Title: Hearts are Battlegrounds
Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Rating: R
Wordcount: 4,100
Warnings: please excuse cultural inaccuracies and information on Japanese criminal gangs, but be warned about discussions of underage sex and prostitution, lots of violence, mentions of torture, and sex.
A/N: Inspired by Nijuuni's yakuza art. Unf. I couldn't help myself.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters within.
Summary: You don't just leave the yakuza without someone coming after you.
His first two mistakes had been trivial compared to this one. They were nothing in the grand scheme, just insignificant transgressions that merely led to him slicing his pinkie off to a stub.
There would be no offerings of sincere apology to Xemnas this time, that much had been clear the second he caught the briefest glimpse of the higher-ranked yakuza they sent after him. He was an assassin - one of the best, and Roxas had seen him in action far too often to know that this would definitely end in death, if not for both of them if he put up a fight.
Fear turned his stomach into knots, and Roxas took off in measured steps deep into the winding alleys of the city. He pulled his hood up to hide his conspicuous blond hair and pulled the warm coat tighter around his body to hide the tattoos covering his back and chest, signifying him as yakuza. Also hidden was the tantō sword he'd taken before leaving, tucked away safely until he needed it.
When he got to a secluded alley far from the bustling tourist-saturated main streets, Roxas stopped and waited in the shadows, surveying the alley for the best possible escape routes if it came to that. Chances were that it wouldn't. The assassin they'd sent after him would either kill him or die knowing Roxas was not far behind. He'd seen the assassin - Axel - work, and even from the perspective of someone at his side the accuracy of his blades was terrifying. He never failed to take down a target, and Roxas would only be another in a long string of bloody, gruesome assassinations.
Why did it have to be him?
/
When Roxas was a child growing up on the streets, he remembered the terrifying gangsters who used to patrol the neighborhood – street muscle obsessed with an out-of-date, forgotten set of traditions, he remembered an old woman telling him, muttering derisively but quietly as they passed. They were covered in tattoos and carried the long katana of long-dead samurai his mother had told him about. But his mom was long dead and his father had abandoned them ages ago, so Roxas fell into the care of a gang of street children who didn't care who his parents were or that the English consulate was looking for him. As they got older, the boys talked about joining the local yakuza clan for money, power, and protection.
Roxas hadn't trusted the gangsters since he was little, and saw no reason to suddenly change his mind now. They hadn't liked that he thought himself Japanese when his blond hair and blue eyes spoke of foreign descent, but Roxas had been born and raised in Japan; it was all he knew, gangsters be damned. It wasn't until he got into a fight with a member of a rival neighboring gang when the bastard attacked one of friends, a brunette named Olette. Once she was safely away from her attacker the other boys in their gang had pulled her away for safety – but it left Roxas to fight on his own. Despite the stacked odds of an untrained street kid against an enraged young gangster, Roxas actually took down the youth without any weapons whatsoever, knocking the older teenager out cold with a roundhouse kick to the face.
He was leaning down to check his foe's pulse when he heard it: the sound of someone clapping.
Roxas looked over his shoulder and stood slowly; a tall, hooded figure had witnessed the whole fight and had watched from the sidelines as Roxas nearly got himself killed fighting the other teen. Roxas seethed at that, glaring and spitting out the blood welling in his mouth from a well-placed punch, while clenching his wrapped and bloody fists in rage.
"You're pretty good, kiddo," a low, amused voice drawled, reaching up to push his hood back and revealing a startlingly good-looking stranger with an angular face, prominent cheekbones and facial tattoos, bright green eyes, and a mass of flaming red hair.
His name was Axel, and with an outstretched hand he offered Roxas shelter, warm meals, brotherhood and companionship, and access to money, power, and anything else he had the drive to acquire. After a moment of hesitation, Roxas decided to take him up on the offer.
/
In the years following their meeting, Axel would always remember the first time he saw Roxas; but what had really stood out to him was Roxas' eyes. They were cold and hard, the way no child's should have been; they glared at him as he rose to his full height – which was barely more than five feet – still standing over his opponent. The blond's face twisted and he spat blood onto the ground right beside his fallen foe's head. Axel was no stranger to how street boys survived, and he could practically read the boy's childhood on his face: abandonment, theft, beatings, cold nights on the street, trading sex for a hundred yen or so to get a bowl of steaming noodles and survive another day.
He remembered that life vividly.
And this kid – this kid was good. Taking out a well-trained yakuza with his bare hands and feet? Axel refused to let the opportunity pass for him to add to their dwindling numbers with fresh meat.
It turned out that it wasn't just the kid's eyes that were hard – his whole personality could have been described in terms of stone walls. Street living either hardened kids or broke them, and Axel figured Roxas had to be one of the stronger ones. He was quick to learn and efficient in carrying out tasks and missions, but it wasn't long before Axel set out to chip away at the blond recruit's stony indifference with little surprises after missions like ice cream and yakisoba, wondering what the boy looked like when he smiled.
/
The clan's oyabun welcomed Roxas and assigned him to Axel for training and initiation. Axel became his constant companion; he brought Roxas to have his irezumi tattoos done, coaching him through the extended, dull pain as they worked on designs that covered his chest, shoulders, back, and hips, then taught him how to use traditional Japanese weapons like the katana, wakizashi, and tantō blades that their particular clan still favored for intimidation and assassinations, and provided support during missions.
They grew closer over the course of the next few years, tag teaming on missions and sparring together, all while Axel slowly but surely broke down the barriers Roxas had built up over the years until the blond referred to him as his partner, his friend, bluntly to others. The bond between them was incredibly strong, forged on a painstakingly developed trust and a mutual respect – and on Roxas' side, a bit of fear – for their respective abilities.
In truth, while Axel had grown to be a trusted friend, he still terrified Roxas on more than one level. The redhead was an assassin, a killer by nature who didn't question his assignments and butchered those set to die with frightening efficiency. Roxas was less sure about his orders, and in fact the reason he was missing two-thirds of his left pinkie within a few years was because he refused to take out two targets. Each time he removed a knuckle and presented it to the oyabun, each time promising to do better the next time.
Nevertheless, despite his hesitation and underlying fear of Axel murderous prowess, he felt something unnamed developing between them – an unspoken tension most prominent when he felt Axel's intense stare from across the room, or the unnecessary touching, whether it was a nudge or an arm wrapped around his shoulder. It made Roxas feel like a young teenager again, blushing at the innocent contact but trying to find a way to communicate feelings that up til that point he'd been absolutely sure he'd never feel. Axel triggered something in him that made Roxas feel almost human again after long years of struggling against the dehumanization of street living.
Shortly after Roxas turned seventeen and had been working with Axel for nearly two years, Roxas closed the distance between them and kissed his friend and mentor fiercely, a thrill running down his spine when Axel reciprocated enthusiastically. They became lovers not long after that, having unlocked a wellspring of long-hidden desires and feelings in a single act. Sex with Axel was unexpectedly good; he hadn't been a virgin since he began selling sex to feed himself here and there as an adolescent, but the care Axel took with him was startling – and made it so much better. At first Roxas thought Axel was treating him like a weakling, but Axel protested hotly that it was anything but that. He'd been dubious, but at the redhead's insistence Roxas let him continue – and never looked back. Long nights and lazy mornings spent in Axel's bed made life within the criminal organization much more bearable. Even with his acceptance of his lover's soft touches in bed, Axel also knew about Roxas' aggressive tendencies and wasn't surprised when Roxas rolled them over, pinning Axel to the bed, and rode him to the brink of ecstasy. They both bore scratch and bite marks for days after, bodily proof of their coupling.
It became a routine; they'd complete a mission, do something stupid and mundane like share an ice cream, then go back to an apartment Axel kept on the outskirts of Osaka to fuck loudly and away from prying eyes and ears. Life was good from his place of newfound power, and Roxas was content for a while.
Things began to change quickly though, and the rumors about the boss going crazy and taking them down the wrong road began to find their way into members' ears. Roxas himself had thought that theboss' directives were getting a little strange, but had kept his mouth shut for fear of losing the rest of his pinkie.
Roxas was nineteen, on a solo mission, and bleeding profusely from a stab wound when he called Axel's phone in significant distress one night.
Axel was busy torturing a wayward informant when he heard Roxas' ringtone chirp from his pockets; he plucked it out and answered it within two rings, leaving his victim dangling precariously as he answered the call.
"Hey, babe," he greeted cheerfully; then as Roxas' words tumbled out on the other end Axel's demeanor changed completely. He dropped his crowbar and grabbed the keys to his motorcycle from the pocket of his leather jacket, ignoring the pleas of the informant. "I'm coming to get you," he hissed, fear and distress poisoning his usually calm nerves as he ran out of the warehouse, leaving his target dangling from the same spot. "Stay right – do not move! Stay right there, I'm coming for you, babe. Keep pressure on it! Breathe nice and slow, that's it, stay with me now."
They kept in contact over the roar of Axel's motorcycle, the redhead prompting questions and encouraging Roxas to answer or do certain things, all while Roxas' voice drifted in and out. Axel zoomed down the busy main roads, weaving around cars and causing about four accidents as he hit speeds of 130 kph driving down the middle of the highway before turning off and zipping through the maze of streets that made up the medieval part of the city until Axel stumbled upon Roxas.
Roxas was conscious, but barely so, and groaned when Axel examined the wound critically; it was a clean penetration that had just barely missed the major arteries, but Axel could tell he was going to need a professional, and fast. He picked Roxas up and set him astride the bike, jostling him enough to wake him up so he could continue to apply pressure to the open wound. Axel revved up the engine again and whipped back into traffic, speeding for the nearest emergency room. Once there he burst in, carrying a pale but still stubbornly awake Roxas and loudly demanding help from a doctor. When the nurse in charge attempted to tell him to wait, Axel pulled a handgun out and demanded the assistance of a surgeon and two nurses.
Despite the screams from the other patients, the panicked head nurse provided the requested physicians. They worked on him for what seemed like hours to stop the bleeding and repair the damage done by what was clearly a military style hunting knife rather than a traditional sword. Once they were done Axel left a pile of yen on the counter and took a stitched-up Roxas back to the old house Xemnas had set up headquarters in.
For abandoning his own task and allowing their informant to die before any useful information could have been extracted, Axel performed his first act of penance and severed the first knuckle of his left pinkie finger. He gritted his teeth against the pain and the knowledge that such an act made him a less dangerous fighter. Roxas was still breathing and was healing now with the help of pain medication he'd swiped from the hospital before leaving. That seemed to be enough for him.
Things should have been fine after that. After coming dangerously close to death Xemnas allowed Roxas to stay out of the field and work on the books while other yakuza took over Roxas' duties for the time being, but otherwise things returned to normal to a degree. Axel shrugged off his lover's concern over the loss of the knuckle, and instead focused his attention to the definite change in the blond. He seemed shaken by his near-death experience, and was ever more vocal about Xemnas' treatment of the core members as disposable – and when Axel asked him for information about his assailant, with the intent to hunt the fucker down and eviscerate him, Roxas only shook his head. After a bit Roxas grew quiet again, and while he sensed that something definitely wasn't right with his lover he had no clue what kind of firestorm would erupt when the army descended on one of the clan's factions in the middle of a shipment of drugs, and Roxas quietly disappeared into the darkness.
/
It had been a week since the raid, and thus far Roxas had been successful in keeping his former allies off his trail – at least until he felt someone staring at him as he exited a train and found his former lover glaring at him from across the platform. All the passengers were giving him a wide berth, and Roxas instantly knew why: everyone knew he was yakuza instantly, from the tattoos and the katana at his hip.
This was it.
Roxas turned and walked away, while Axel gave measured chase not far behind. He made it to an alley, only to find that it was a dead end – and Axel was closing in fast.
"Cut the shit, Roxas," Axel's voice echoed down the alley, void of taunts and mirth now that his quarry was in sight. "You can't run anymore."
Roxas stood and moved to the center of the alley, where he could see Axel fully. Foregoing his coat entirely was a power play, displaying his intricate and extensive tattoos to the world – but mostly to Roxas, to remind him of what he was dealing with. Roxas didn't need reminding. "Going to kill me?"
"The boss doesn't have a use for traitors," Axel said, his voice hard and cold as stone. "What did you think would happen, if you turned on us?"
"I had thought he'd send someone else," Roxas replied, eyes still trained to catch every movement of his adversary to predict his movements. "Is he testing your loyalty now? Afraid you might betray him for me?"
Axel didn't give off any warning signs; he flew in close, and Roxas put his small blade up just in time to catch the edge of Axel's katana and deflect the blow to the side. Axel bore down on him, bellowing in rage, and Roxas had to dodge or be cleaved in two.
And now began the dance of death, one they'd fought before but never in seriousness. Axel was strong and lightning quick with his blade, and he had sparred with Roxas enough to know his tactics in a fight. But the same could be said for the blond, who knew Axel's style backwards and forwards - but neither had fought the other when death was on the line. Desperation made Roxas fight harder - and it made him sloppier.
He barely had time to yelp in surprise when Axel's katana sliced across his forearm; the cut was shallow but long, and even once he registered the pain and that it was non lethal Roxas dodged out of the way of another attack. Adrenaline and instinct took over, and Roxas was just fighting a rival yakuza now. He didn't recognize Axel, or think of laying in the older man's bed in the early mornings, savoring kisses and fighting tooth and nail for dominance before aggression gave way to intense pleasure. He didn't think about sparring with him, or bandaging his wounds after a fight, or of Axel carrying and caring for him after being stabbed by a rival gang member.
It was all in the past, anyway.
He landed a hit or two himself in the fray, and it wasn't his lover that that hissed "You little bitch" but an enemy. An enemy sliced his cheek to the bone and advanced, pushing Roxas back towards the alley wall, cutting off his escape routes. In a flurry of fists and folded steel, Roxas saw Axel move into position, getting ready to box him in and pin him against the wall with the flat side of his katana.
Roxas snatched the opportunity, ducking underneath Axel's arms and striking just as the redhead's hands hit the wall, eyes wide open in surprise for that brief moment of recognition.
Roxas hesitated, and both parties froze. He was wedged between the wall and Axel, who was looming over him wearing a fierce expression, with the point of Roxas' blade cutting into his chest, just a hairsbreadth from bone. Blood streamed down the blade, and Roxas shook with desperation.
"What are you going to do, Roxas?" Axel asked coldly, forcing his body to remain absolutely still. "You can't just leave - even if it's not me, they'll find a way to destroy you."
Roxas looked away, refusing to let Axel see the tears coursing over his cheeks, stinging the open wound on one side. Every single cut from Axel's katana couldn't compare to the excruciating pain in Roxas' chest when he saw what they'd done to each other, when he realized what he'd been about to do when he drover he point of his small sword towards Axel's chest. While his loyalty to the clan had become fractured, his loyalty to Axel himself had never wavered; the man was his partner, and he was one shove away from killing Axel outright. How had it come to this?
"But I can't go back either," Roxas choked, steeling himself for the final blow and what would happen after. "I'm sorry."
Axel never saw it coming; Roxas pulled the blade from his chest and plunged it into his lover's side, and never let go of his lovers gaze the whole time. Axel staggered, mouth gaping in surprise, and Roxas gently helped him to the ground, laying him on his back while the redhead gasped in acute pain, blood slowly welling on the ground beneath him.
Roxas pulled Axel's cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number for emergency medical assistance. "I need help!" Roxas shouted to the operator. "Someone's been stabbed!" Axel stared at him like he'd never seen him before as he told the operators where to find the victim. When he was satisfied that there was an ambulance on the way, Roxas hung up and knelt over Axel, pressing his forehead against his lover's. "You'll be ok," he whispered in a rush.
"You stabbed me, you little shit," Axel hissed, gritting his teeth against the pain and squeezing Roxas' hand in a vice-like grip.
"I didn't hit anything vital," Roxas reassured him. "They'll get you a doctor, you'll be fine."
"Don't go," Axel muttered, desperation in his voice as he tightened his grip on Roxas' hand.
"I have to, I'm sorry," Roxas whispered, voice cracking. The wailing of the siren grew louder, and Roxas felt his chest clench painfully. He turned his attention back to Axel, leaning down and kissing his lips, before whispering a single word into Axel's ear. Then he rose shakily and ran, trailing blood as he escaped down the alley before anyone saw him.
Seconds later Axel was surrounded by first responders and spectators who performed triage with little acknowledgement of meaning behind his tattoos. While they worked Axel blearily mulled the meaning of the word over in his head, pain fogging his mind. Then he realized that Roxas had given him a clue to find him again, when they weren't entangled in murder and assassination.
I'll see you again soon, Axel promised himself, hoping Roxas had a plan to shake Xemas off his tail before they could find each other again.
/
It turned out that Roxas left behind a much bigger mess than anyone could have imagined. Xemnas found one of their accounts mysteriously empty, and information about each of the highest ranking members had been leaked to government task forces. Axel and a few others had been left out of these leaks, however.
Roxas, it seemed, had perished. Police followed a bloody trail to a river outside the city, where the bank was drenched in red. DNA tests concluded that it was human and male, but otherwise Roxas had left behind no traces that could be matched to the blood. The police assumed that he'd committed suicide and the river had taken his body to sea – and it was as if he had never even existed. Axel kept the single word his lover had spoken to him before disappearing to himself.
The tsunami and subsequent nuclear disaster gave Axel the perfect opportunity to disappear himself. He created a new identity and set out in search of Roxas.
The blond had apparently been very busy following his break with the yakuza; the word he'd whispered turned out to be the name of a new identity Roxas had developed, and just by following the name 'Sora' he traced his former lover's steps through Hong Kong, Phnom Penh, Kathmandu, Singapore, Darwin, and finally, after almost a year of tracing, the trail ended completely at Cairns, in Queensland, Australia.
The city was filled with tourists and surfers, and considering the sheer number of sun-bleached blond heads he counted as he strolled the streets he figured Roxas probably fit in pretty well here. At one point, somewhere between Hong Kong and Singapore, his search told him that Roxas was changing his hair color to brown and black to fit in, but by the time he found someone who recognized a 'Sora' he was blond again. By the fifth day in the city Axel was well and truly exhausted, but decided to follow the directions of a young Japanese bartender to walk a particular stretch of beach where an acquaintance of his liked to hang out. He described him perfectly: windswept blond hair, big blue eyes, most of his pinkie finger missing ("he was telling someone it was from a meat grinder, but I knew it wasn't true"), and a body covered in intricate irezumi. It had to be him.
When Axel approached a slight blond bearing the trademark tattoos of his former profession reading a book with a Sapporo beer in the sand beside him, Axel just knew.
He'd grown – he was taller, more filled out, but that was to be expected at nearly twenty five.
"Hey kiddo," Axel said in their native Japanese, startling the blond from his book. "It's been a while."
Roxas looked up, and he was wearing the smile Axel had always hoped to see.