Title: This Frenzied State
Rating: M
Genre: Drama/romance
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)
Word count: 8,615/ 81, 004 (so far)
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.
Notes: This was my Nano. It's nearly finished, and I will be posting in some type of order soon. Might be fast, might be slow. Concrit encouraged. The title comes from the band Barcelona, off the song "Response." :3
The last time that Roxas had jumped from a building, he had never considered the possibility that he might live through the ordeal. There had been a lot of panicked screams, someone shouting about a terrorist and then for an ambulance, and then, quite remarkably, a pigeon. He'd been utterly and completely disappointed by the entire affair—so disappointed, in fact, that he'd gone and lived at a camp in a mountain where he was granted the opportunity to complain and whine about just how utterly and disappointed he really was. Sometimes he would complain and whine about other affairs, but for the most part he'd stuck to the event involving the roof of the building and the pigeon.
That had been a million years ago, however, and it seemed like his jumping days were over—all except for those days, of course, when he sat in this cubicle, which always startled him because for some reason, someone had painted it a gorgeous color of sprightly sunflower yellow. Sometimes it blinded him, and sometimes he found calm staring into the yellow walls, but for the most part, there was only the annoyance, as well as the annoyances that occurred in this office, annoyances that were usually enough to reinstate every thought he'd ever had in his roof-jumping days that Dr. Phil had tried to stamp out of him.
"And it was this big!" the current annoyance, Demyx, said exuberantly, his hands spread out about a foot apart from each other. When speaking about Demyx the word "annoyance" could sometimes be replaced with "stupid," which was just about the same as the sunflower yellow walls. Occasionally the two tags could be replaced begrudgingly with the tag "good company," though that tag was sometimes also reserved for his anti-social cat so replacing them probably didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.
"Was that the punchline?" Roxas asked, watching the red numbers on the clock's face.
"No, and then I said 'wanna dance?' and then I threw water in his face!" The latter was said triumphantly, which meant Demyx had either fought with someone or had discovered and attained a new kitten, but Roxas wasn't sure which because he'd been too busy counting the seconds until each number on the digital face of the clock ticked over to 1 so he could exhale slowly. If he had to guess, though, he'd guess the new kitten, because Demyx had something he called a "soft spot;" something Roxas called a "very immature spot" and that tag wasn't replaced very often by anyone in any relationship.
"So then Xigbar stepped in and beat him up?" he said, taking a wild stab in the dark at what Demyx was talking about.
"Of course," Demyx said, sounding extremely disappointed in the fact that Roxas wasn't more excited for him; his lower lip began to tug downward in a pout, but a clanking noise from outside the cubicle seemed to catch his attention and he whipped his head out before excitedly whipping it back in. "Roxas, it's the Mexican ice cream dude with those blue things you like so much!"
Three minutes, he had three minutes until each number ticked over to a 1, and that was plenty of time, so he said nothing and shot up, out of the chair into the narrow hallway that was also—surprise—painted the same sunflower yellow color as the walls of his cubicle. They got to the end of the hallway, retrieved their ice cream, and by the time they returned the numbers on the clock face had each passed their respective 1 spot because Demyx hadn't had change for a twenty and he refused to let Roxas pay because he was a man, damnit, and men paid their own say, so he'd spent a harrowing four minutes attempting to coerce the ice cream guy who didn't speak very good English into accepting a trade of Demyx's cheap watch for his ice cream bar, which eventually the man had taken, probably more out of confusion than any real desire for the cheap Velcro. Roxas sat back in his seat, and eyed the clock, and wondered if there was a padlock to the roof and what cars were in the parking lot on this side of the building.
By the time Demyx had apologized profusely, vacated the premises, and Roxas was logged back into the system with his headphones on, he'd remembered that the jerk who had a fondness for cutting him off in his big white F-150 truck, and who also had a most insistent habit of cleaning his windows every day before departing from work, had parked on the side of the building nearest the door to the roof, and the owner would probably appreciate a healthy coat of new paint. He had those big bug guards as well, the sharp black ones, along with a glinting chrome grate in the front. Perfect candidate, perfect time. He could write a goddamn speech about the perfection of it all but his box was blinking red at him and beeping belatedly in his ear.
He heard the system say something about the call, and then suddenly remembered that Naminé had some type of art exhibit next week, and she'd gone and been the hugest bitch in the world and painted him, or sketched him, or had done something different with her goddamn hands and had already told him that she'd appreciate him showing up, preferably breathing and not via spirit or haunting while in the purgatory he surely was going to wind up in. Goddamnit.
"Rogart Airways, Roxas Hart," he said, automatically and edging in with his spiel, mind still on Naminé and her goddamn painting and cheery little smile, "we offer the lowest fares and best service in the industry and—"
"Hello!" the voice on the other end interrupted with some sort of crazed cheerfulness. "Hey, I need to go from New York to Los Angeles sometime in the next day. Can you tell me how much that's going to be?"
Roxas was already irritated. "I can, what time did you want to depart?"
The caller sounded stressed, then, as though he wasn't sure, and then finally just snapped and said whatever was cheapest. Roxas rolled his eyes, went about pricing the fare, and when he told him the price, the caller sort of made a strangled little gasp.
"That… that expensive?"
"Yes." No flourish, simple answers.
"Why?"
Roxas muted, muttered "you fucking idiot", and went off mute and said cheerlessly, "It's more expensive because you want to fly out so soon. Generally our lower fares are reserved for our customers who book further in advance. It's just generally the way we price things. Would you like me to book this flight for you?"
There was silence. Roxas muted, muttered "fucking die in a fire you fucking asshole," and went off mute and asked, "Sir?"
"I… I, okay, can you… can you put it on a time limit for me?"
Roxas muted, muttered "for the love of god jump off a cliff," and went off mute and said, "Certainly. Can I have your name as it appears on your government issued photo identification?"
"Axel," the man said, "my name's Axel Stone."
Roxas took his information, gave out the standard spiel about the time limit procedures and restrictions, and said forcefully, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Silence on the other end, and Roxas opened his mouth to mutter something about "fucking get a backbone and jump off a building," when the caller came back and said, "Hey, Roxas?"
For a second Roxas lost his composure, because he most certainly wasn't used to anybody who called him using his real name—he was quite used to the terms "fuckwit," "asshole," and "money guzzling whore" however—on the phone and said, "What?"
"How's the weather?"
Roxas stared at the screen, blinked a second, and then rolled his eyes. "It's fine sir, it's a little hot outside but otherwise, it's just fine. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Because I assume you're not here," the man was saying, almost absently, "because I'm in New York and I heard you guys had call centers in like, Texas but not here and I was just curious because—"
"No," Roxas interrupted, with no sense of cheer or familiarity or pretty much even decency, "we have our office in New York as well."
"Oh cool. Are you in like, Brooklyn? That's where I'm at. Brooklyn."
"That's nice," Roxas said, fingers hovering dangerously over the "end call" key. "Is there anything else?"
"Are you in Brooklyn? I was asking you, sorry, didn't mean to get caught up."
"No, we're further north, in Sunnydale," Roxas said, looking at yellow walls.
"Oh, my aunt lives in Sunnydale. She says it's nice. I've never been, though I want to go sometimes. Just never have the cash, you know? Transportation aint' cheap these days, you know?"
Roxas wanted to wrap the phone cord around his neck and strangle himself. "I understand, sir," he said, tapping his fingers loudly on the desk and hoping the sound carried onto the phone. "I understand completely. Thank you for calling—"
"Ever been to LA?"
Roxas was practically weeping now. "No, I haven't. I'm sure it's lovely, dandy, fine now."
"I'm just asking because I want to go," the man, Axel, said sort of breezily, "you know, this fare you put on hold for me. I just, it's expensive and I'd have to leave today or tomorrow, you know. My uh… my dad died and there's a funeral in a few days so I figured I'd better get up there, you know?"
Roxas banged his head onto the table, though he remembered to push mute before he opened his mouth and spat out, "Goddamnbitchmotherfucker get off my phone you goddamnfuckingidiotdamnit." Taking a moment to gaze at the sunflower walls and reflect on his life and possible death, he took a deep breath and said, "Sir? You said you were flying for a funeral?"
There was a pause, and then Axel Stone said, a slightly more hostile voice, "That's a bit personal, don't you think?"
There were things in life that caused high blood pressure and Roxas was only twenty, and he wasn't sure if he could die yet, but with high enough blood pressure, he figured it was pretty plausible.
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry for your loss, but we do have compassion fares that would significantly lower—"
"I guess I'm sorry too, I'm just—lower?"
"Compassion fares. If you're traveling for a funeral. I could check your flight for you and see if there's anything available."
"That would be great,'" the caller gushed, and Roxas rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondered why jumping off a roof had never really been successful, and then clicked in the appropriate keys. It turned out that there was something available, and well certainly not cheap, it was nowhere near as bad the price he'd read a few moments before. He unmuted and told the caller the estimated price and there was a silence.
"Sir?" Roxas asked, about ready to hang up and attempt to salvage anything he could of his call time.
"Can you put that one on hold for me?" There was a slight apprehension, before a rushed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need to get my mom's credit card but I'm in a rush because I need to go to class and I'm sorry, you know, I know it probably sucks having people like me who change their minds all the time, I know, but I mean—"
"It's no problem," Roxas interrupted through gritted teeth, set the record on a limit, and read back the locator without stopping to see if Axel Stone had a pen handy. "Anything else I can help you with?"
"No, no thanks, you were a great help, I'll probably call back in a few hours, thanks a ton—"
"Thank you for calling Rogert," Roxas said smoothly. "Have a great day."
"You too, thanks again and—"
Roxas disconnected the call, breathed out through his mouth, inhaled through his nose, and repeated the process a few times before opening his eyes to see the same walls. He paused his queue, repeated the process for about a minute, blinked a few times, repeated the process again, and went back to place himself on queue again. There. He was sufficiently calm now. Ready to deal with the general public again. That nearly gave him a headache just thinking about it, so he repeated his process a few more times, and then when he opened his eyes at last, there was a change of scenery: there was his supervisor, standing there, looking down at him with concern.
"I think we need to have a talk Roxas," Lexaeus said, as quietly as he said anything else.
For a second Roxas wished, very fervently and without remorse, for the death of whoever had just called. He supposed that wasn't a fair thing; it surely wasn't a right thing, but damnit, he knew what had happened by the look in Lexaeus's eyes. He'd been rude and he knew it and the customer had probably known it—well that was an iffy one, since god knew that Axel Stone hadn't seemed like the brightest crayon in the box—and Lexaeus certainly had known it from listening in, something that happened quite often around here. He was about to be reprimanded. Get written up. Have a damn yellow sticky put in his goddamn manila file and have it follow him around like some yellow sticky-noted winged bird for the rest of his life here, which probably wouldn't be very long, because, he remembered, there were no guards around this building and the roof was probably not very closely guarded at all.
Just as Lexaeus raised a finger to indicate he should follow, his call box lit up with flashing red lights and he heard the recorded greeting in his headset. He felt some glimmer of glee that his punishment had been put on hold; the call had beeped into him, he couldn't just transfer it off—that was against their very prestigious and very strictly followed customer standards that had made them world famous and who knew what would happen if this incident leaked out, his transferring of a call to another Representative? The very world might collapse, that's what was going to happen, and so he made a very apologetic face at Lexaeus, pointed to his call box, and started his spiel as soon as he heard the taped recording was done.
"Small world," mused the voice on the other end when the spiel was done, "considering I'd figure you must have, what, like, at least two hundred other people working there and I get back to you? It must be fate!"
Roxas did not at first recognize the voice on the other end of the line. He blinked at the screen, saw that the automated system hadn't picked up any useful information, and said a little hesitantly, "May I ask whom I'm speaking with?"
"Oh, sorry Rox," said the caller, and that immediately irritated and annoyed and made Roxas want to smash his headset into his bleary monitor. Nobody called him Rox. Dead people called him Rox. This caller certainly didn't have the right to call him Rox and he opened his mouth to say so, before remembering that Lexaeus was still standing there watching him, but not before the caller continued, "this is Axel. Axel Stone. I just had you a few minutes ago."
Roxas gritted his teeth when he realized that it was the dude with the dead father, the one that had made him pull up the compassion fare, and pretty much the man who had insured that Lexaeus would be standing over his shoulder for a few months to make sure a stray "fuck you" didn't enter a poor customer's ear. He focused on the sunflower walls, because they were the color of the sun, and the sun was burning, fiery, intense, angry and also certainly very calm, all in its stationary and nonmoving glory. Yes, be the sun. Be the sun. Be the sun. Be the sun.
"Yes, I certainly remember, Mr. Stone," Roxas said, starting to pull down the dropdown menu to attempt and retrieve the idiot's record. "Are you—"
"No need for that," Axel Stone said, chuckling a little, "I feel like we're old friends, you know, good old friends. Axel would be just fine. Got it memorized?"
Stationary, stationary and calm and certainly not fiery and angry just like the sun.
"Sure thing… Axel," Roxas said, hoping there was no irritation in his voice, though a quick glance at Lexaeus's mostly expressionless face sort of hinted otherwise. "Now, I have your file pulled up here, did you want to pay for that ticket now?"
"Yea, that'd be great, I didn't realize I had my mom's credit card with me anyway, and my class got cancelled, which was sweet, but I figured I'd better pay for it now, I mean, I know you guys are nice enough to put it on a time limit for me but who knows what sort of interesting things happen in the time between you taking my order and you taking my money, I'm sure you guys have a huge system and things could slip through the cracks, not that I'm focusing on you or anyone you know or even your company, it's just a proven and tireless fact so yea, I should pay for it now and get confirmed and stuff before its gone. Hello?"
There were security cameras everywhere, and Roxas wondered, dimly, if he could somehow convince Lexaeus to access one, so that he could see how far his mouth had dropped open. It would be amusing for about a split second or so but Roxas took amusing in every split second he could come by.
"I'm still here," he managed, albeit a little faintly. "Can I have the credit card number?"
"No prob, let me get it out of my backpack, it's sort of annoying since it has too many zippers. It was a gift and you don't look a gift horse in the mouth is what they always say and it's 4920492193196."
Roxas, practically sleeping with his eyes open, was startled into the number and frantically tapped it out into the keyboard. He managed to extract the security code, the expiration date, the name, and the mailing address without too much of a sidetrack and he was just beginning to hope that this conversation might nearly be over, god love him, but when they came to the email address, there was another pause, and another tirade.
"Oh, so you can send me my itinerary? That would be rad, I probably want to know when I'm going and when I'll be back and whatnot, but ok, here, don't freak out, I got his email address when I was like, sixteen and I've matured so much since then, I swear I'm not a juvenile delinquent or sitting in prison for the next few years because of something related to this, it's just something I thought was clever at the same time, which I guess it sort of is, but it's still sort of juvenile and I should probably make another one. Don't you think?"
"Well," Roxas said, choosing every single word before he said them, happily realizing he hadn't picked an odd "fuck" in the mix, "that would depend on what it is."
"Oh! I thought I'd told you! It's ilightthingsonfire1209 at . Like I said, it was just a phase and it's just stuck with me forever, you know."
"It's not a problem," Roxas gritted out, updating his record and thinking calm sun calm sun calm sun calm sun. "Now, you have your record locator, you can check in at the airport, and—"
"Roxas?" he interrupted suddenly, "Roxas, do you live in Sunnydale?"
He wanted to scream. "Yes, I do."
"Is it nice?"
"It's… lovely."
"Yea? I want to move up there soon. I… Brooklyn is a bit too much for me these days, and especially now."
Oh, god save him if this idiot ever set foot in his city.
"It's quite a lovely spot to settle in," he said, for the sake of Lexaeus, who was watching him with those intense brown eyes. "I like it a lot."
"Yea? Lots of night life?"
"Oh yes, definitely, just bustling."
"Great. Oh well, I have another call on the other end, thanks for all your help Roxas… I truly, truly appreciate it."
"You have a fantastic day now," Roxas said hollowly, and clicked off the call, looking helplessly at his Lead.
Lexaeus observed him fairly, and then said, "An idiot?"
"Grade A."
"Well, be a little nicer next time, please." With that he stepped out of the cubicle and started down the hall.
Tipping back in his very ergonomically correct chair, Roxas sighed, massaged his temples, and wondered how mad Naminé would be, exactly, if he missed her art show.
__
The door to the roof ended up being locked, and not just simply locked, locked with a padlock. Upon extracting this information from the janitor, he'd gone back to his computer, logged into the company intraweb, and looked up any deaths in connection with Rogert. It took him back about six years, and in the name of the file was somebody by the name of Saix, who had lost someone dear to him in a tragic accident involving an automobile and a diabolical intent to take over the world. Saix had apparently been a beast of a man, had broken the flimsy latch lock, and walked off the roof into, quite incidentally, a large white F-150 with shiny chrome guards and sharp bug shields.
As much as Roxas just thoroughly, thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed his job, walking off the roof into the same care that this Saix fellow had apparently walked off onto was not something he wanted to add to his resume. Maybe Naminé's roof would work. She lived in a high building. And probably nobody had jumped off that roof onto a white F-150.
It would work just fine.
__
When he showed up at Naminé's door, canvas messenger bag over his shoulder, soaking wet, hair sticking up at extreme angles he didn't know hair could stick up in, the first thing he asked was, "Does your roof have a padlock on it?"
Naminé merely chuckled fondly at him, ushered him inside, made him take off his shoes and put them in front of fake fireplace, and then brought him a few towels to dry off with. She immediately set about busily, starting to boil water for tea and pulling out a couple of those microwaveable pretzels that she kept around solely for him. She was like his mother, Roxas reflected, stepping into the shower and turning on the hot water, except that unlike his mother, she seemed like she actually cared.
He spent a long time in the shower, past the point of wrinkled skin, but the water pressure was higher here than in his own apartment, and it felt like some cheap massage, but it felt delicious nonetheless. The tension in his neck mostly washed away, and the coldness seeped out of his bones. There was something therapeutic that most people didn't know about showers—standing underneath a hot stream of water wasn't unlike that hot flash of crashing onto a car hood. It was a good reminder.
Sometimes it felt good, and other times, it felt downright painful.
Right now the heat wormed deliciously underneath his skin and when he reappeared in the living room, dry with much more manageable hair, he wanted to be back underneath that hot stream. Read: he wanted to be back crashing against a car hood. Pain was beautiful. Heat was beautiful. Therefore, they were the same, or, whatever the fuck the shrinks had put into his brain. Something was beautiful, but he had a hard time picking what that thing was most days.
Naminé was sitting at the table, eyeing him critically as he started tearing into the two pretzels she'd set out for him. "You know, you can't live on these alone," she said conversationally, taking a slow sip of her tea as she watched him shovel the food into his mouth like it was the only sustenance he'd had in days. Roxas didn't love much, but he loved the pretzels and he loved that ice cream the Mexican vendor sold.
"Why not?" he asked, working on the other one. "They're oh so healthy and nutritious and part of a complete breakfast."
She frowned. "I wasn't aware you ate pretzels for breakfast."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I wasn't aware you didn't. I can't be your friend anymore."
She smiled at that, and leaned back in her chair, watching him still very critically. Like a hawk this girl who was more of a woman was, like a hawk. This bitch was violent. Roxas wasn't so much afraid of her as he was terrified of her. She might have the delicate little angel face with the big blue eyes, but Roxas knew better. Oh, Roxas knew better.
"So," she said, very casually as she examined her nails, but Roxas knew better about this too. Immediately on the defensive, he took the last chew of his pretzel, leaned back in his chair, armed himself with whatever mental weapon he could find (i.e., he armed himself with a very steel nerve that consisted of orders to not break underneath her interrogation and start sobbing like a bitch), and waited. She seemed content to take her time, which made him start to get nervous about the approach she was about to take. Maybe he could escape away to the television. What day was it? Wednesday? Nothing but reality television shows and reruns of Desperate Housewives, which Roxas supposed he could escape too, possibly with the explanation that he had a thing for Marcia Cross, but Naminé knew better. Skates, the cat? His eyes darted around frantically, but the ten pounds of fury and sharp was nowhere to be seen. Damnit. Bathroom? Yes, that was a perfect—
"So, how was work?"
He'd narrowly averted a heart attack and she was prattling on about work? Did she want him to die?
"Work was just utterly fantastic," he said, massaging his chest soothingly, telling his heart that it would be okay, everything would be just fine. "You know, the usual. Idiots. Ax murderers fleeing the law. Grieving parents expecting me to cut them a break. Senior citizens bitching about their damn wheelchairs. All in a day's work."
Naminé nodded pleasantly. "I expect you gave them the best customer service in the industry."
Roxas nodded, ever enthusiastically. "Oh, you know me baby, I always bring my A game to the table when it concerns bitching customers."
There was a pause, where she peered at him, and then said severely, "You're just as bad, don't give me any of that."
He rolled his eyes, and got out of the chair, having convinced his scared heart that he'd told the evil demon woman to go away and leave them alone. He took the plate and the tea cup to the sink, threw out most of the tea, rinsed them, and stuck them in the dishwasher. There was silence except for the clinking of his dinnerware, but he didn't expect the silence to lull away anytime soon. He did a quick check on his shoes, grabbed the remote from on top of the television, and sat down. There was, indeed, Desperate Housewives. And Marcia Cross did have lovely hair.
A thump next to him told him that Naminé was sitting there, next to him. Should he pay attention to her?
"Roxas," she said, finally, and he had managed to calm his heart rather impressively at her voice. "Roxas, your mom called me and asked me to make sure you knew what next week is."
His heart would be the death of him, not any cars or any roofs, but his heart, simply giving away, Naminé the instrument of its demise.
"What's next week?" he asked vaguely, focusing on that wonderful sheen of red hair.
"Next week's the second week of the month," she said, forcefully. "You know… the 11th."
"Oh yea, I know, you don't have to worry, I know," he said, distractedly, wondering if he'd look as good a redhead.
"So you're going to see her in Brooklyn, right? She wanted me to make sure you were."
"Yea, I am, already took the day off and everything…"
There was a pause, and then a sigh. "She's really worried about you, you know."
No reply from him, and then another sigh. "So am I."
At that he turned toward her, peered at her for a moment, and said, "Don't be. You shouldn't. I'm fine."
She looked at him very skeptically. "You've said that before, you know.'
"Well, yea. I'm fine Naminé. Really. You know me better than anyone." He smiled as brilliantly as he could at her and reached out and shook her shoulder in a very easygoing way. "I'm fine. The job just sucks. You know that."
There was an odd, sad quality about the smile she gave him, though it was a smile still, nonetheless. "Yea, I know. You just worry me is all."
"Reportedly I worry everyone, so you're not alone in that buck." He expected that to make her chuckle at least, but the quiet look on her face only increased and he sighed himself, getting up from his couching position to sit right next to her and tap on her skull lightly. "Hey, I'm right here, crazy. I'm fine."
"Yea, I know. I do." She didn't say anything else, and he didn't try to force her, and instead he focused back on the sheen in Marcia Cross's hair, because that was quite shiny, and like every other boy that ever existed, Roxas was well-invested in and quite fond of shiny things.
There were two more reruns of it after that, and by the middle of the second he had drifted off with his head on Naminé's lap, thinking about Brooklyn.
__
When Roxas woke up the next morning, covered in a blanket on the couch, he checked his phone and saw that it was just after eight in the morning and that Naminé wasn't awake yet because her bedroom door was closed. He had to work in three hours, but he put on his now dry shoes and jacket, went outside, and found the stairs that led up to roof. There was no security guard, and the lock on the door was flimsy.
It would give with a well placed kick.
__
Minute one, minute two, minute three.
He was in a castle, and the walls were painted white.
Minute four, fix, six.
There was a big egg there, questionably, a big, smooth, oval egg right in the middle of the room, and feeding into it were gently sloped wires.
Seven, eight, nine.
There was a knocking noise, horrifyingly loud, and it came from inside the pod, because there was something alive in there.
Ten.
It was louder and he stepped toward it, and when he did, it started to open.
Eleven, twelve.
There was a disembodied voice that seemed to float out of the pod, growing louder, and louder, and louder and it was saying his name, in some sort of odd, crazy--
Thirteen.
"AXEL!"
Axel shot up, and yelped in pain when his head connected squarely with the piece of wood directly above him. He felt stars blink in and out of his eyes for moment while he frantically rubbed his head and tried to get out of the bed. Before figuring out that he was still too long for the bed, his legs got tangled in the sheets, and he attempted a kamikaze maneuver to escape. He ended up crashing to the floor in a heap of tangled blankets and sheets.
"AXEL GET UP YOU'RE LATE."
The voice was pissed and irritated, so that meant it was probably Reno. Muttering and still seeing vague red stars in his eyes, he untangled himself and realized that the alarm clock was, indeed, shrieking at him. He blinked at it, and then smirked, even though Reno had given up with one simple pound on the door and was now using both his fists. It had been going off for about half an hour now. He heard something else connect firmly with the door, something different and less hollow than a fist, and then a stream of swear words.
"FUCKING A AXEL GET UP WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE—AHH!"
Axel squared his fists and turned just in time to see Reno come hurtling through the door clumsily, the lock having given away. His momentum carried him into the corner of the bunk bed, and he let loose a soft gasp for air and propelled back, hitting the dresser with his backside and almost bouncing off that back into the bed. He managed to swing his arms in a great circle, though, knocking off a couple of books from the shelf above the dresser, but it stopped him from again jostling forward into the antique bed. It took a second, but Axel raised his hands and slowly started clapping.
Reno glared at him, baring his teeth. "Get up you little shithead, we're going to be late!"
"Like you care," Axel said breezily, rubbing his forehead and still not getting up from his position on the floor. "You were bitching about it all yesterday. It's okay, you can admit it, you don't want to go. I understand. I see where you're coming from. Go ahead, you can open up and give me all you feelings—"
"Do you ever shut up?" Reno snapped crossly, shaking himself and cracking his neck, as though the traumatic encounter with both the bed and the dresser had caused his neck to become full of kinks. "Just hurry up and get dressed and for fuck's sake, do something with your hair." He wheeled around, nearly slammed back into the dresser, avoided it, and stomped out of the room, being very careful to yank the door shut, hard, but when he did that it sprang back open and Axel heard his high pitched voice shriek, "You fucking broke my door you little prick!"
"Yes, I sure did," Axel muttered, finally picking himself up and throwing the infernally tangled bunch of blankets back onto the mattress. "Yes, that was me. All me." He sat on the bed, rubbed his forehead a little bit more, and blearily glanced at the clock. It was ten fifty eight, he'd been here for two days, and he was ready to just go home.
__
Ten minutes later he had properly fitted himself into his black suit; Axel had tried to bring his red one, the one that clashed horribly with his hair, but Reno would have none of it and nearly strangled him while fixing the tie. Reno had also been very near to simply taking his gardening shears and raking them through Axel's hair; Axel had locked himself into bathroom to avoid such a punishment and when Reno had threatened to break down the door, Axel had reminded him about the already broken bedroom door, which had cause Reno go on a tirade about how it was all Axel's fault, and Axel would be paying for the replacement, and Axel should probably just hurry the fuck up and tie his hair up before Reno slammed the edge of the shears through the door.
As a result they didn't depart until nearly twenty five minutes later, a full five minutes later than they were supposed to leave. Axel didn't bother pointing out the irony.
"Why don't you just slick it back?" Reno asked, for what was probably the twelfth time, tapping on the steering wheel impatiently.
"What about yours?' Axel replied, stealthily attempting to loosen his tie without Reno noticing.
"I am the perfect picture of suave and secure," Reno nearly snorted, blasting through a red light and ignoring the honks from the other lanes of traffic. "I'm a ladies' man, babe. Trust me, I know how to dress myself. I look fly."
Axel sneaked a glance at him before rolling his eyes and again attempting to loosen his tie without A) strangling himself or B) Reno noticing and swatting him across the face. Not that Axel particularly feared Reno's girly little swats, but there was always that nagging fear that Reno would, for some godawful reason, take both hands off the steering wheel and end up careening into the next crowd of underaged school children on their way to the school festival. One could never tell with Reno, not even Axel, who had lived with him practically his entire life.
"You sure do," Axel said, before tightening the tie a final time and giving up, because he was going to end up killing himself this way. "You look way fly. I'd do you in a heartbeat."
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Reno's eyes glance suspiciously in his direction. "Do I have something on my nose? Is my hair sticking up?"
Axel shook his head and fanned himself with his hands. "Oh, heavens' no, of course not dear," he said, demurely and a bit sadly, "why would there be anything wrong with your face? I mean, your nose?"
Now Reno was yanking down his sun visor to get to the mirror underneath, and Axel immediately gripped his seatbelt with both hands, planting his feet firmly on the floor on the car and bracing himself for any impact within the next few seconds. It only took a quick second, though, and Reno was finished examining his face, now glaring over at him and taking his hand and swatting at his own cheek. Axel dodged best he could, but he was still in collision mode, and he felt most of the sting.
"God, you're worse than me," Reno growled, mostly to himself. "I don't know how they did it."
"Lots of Zoloft," Axel said, and there was a smirk in his voice. "Lots of Zoloft, and lots of liquor."
"Cut that out," Reno scoffed, signaling like a normal human being and turning into a mostly empty parking lot. "Oh good, we're on time."
Axel, again, chose not to point out the irony.
Reno parked, Axel said the standard thanks for arriving somewhere with his brother all in one piece, and got out of the car. The morning sun was hot and Axel tugged unconsciously at the tie, which seemed to magically tighten around his neck. It was now reaching the point of discomfort and he nearly asked Reno for help but he was stopped, however, by young woman coming their way. She had jet black hair, and an ample chest. Axel rolled his eyes and stepped back, letting Reno lead the way with that smile of his toward her.
"Tifa!" his brother greeted, his voice all sunshine. "It's good to see you!" He engulfed her in a hug and squeezed, Axel personally thinking he squeezed a little too tight for comfort but the smiling woman didn't appear to mind as she pulled back. Axel noticed that she, too, was dressed all in black, a very modest skirt and jacket getup, complete with the sunhat and the little veil. Classy, very classy.
"Good to see you too, Reno," Tifa said, "though I wish it were a different occasion." Her voice was sad, but brightened when her eyes seemed to land on Axel. Oh. No. She came bustling toward him, and Axel said another prayer, this time to come away unscathed and still breathing, as she smothered him in a hug. He hugged gently back, pretty sure she couldn't feel a thing with the way that she gripping him. "Oh, Axel. It's good to see you too. How's New York treating you? I already saw Aerith, and it's a shame Cloud couldn't make it, but, how's New York?"
Axel gave her his most winning smile, angling his head in what he hoped was an engaging manner. She had let go of him, at least, and he could breathe again. He saw Reno beyond her smiling face, his eyes narrowed and the jutting of his jaw clear. His hands were on hips and like Axel had always said, Reno was such a girl. Axel kept smiling, and said, "It's great. I love it. Always something to do and it's nice having Cloud and Aerith so close… though I'm thinking of moving near my aunt."
"Oh, dear, why?" Tifa sounded distressed and Axel capitalized and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking it in a very comforting way. Over her head, he saw Reno glaring.
"Nothing to worry about," he reassured her, letting his hand drop. "I think I just need a change of scenery, and Brooklyn had its charm for a bit, but I think I just nee to explore while I still can. You know, live what I can while I can, that sort of deal. Let the wind blow me where it may."
Tifa looked at him hard, and then smiled again, clasping it hand. "Well, I'm sure you'll do fine wherever you wind up." Over her head, Reno was making a sawing motion around his throat. "I'm sure your aunt will adore your company. You should use that adventurous spirit while you can. Sometimes it won't always be there." She let go of his hand and turned with a flurry of her hair, and Axel nearly went down with the weight of it but managed to keep his footing. She strolled ahead of them, smiling graciously at Reno and saying, "Your mom's this way. She's waiting for you."
As soon as she was past and focused directly on the church, Reno swooped around to Axel and grabbed his tie and yanked it. Axel tried to kick him in the knee but Reno was smarter and simply pulled him closer, whispered, "Back off, she's mine and I'll castrate you if you think any differently, babe," and pulled away, to walk at Tifa's side. Axel grasped frantically at his tie, trying to make a sound, something like "oh hey, I'm choking," but nothing escaped. He walked forward haphazardly, trying to bash into Reno's back so the jerk would turn around and help him, but Reno had taken a hold of Tifa's back and propelled her forward at a fast gait. Axel patted his pockets in a frenzy, thinking that his lighter was there, but nope, he'd not brought any cigarettes on this trip because he was a good boy, damnit, and good boys didn't smoke and he'd been chewing those damn Nicorete gums for the past two days and fuck, he was going to die and he had at least wanted to take a fuckng smoke before he kicked it, this was wrong.
"Uh, need some help, Axel?"
The quiet, sweet voice to his left attracted his attention and he turned oxygen deprived eyes in that direction, seeing more black, only this time, it was punctuated by pink flowers. It was Aerith, watching him with concerned eyes, her brown hair plaited back into a braid held together by a pink flowered tie. He was relieved and happy to see her, like he always was, though that thought was sort of put on hold by the fact that, well, you know, he was just about to fucking up and start croaking any second now, so he just nodded frantically and pointed at his throat.
Aerith, who lived with a business man and was quite good at domestic things, realized at once what was happening and zeroed in, taking the knot in her delicate fingers and loosening it carefully, little by little, until it hung limply around his neck. He sucked in air like he had just been oxygen deprived and again felt in his pockets, longing for a cigarette but not finding them, as he hadn't earlier.
"Thanks doll," he said, still slightly out of breath. "How embarrassing would that have been, suffocating on your own tie?"
Aerith smiled that small, sincere smile of hers and made a shushing noise. "Oh, it wouldn't have been too bad. I'm sure I could have come up with a better explanation for how you had went. Something very noble and heroic, so nobody would think any lesser of you. I might tell Reno, though," she teased, gently, and then said, noticing that his hands were again wistfully smoothing over his pockets, "and do you need a lighter? I think I can get one from someone."
"Oh, no," Axel said, shaking his head vehemently. "I don't smoke."
Aerith smiled a little insecurely. "You don't? When did you quit?"
"When I got on the plane to come here," Axel replied and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't escape from Reno or any of them long enough for one. I don't know how I'll sneak away today but maybe I can play the role of grieving son, you know, say I need some time to myself and get out and get a pack. Maybe one of these old coots will have one and I can just steal it. I like that plan better."
She was still smiling uncertainly, before she said, "They don't know you smoke?"
"Reno and my grandparents? Of course they don't. I can't deal with that kind of pressure at these events, you understand, it would just absolutely kill me. No smoking for me, I'm as straight laced and Bible toting as they come, yessir…"
"Well, who knows," Aerith said, lightly, taking him by the shoulder and steering him toward the church, "maybe one of those little old men will be about to croak themselves and you can take their packs and their widows will write it off as charity."
That Aerith, she never missed a turn, no matter how innocent she looked.
"I like how you think," Axel said, "and that flower. I wanted to wear my red suit. Reno said it was uncouth."
"When did Reno learn such big words?" Aerith wondered, before saying, "You should have worn it anyway. Tifa tried to talk me out of the flowers but… your father would have wanted color, I think. I'm sure he'd be quite impressed if you had worn that red suit of yours."
"Who knows," Axel muttered, before raising his voice and saying, "Well, tell you what, let's make him a little happy, here." He carefully stretched out the already very loosened tie, pulled it up over his head, and was about to toss it into a passing trash can before remembering that it was Reno's and Reno was bound to start a tirade up in the middle of the eulogy if he found out that his little brother had tossed his tie. Bad idea. He stuffed it into his pocket instead, smirking lazily at Aerith. "There. I'm a rebel now."
"Truly," Aerith agreed, intertwining their arms as they approached the entrance of the church. "You with no tie and me with my pink flowers, we're just the best rebels in this whole church." She gave that delicate, tinkly little laugh that Axel loved so much and he grinned at her fondly, a smile that not many saw nowadays. Aerith had always been the sister he'd never been born with—he'd been stuck with Reno instead, who was about as great as a box of rocks most days, though some days he did end up achieving the status of doorknobs, which Axel personally thought was always quite an improvement, as doorknobs were actually useful.
They reached the doors and Axel reached out courteously and opened the door for her; she smiled and went in first, casting him a backward glance as she headed directly for the alter, where a slight crowd was forming. Axel watched her very graceful walk for a moment, before turning back around to look up at the sky, which was still blazing. Not very apt, he thought, not for a funeral, especially not his father's, though he was sure that many would be in the opposite of that opinion and agree that a sunny day was a perfect requiem for such a sunny personality. Personally, Axel would have preferred a downpour. Even hale. A hurricane would even be sufficient but the golden sunshine and warm air hadn't been figured into his estimate. Go figure.
A quick glance up the long aisle revealed that his grandparents were gazing down in his direction, and now Tifa and Reno and Aerith and his stepmom were gazing back in his direction too, and he quickly looked back in the sky, as though fascinated by the sun. Hands ran absently over his pockets yet again, and he wished he had a cigarette. If anything, that might make this better. If anything, that might make this bearable. Not that he was particularly worried about himself, but he knew his grandmother would be crying, and his stepmom would be sobbing, and even Tifa would be making those sniffling noises and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, which he sure Reno would be ever so helpful in providing. Aerith would endure with a quiet, calm dignity, he was sure. But god knew if his aunts and his uncles and assorted other relatives and coworkers and other damn people would keep their mouths shut.
Axel could handle funerals. Axel could handle dead people, and he could handle setting things on fire, and he could handle assault and airplanes and the damn bunk bed and Reno, but be damned if he could stand a church full of poor sobbing women crying about something that couldn't even be changed anymore.
"Axel!"
He pretended not to hear and tried to slide the door to the church closed.
"AXEL! YOU GODDAMN LITTLE PRICK, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE BEFORE I FLAY YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE."
Grinning, Axel turned around to greet an angry Reno, who was scrabbling for his tie and didn't seem to have realized that had had practically screamed profanity at his little brother in a church that now contained approximately fourteen senior citizens, eight women, two priests, and a dead body. He also didn't seem to realize that Axel had ditched his tie, because his fingers closed around the collar of Axel's shirt and he was yanked forward, into the church, by that.
