Saïx tries not to think about saying it.
Still, now that he is alone, now that he is gone, he cannot help but try. The old anxiety is building, the old obsession, the old rankling pain. Perhaps he can purge it somehow. Perhaps - they said such things were possible - perhaps even an imitation of love could be powerful enough to change everything.
"I love you," he says, questioning, testing, and then, more boldly, "I loved you, Axel." But the emptiness of the words cannot capture anything at all of the fire and spirit that once was. The passion of it was never in Saïx - it was always in him, and now he is gone. From an empty vessel, only emptiness can emerge.
Saïx sits, mutely, trying not to be disappointed. He tries not to think about saying it again. Just to make sure Axel heard.
Axel used to practice saying it.
"Rox," he'd begin, then cut himself off and get a glass of water and start over. "Roxas," he'd say, rubbing the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at his target. "I… well, we've been friends for a few months now, and I think… I think I might… be in love with you. As stupid as that sounds. Y'know, no heart and all. But, yeah."
A sigh and a hopeful glance later, and the Roxas plush doll still hadn't lost its stupid grin.
If only…
Roxas never got to say it.
"Axel," he whispers, and the rain comes coursing down from the dark, beetle-black skies of the City, and he realizes suddenly that no matter which corner he turns, no matter where he looks, Port Royal, Pride Rock, behind every stone and tree, Axel will never appear to him again. He will never again see the laughter, hear the soft touch, feel the fond gaze of green eyes that fill with mischief and mirth like a vengeance.
He will never hear his voice, consoling him. He will never bury his face in the warm, sweet-smelling strands of his hair, never return to his room late with the scent of sweat still mingled in his clothes. And, in a sudden moment of fear, he realizes how much experience he has lost. Is this what growing old feels like? Is it just losing everything, some things slowly, others too quickly to be fully understood? Is it losing everything?
"I love you," Roxas whispers to the night, but he knows now that such words are, by far, too little and too late.