He goes to find her before turning in, even though it feels like lead weights have being weighing down his shoulders for the past hour and a half. Just moving is a challenge, putting one foot in front of the other without letting his eyes slip closed or his body sag a little against the wall that's supporting him down the hallway.
Perhaps he'd overdone it today, gone a bit too far, used too much energy on a mission that really wasn't worth it, but it'd helped, somewhat, to relieve some of the lingering ache of worry that had been (wrapping around his chest and squeezing the breath from his lungs) bothering him for nearly two weeks.
Axel isn't accustomed to worry, anymore. He's not equipped to care about someone else's wellbeing after going so long being able to (pretending to) ignore it, so he went out and dealt with it the only way he knew how.
It's hard to worry when your focus was directed at incinerating a bunch of annoying monsters that couldn't understand the meaning of personal space.
It's hard to worry when his body feels about five seconds away from collapsing out from under him.
But it gets a lot easier to worry when he's finally back, where he can do nothing to prevent the worst from happening to the people he (cares about) works with.
The door to the bedroom creaks open a bit fast when he leans a bit too much of his weight against it, but he manages to stop it before it can bang off the wall and disturb the somber air inside.
He takes a second to straighten up and breathe, get his shit together like an actual adult, before looking past the threshold to where the bed sits in the corner.
He finds her exactly where he expects her to be.
There's no chair by the bedside, a mark of the extreme minimalistic decoration that goes into every room within the castle, but she stands there all the same, hands clasped together almost like a prayer, eyes fixed on the bed's occupant as if she hadn't just heard the commotion of Axel's entrance.
The dull whites and grays of the room are a stark contrast to the collection of bright colors laid out across the bed, the little gifts she's started leaving bringing a spark of life to an otherwise quiet, empty room (almost like a tomb). The comparison makes something in Axel's guts twist in a memory of (paingriefloneliness) revulsion, but he shoves it down, away where it can't distract him.
"Xion," he calls, and it's not nearly as authoritative as he would like, sounding far more exhausted than commanding. "What are you still doing up?"
Xion's eyes do not leave her charge, though her body does turn a bit in his direction.
"I'm telling Roxas about today's mission," she admits, and he can see, now, that clasped within her hands there is an orange seashell, a new offering for their unconscious friend to appreciate if (when) he wakes up.
Axel's mouth tightens a bit. He's not quite sure what Saïx or Xemnas will think of their charge (their tool) showing compassion to someone, but for some reason it's not as concerning as it should be; something in his chest feels… (happy) relieved that there's someone else here keeping an eye on Roxas, who has been asleep for so long.
Roxas, who is still out cold despite weeks of rest, body so small and pale against the plain white sheets cradling him.
Saïx called it a coma, theorized it could be permanent, and Axel's (praying) sure that he's wrong, that it will end soon, that the kid will wake up any day now and prove them all wrong like the stubborn little brat he is.
He shoves aside the thoughts swirling in his head when Xion gently places her latest addition onto the bed, all of her little treasures lined up neatly where they won't disturb Roxas until he (hopefully) wakes. He sees the way her hands tremble, just slightly, and reminds himself of what he came here to do.
"Come on, kid," he chides her, trying to go for his usual carefree smile as he holds out a beckoning hand, "I think we need some rest. Roxas wouldn't want us wasting away while waiting for him to wake up, now, would he?"
It's hard to get the words out, but once he says them he knows he's won.
Xion turned her head to meet his gaze, and the dark circles under her eyes make her expression that much more miserable.
Something in Axel's chest (hurts) tightens, and his smile falters a bit.
He doesn't know what he can say to fix his blunder, is struggling for the right words when she mumbles, "I don't… want him to wake up alone."
Axel didn't, either. He would never say it out loud, not in the castle where anyone could hear, but Roxas being alone was the last thing Axel wanted.
But Xion's hands were still shaking, and keeping his own eyes open was almost too much to bear.
He held out one hand. An offer, not an order.
"We won't be any good to him if we collapse," he told her gently, and the smile that lit up Xion's face was so melancholy that Axel was sure, just for a moment, that somewhere his human heart was breaking.
"It wouldn't be fair to worry him, too," she agreed, and when she took his hand, her fingers weren't trembling anymore.
He still has one friend here, in this place that doesn't feel like home, and they could wait together for as long as Roxas needed.
A/N: I don't even remember if Axel and Xion were friends by the time Roxas fell asleep, but it's too late now.
~Persephone
