't have many friends and doesn't know how to deal with outgoing people next to him in line at Starbucks?
"Venti mocha..." I started ordering, then thought for a moment. Hmmm… I had an idea. Why not try something new? "One second," I said to the checkout girl.
I turned to Roxas. "What did you order?" I asked nonchalantly, hoping he would tell me.
"…green tea Frappuccino, no whip," Roxas revealed hesitantly, looking at me from the corner of his eyes as he handed the cashier a five dollar bill.
I turned back to the girl behind the counter in front of me. "Selphie, I'll have the same, except with EXTRA whipped cream, please," I said devilishly, smiling conspiratorially at the younger girl, my favorite barista. I winked slyly at her, knowing that was enough to get me a mug full of whipped cream, if I so wanted. Selphie giggled and nodded her head before reading the price of the drink to me.
Roxas shook his head in disbelief before heading up to the drink pick-up counter. "Have you ever even tried a green tea frappaccino?" he asked me curiously when I joined him where he was waiting for his drink.
"No!" I said gleefully, excited at the prospect of irritating this kid. Well, I'll admit, I was also curious to taste this drink. I mean, I loved my mochas, but the same old same old every day couldn't be good for me, eh?
My glee quickly turned to shock when the barista announced, "Venti green tea Frappuccino, no whip." The drink was… green. A… ghastly… shade… of green.
"What the fuck?" I hissed, looking at Roxas curiously, "It's… green. How the hell can you drink that?! I mean… it… is… green!"
"It's good," Roxas shrugged, taking a sip. He watched me as the barista finished my version, topping it off with a mountain of whipped cream.
I eyed the drink warily as the barista announced its title. I was reluctant to claim it, ready to send it back in exchange for my traditional mocha. But… the kid was watching. I couldn't deface myself anymore by appearing cowardly. I, Axel, afraid of a ghastly green tea blended crème Frappuccino that was vaguely reminiscent of spinach?! Never! I took the plunge and bravely seized my beverage.
Roxas snorted and smiled crookedly. Wait, had Roxas just smiled? What? Did I miss something? Sure, I had only known him for a total of, like, fifteen minutes, but I'm quite certain that I was correct in my observation that Roxas did not smile, being emotionally uncertain, as his pants indicated.
"What?!" I verbally attacked him, showing my exasperation with the whole situation via a particularly paralyzing glare.
He quickly regained his composure, taking up his characteristic blank expression once again.
"Your face," was the only comment he offered as he began heading towards the exit. I dashed to catch up to him, drink still in hand, as of yet untasted.
"What do you mean?" I inquired, falling into step beside him, matching his pace as we made our way outside and down the central campus path. "Did I make my disbelief at the existence of such an oddly grotesque, yet sinfully intriguing twenty ounces of a bizarrely colored blended beverage extraordinarily apparent on my gorgeous, flawless, and dazzling visage?"
"Yeah," Roxas confirmed, nodding as he sucked away at the drink in his hand, "You did." He stared pointedly straight ahead as he continued following the pathway, avoiding a few rushing students as they passed by.
I maintained my position by his side as I followed him. Hell, I had nowhere to go, my next class didn't start for an hour, and I'd be damned if I let this interesting little boy with the badass name and spiky blonde hair escape.
"Sooo… does it taste green?" I asked Roxas, looking at him from the corner of my eyes while holding the drink up in the sunlight.
Roxas shrugged, "…I guess it does…" he mused, still sipping the grass-colored concoction in his hand. He adjusted his backpack and turned down another pathway. He eyed me warily as I turned with him. "You know…" Roxas commented, side-eyeing me, "you should drink it before it melts." I scowled as he glanced away, turning left towards a row of classrooms. I followed him – I was going stick to him like glue (at least until Japanese 101) and discover what exactly caused him to become so antisocial.
I just don't know how to mind my own damn business, now do I?