Axel

There was noise. It was a loud noise, too. It probably meant that it was time to get up. Time to get up, time to get up. Joy.

I rolled over onto my back and lifted my arm. It hovered for a minute as I divined where, exactly, my alarm clock was located. I thought briefly about opening my eyes to find it, but decided against that plan because I was just going to close them again; I was going to smack the shit out of the snooze button and go right back to sleep. I reached, over, over, back, down, over... An eddy in the air told me I needed to be a forward a bit... No, that knocked the lamp off the table. I gave up finesse—my divining was probably more like arm-flailing anyway—and I released the strength in my arm, which was beginning to burn anyway. My hand touched the clock, not the snooze, but, after a bit of scrambling, I had pushed the button. It was probably more trouble than it was worth and the lamp was probably broken, but I got more sleep, with a bit of superglue, maybe some duct tape, it would be a win-win all around.

Except, noise was still jamming my brain. I gave the snooze a second, more forceful, smack but with no result. I cracked an eye open. It was dark, like, pitch-black, no-light-from-anywhere-but-especially-not-from-the-window dark. Which said to me, 'something is going on,' because the sun wasn't even beginning to lighten the sky. Which said to me, 'it is not time to get up, get up, get up.' Which didn't explain the noise, which was still going on, but that was rapidly taking on a new meaning.

I turned my head to the left where red LED lights spelled out the time.

And the time was 3:02.

The AM kind of 3:02.

...

3 in the motherfucking morning.

You know, the thing about three in the morning is that it's three in the morning. Which sounds very simple, it really is very simple, not difficult in any way at all to understand. And, upon understanding, one can realize something that is very important and that important something is this: there is no acceptable reason for me to be up at three in the god damn morning. Ever. Not plane departures, not road trips, not insomnia, not hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, or wild fires, and sure as hell not phone calls. Because if airlines, friends, family, nature, and whoever the Christ is on the other end of the line loved me, they wouldn't do shit that extends into, begins at, or requires my presence at three in the god damn morning. Really, not a difficult concept to grasp at all, right? Three in the morning (Standard Central Time, US) is for sleeping. End of story. That is not hard. But some people don't get it, hence, why they are calling at 3, the 3 that is dark.

"—nd riding on simpl—"

I don't give a flying Jesus about who is riding on what to where, phone, I really don't. "Shut up."

I hand picked my ringtone and went through all kinds of crap to get it on my phone. It's called Retina and the Sky and it's from Idiot Pilot. It's an amazing song and I picked it partly because it is indeed very amazing and it won't embarrass me in public, and partly because it is very, very loud.

"—ause there's nothing else to do

When nothing ever gets done but—"

I don't give a holy fuck about the state of your housework either, phone. But you don't care because now it's time now for the chorus. "Shut the fuck up, stupid phone."

I'm not sure why this particular song is so loud because it's loud on the CD and on myPod too, it's not just my phone. But, as my ringtone, it is loud, no, it is very loud; loud enough to hear in another room, loud enough to startle me sometimes, loud enough to wake me up.

"I can see

The day turning bright

Up ahead

Up aheaaaa-aa—"

Aaaand, it stopped. The blessed silence returns to make right the unholy awake-ness of my pitiable soul. Thank goodness, whoever was calling must have realized what time it was. I could call them back later, maybe after classes or something, because they are not getting a first thing in the morning call back after waking me up in the middle of the night. Or I could just text them, but what if it's a land line? Pfft, who the heck... did I know... that... land line... any... more...

"The golden—"

I pried an eye open. And it burned, it burned like someone was blowing air directly at my eyeball. Air from the seventh circle of Hell. I closed my eye momentarily but opened it again when it was sufficiently moist. Apparently, I was still facing the clock, because I immediately saw the time.

3:26 AM. 25 minutes since the first call. Ugh.

Who the crap was calling me? It must be pretty urgent if they're calling twice before my accepted daytime calling hours. Someone could be dying. Not my parents though, they were already dead. Not Reno, either, Shinra would have him on lock if he'd been shot or killed or whatever, even if he wasn't on the job when it happened, I probably wouldn't hear about it until weeks later and even then not at 3 in the morning... No one else of importance. So, in the end, I decided that 3 AM Caller could just suck it because there was no business that couldn't wait until 9. I would just wait out the ringing of their second call. Besides, I wasn't about to have any conversation at 3:30 in the morning, much less a conversation with someone who was most likely piss drunk or high, or, god help them, both. It didn't even really matter that I was awake anymore, either, because I was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and ridiculously warm and comfortable and the phone was bothering me less and less and I probably fell back into sleep before it even stopped singing.

"The gol—"

I wrenched my eyes back open and spared half a moment to glance at the clock before I was out of bed and flat footed on the cold ass floor.

3:28 AM.

Typical. Here's a thing about me, I know myself rather well. I especially know my flaws, my negative traits, and what pisses me off, I also know, very well, my sleeping habits. I'm a light sleeper, which is both good and bad at all times, I need at least 5 hours of sleep to function properly, I'm not a morning person, and I hate getting up. I hate getting up so much, that I would usually sell someone's soul for 5 more minutes. In order to get myself out of bed in the morning I set my snooze to three minutes. Why? Because that's approximately how long it takes me to fall back into the loving arms of sleep. Then, when the alarm goes off again, I'm already awake enough to be really angry, so I get up before it happens again and makes me even angrier. Then I usually try to hurt the coffee maker... I'm a genius like that.

So, I was pretty pissed when my phone went off, again, two minutes later.

I was already out of bed and freezing my balls off and I didn't even know where the fuck my phone even was. I did know that I was mad and that the person on the other end of the line would very likely have a ringing ear, hopefully it would ring as loudly and as obnoxiously as my phone was right at that moment.

I stood and listened for a second, the singing was coming from the direction of my closet. Which meant it was probably at the foot of my bed, where I took off my cloths. Which meant that it was in the front right pocket of my jeans, possibly almost dead.

I stomped to the end of my bed, which was about two paces away, sat my angry ass down, and picked up my pants. Sure enough, I could see the light from the screen shining dimly through the denim and feel the vibrate. I reached in, pulled out the battered scrap of metal and glass, and looked at the caller ID.

A 312 number. Where the hell was that? It wasn't my area code, or anywhere else in Hollow Bastion, or even Radiant Garden. I tapped silence and checked my missed calls. Both of the earlier calls were the same 312 number. I thought briefly about ignoring it, but quickly dismissed the notion. I didn't want to be halfway to REM and jerked back to reality because this person was probably going to call again if I didn't answer.

I tapped talk and put the phone to my ear, "Who is this?" If they wanted pleasantries, they shouldn't have called at 3:30 in the morning.

"Oh, uhm, is this, uh, Axel?" The voice on the other end was creaky and broke on my name. I softened almost in spite of myself, poor kid probably had aching joints and hair in places he did not know there could be hair. Puberty was an unpleasant bitch, and he couldn't be more than 13 or 14, he didn't need me yelling at him. But the fact remained, who the fuck was this kid that was calling me at 3:30 in the morning from an unknown area code? On a school night.

Oh, and he knew me... Somehow.

"...Yeah?" I'm retarded in the morning, so that was definitely a question. Because at 3:30 AM, I can hardly be expected to know who I am. "Uh, who is this?"

There was a shaky inhalation and he exhaled all over the receiver so I got that loud, staticy sound. "I'm—" His voice broke anyway and he cleared his throat. "I'm Sora Leonhart." The name didn't ring any bells at all, but that didn't mean I was about to hang up. My interest was piqued, what the hell was going on? The kid sounded panicked as fuck, he was probably gonna pass out or something. "I, uhm, I got your number from one of my older brother's friends."

I kind of expected him to elaborate further, maybe tell me who had given him my number, or who his older brother was. Maybe I actually expected him to tell me why he, a 13 year old kid, needed my number so desperately at ass o'clock in the morning. But, of course, he just stopped there. So I had to draw my own conclusions. Or I could ask him. "Uh, can you tell me who?"

"Oh, his name is—" There was some shuffling—the phone was obviously dropped somewhere along the line, onto a bed, from the sound of it—a muffled 'oow!' and some whispering, then a 'Don't! God, I won't' and Sora was back. "Uhm, no, I—I can't tell you, but we called because B—no! Stop, I mean the person who gave us your number said you could help, at least a little." There was a sharp, staccato couple of words from the second person, but it was obvious Sora was waiting for me to say, for sure, that I could help.

But what he needed my help with was a mystery to me so I went with the first thing that came to mind. "Hey, listen, I can't get you guys alcohol, you sound like a nice kid, but that's just not how I—"

"What? 'Alcohol'? We don't need booze! What the hell? B—the guy said that you wouldn't ask any questions if we could pay, and we can pay, up to a point, I guess. I'm not sure what the protocol is for this kind of situation or how much we should even pay—"

Who did I know whose name started with a 'B'? Who had my number, who was a guy, and who was friends with someone who had the last name Leonhart? It could have been someone I had classes with, but then, numbers have a way of getting around, so who knew, Mr. B could be a total stranger to me...

I had curiosity and the beginnings of annoyance gnawing at me, while he was starting to ramble, so I just cut him off. "What kind of situation are you talking about, kid, I really have no idea what you want from me. You don't want alcohol, you sounded pretty offended, so I guess you don't want weed either, tell me what the heck you do want, then I'll give you a quote, if I can be of assistance."

There was a silence, not even Background Kid was stirring. I could just imagine this pimply, pubescent kid and his BFF sitting there, Sora with his ear to the front of the phone and BFF with his ear to the back of the phone, just sitting there, listening to me. Then BFF pulling away to stare Sora down, telling him with his eyes that he better not say the 'B' name, or fuck up in any other way or else.

"My... my brother needs a place—"

"No." Not even, ever.

More silence, this time of the stunned variety. During this pause, BFF turned into Brother, but I couldn't decide older or younger. Any younger than Sora and you were in the crib. Any older and you wouldn't have your younger brother with the breaking voice call for this kind of thing. He did mention an older brother... but it didn't really matter because I wasn't having anyone in my tiny apartment. The place could hardly fit just me and Num.

Sora's brain came back and he began a very quick flurry of words to Brother Background... In a different language. One that I couldn't even begin to understand. I couldn't even tell what language it was. There wasn't the throaty fluidity of French or the 'r' rolling of Spanish. There weren't any cognates that I understood, so it probably wasn't European. It wasn't Russian because one of my brother's old girlfriends was Russian and was always on the phone with someone who pissed her off, her mom probably. Anyway, my best guess was Chinese or something. But, for as much as I did not understand Chinese, I did understand that Sora was freaking the heck out. Brother replied in a somber tones, almost defeated. Sora sounded kinda pissed off for a second then cut himself off and put a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. I could still hear them a little but even if they had been speaking English, I couldn't have gotten anything useful. The phone was jostled around a little, then it was silent for a second. Sora returned to the phone with a hesitant, "Hello?"

Dear God. His voice was raw and thick and watery and wavering in that one word I just knew he was crying or very, very close to it. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat but it didn't do much to hide that he had tears running down his face. "Uhm, please? We can pay and it would be just him for a couple days until—"

No, no, no, double no. "Look, Sora, I'm sorry, but I can't let—"

"He's very low maintenance, you don't have to spend any munny on him—"

Nooo. "I can't—"

"He's fine on the couch and you don't have to feed him at all, we have—"

"Munny, I know. You said that already, a couple times. The thing is, I'm not here all day, every day and I'm sure he's a good kid but I don't even know you. Do you follow?"

I could just hear his trembling lip and overflowing eyes. "Yeah, I follow but... we really don't have any other options. Shelters are going to ask questions that we can't answer and we just moved out here from The Destiny Islands, I barely have any friends at school and I'm the social one. Riku is flying me back out in two hours, I have to be at the airport, like, right now. Roxas only needs to stay for three days, tops. Not even that, maybe less that a day, until he can find a place that takes straight munny. We just need a little time to get a ticket back home for him and he cannot stay here. Please?" the last word was a broken sob and the phone dropped again and there were frantic reassurances in Chinese, well, Japanese. 'The Destiny Islands' was a name for Japan. Couldn't tell you why, but my favorite guess was because everything that was happening, was happening in Japan. Changing destinies and all that jazz. Between loud sobs and hiccups, there was only one word repeated over and over, what I just knew was the Japanese for 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' It kinda made me feel like I was a mother cat whose kittens were yowling but where nowhere in sight. I wanted to hug the strange, crying kid that I didn't know, just comfort him and give him a glass of warm milk or something. Apparently, I have maternal instincts... disturbing.

There was the rustle of someone picking up the phone off of a bedspread, the crying and apologizing got louder until there was a calm voice over the line. It wasn't Sora, but it was similar, a bit deeper, more mellow, and not as creaky, though still only about 14. This must be Roxas. "We apologize for inconveniencing you at such an hour, goodbye."

And then he hung up.