The firmament of the World That Never Was was tinted deepest ultramarine, and its vascular-organ-shaped orb of night incandesced a gelid hue of bisque. Roxas turned his cobalt oculars to the celestial sphere, and cogitated, not for the premier instance, about Axel.
"Axel..." he sibilated. His ashen tresses wafted athwart his countenance, and he swept it elsewhere with a gesticulation of vexation.
The fledgling gamin was irresolute. The titian-maned elder male was the cyaneous-orbed youth's inamorata, but the auricomous adolescent craved the verity of his inducement, and to ascertain this it would necessitate absconding from the Organization.
It is remarked that Nobodies cannot comprehend adulation, but the ebon-cloaked stripling cognized that this was casuistic. His pathos for the rufescent-tressed male was veritable.
"I can't just leave him," Roxas opined. "But I need to know... about myself, and the Keyblade..."
The boy descried a stirring abaft him, and he pivoted vis-a-vis the clamor. Poised afore him was the selfsame fellow with the verdigris optics and the incarnadine cilium, furbished in a synonymous melanoid mantle.
"Hey, Roxas," the male verbalized, oscillating a digited extremity in salutation.
"Oh... hey Axel," the minor suspired. He revolved his surveillance back to the stygian vault of heaven.
"Is somethin' wrong?" the older male catechized, his visage wrenched in a look of disquietude.
"It's nothing," Roxas prevaricated. It lacerated his animus to dissimulate to his swain, but the viridian-orbed male couldn't be cognizant of his contrivance. It would rend his rubiginous cardiac organ-if he had one.
The elder twined his extremities about the diminutive youth, and the boy reversed, protracting in relation to him so he could osculate the older fellow's embouchement.
As much as it agonized, he cognized he would have to defect.