Author's Ramble: Hey everyone! This is the new story I'm working on and finally submitting I feel like I need some positive feed back. But you all probably want a summary (though I have to vague it up a bit so you discover some things for yourself)!

Summary:

Now and Then follows Roxas, each chapter alternating between his experience at the Oldtown Conservatory and his present situation where his is trying to pick up the pieces of the life that changed so much during his stay there. After five years of trying to forget everything that had ever happened to him there, Roxas finally decides its time to set things straight and sets out to find Riku after thinking he'd left him without a word. But so much more had happened at the Conservatory than Roxas had ever realized, and soon he may find he wished he'd never found out...
Odd chapters take place in the present time, while even chapters take place five years ago during Roxas' stay at the Conservatory.

Disclaimers: Will Contain Yaoi, Violence, Rape, Stalking, and Possibly Drug Use in further chapters. Just letting y'all be prepared.
Also, I do not own: Kingdom Hearts, When I Go Down, or the amazing band Relient K.

I've thrown away the hope I had in friendships

I've thrown away so many things that could have been much more

I've thrown away the secret to find an end to this

And I just pray my problems go away if they're ignored

But that's not the way it works . . .

No that's not the way it works . . .

- When I Go Down, Relient K

Present Time

The place had once been alive with music and art. Its tall, alabaster halls had once held refuge to all the artists, the dreamers, the writers, the musicians, and the singers. Now it lay abandoned, a vacant reminder on the corner of Sixth Street in Oldtown that sometimes dreams don't come true. At the wrought-iron gate that wrapped itself around the plot of weed-infested ground the old building still claimed, a young man stared up at the crooked tower that held itself over the rest of the structure. It held the gothic style that had been discarded quickly in the usually sunny town, showing its true age. It was the failed experiment of architecture, and its eventual use turned out to be a failed experiment too. The blonde haired man who stood on the sidewalk within the bell tower's shadow casting ominously over him couldn't be past twenty, but his eyes showed he'd seen more than most of his age. To any other passer-by on the Oldtown street the haunting premises was just another old church that had never been renovated to fit the times, but to the blonde with his sad, cerulean eyes it was something much more.

It was the Oldtown Conservatory of Music and the Arts, and it had been empty for almost five years now, though it felt like a lifetime. There were so many things that had been left unsaid, so many promises that had not been kept. Everyone had thought that music and art had been their unspoken promise, that soon it would tell itself.

"Why didn't we see what we had?" he whispered as the mid October breeze picked up, sending dead leaves scattering over the walk. He tightened his thin white jacket closer to his gangly frame. Age had not been kind to his soul, but he was still so young. The boy was just growing into his height, and his face was more angular than what it had been four and a half years ago. The last time he stood here, in front of the place he'd called his only home he'd still been filled with premature hope and optimism. He traced his numb fingertips over the iron again, remembering running here with his friends. The memories came back in painful stabs as he touched the handle of the gate. He lifted, and despite the protest of the rusted iron, the latch allowed him passage into the crumbling gardens. His eyes traced where the path used to lead to the fountain where students used to lean on and dip their feet in during the late afternoon. It stood dry and cracked where it had always been. The boy turned his back to it. This wasn't the time for reminiscing. He'd come here for a reason, even if he swore to never come back.

He told himself as he neared the front doors that this was important. That it could still be there. But as he pushed past the overgrown hedges and ivy that snaked over the grown and up the stone steps, he knew that he'd come here just to see if maybe, by chance, someone else had came for a memory. He stopped in front of the heavy wooden doors, smoothed with time, and gazed at the padlock locking the two handles together.

Something bubbled within the young man that he had not felt in a long time. He'd spent those years numb, surviving, as he needed and loosing all those feelings that had come on so strong in his early youth. Now, anger, frustration, sorrow all surfaced and boiled over in his heart as he vainly yanked at the old brass handle. When this didn't work, he found himself kicking the door with as much strength as he possibly could.

Thud!

He'd lost everything within those walls.

Thud!

He'd gained everything within those rooms.

Thud!

"Roxas!"

The blonde froze instantly, his sneaker poised and ready for another beating against the door. He knew that voice.

"Roxas, what are you doing here?"

Slowly, the boy, Roxas, glanced over his shoulder to see if it was really who he thought it was speaking to him.

"M-Marluxia?" stuttered Roxas who took in the sight of the pink haired gardener. He was wearing a dark coat and a cap over his head that hardly contained the mass amounts of pink locks spilling out from underneath. He looked thinner than when Roxas had last seen him here at the conservatory. Obviously he'd been put out of a job when the place closed, but Roxas had always hoped that Marluxia would stay around to take care of the place, even when everyone else, including him, who loved it had left. Roxas turned around completely, making the older man smile slightly at his dumbfounded look.

"You thought this place would be empty, huh?" Marluxia chuckled. His expression, however, fell as he stared up at the once-stately conservatory. "You're not wrong."

The thin shred of hope that had been building up in the younger boy's heart vanished in a puff of smoke.

"They fired you then," Roxas muttered. It wasn't a question.

"It's sort of a given when your place of employment is shut down. I work at the botanical gardens outside of town, now… but I suppose you didn't come here to catch up with the ex-groundskeeper."

"No," Roxas sighed, not unkindly.

"Would you like to go inside?"

"But it's locked…"

Marluxia gave a smile, and shrugged the bag he'd been carrying over his shoulder off and rummaged through it a moment. He pulled out a ring of keys and gave a small smile at the look of astonishment on the young boy's face. He flipped a piece of hair out of his eyes before singling out a certain small key and held it out for Roxas to take. "They never bothered to have me return my keys. I kept them thinking someday, maybe one of you artists would come back wanting to remember once more. I should have guessed it'd have been you, Roxas."

Roxas gave a weak smile, his eyes still wide with the reality that he was actually going to go back inside. He was actually going to have a chance to find it… He took the key, hoping Marluxia didn't see the tremble in his hands as he undid the rusty padlock on the door. It creaked open with a groaning protest. The rush of cold air that met the two as they stood at the doorstep of the empty building warned them of the danger that lied in picking up dead memories. The truth could be very cold.

Roxas took a deep breath and eyed the rose haired gardener. He didn't seem as if he were going to be leaving anytime soon. Despite what the young man had been telling himself before he came back to the conservatory, he knew he'd never be able to go inside without someone else with him. With a silent nod from the older man, Roxas stepped inside, holding his jacket tightly around his arms as he stumbled into the dark. The fading light that came through the musty stained glass windows and broken bay windows were hardly enough to properly see through the hallway that was now crowded with old furniture that no one ever bothered to remove. White sheets covered each piece of furnishing, making Roxas feel as if he were walking among ghosts in the semidarkness. He saw music stands covered in sticky cobwebs near where Leon used to hold his jazz ensembles in the once-bright east-facing studio. As he continued down the way, Marluxia following closely behind in utter silence, Roxas felt memories he didn't even realize he had resurfacing. The computer lounge where Aireth had taught her contemporary writing classes was vacant of any machines, but there were a few holey, deflated beanbags and loose pieces of paper that lay silently in their tomb. Roxas shivered, remembering the person he missed the most loving to read in there…

At the end of the hall before the stairwell that lead up to the dormitories was the room that Roxas knew he'd have the worse time seeing again. The door had fallen off its hinges, and the choir room stretched before the blonde in stony silence. The west-facing studio allowed the fading light of day to come in through a dirty, wide window that held many cracks in it now that time had had its toll. The light danced and darted around the dust that seemed to never stop circulating through the room, though nothing, not even Roxas, disturbed its slumber. He stood in the doorway, not sure if he could go inside. The risers and high-backed chairs still all stood in straight rows with their backs to the large window. Roxas could still feel the warm sun bathing on his back as he sang with the chorus, their voices rising and yearning to connect in a way no one could do by simply speaking.

But the hardest sight to endure was the grand piano standing in the center of the room, a white sheet covering only half of it, exposing the ivory and ebony keys. Roxas clutched his heart, his fingers knotting his dark shirt tightly as he tried to contain the terrible feeling threatening to claw its way out of his being. He didn't realize that tears were running down his face until Marluxia put a hand on his shoulder. The simple act snapped Roxas back to his senses and the silent tears running down his face were quickly wiped away by his jacket sleeve.

"S-Sorry," the young blonde mumbled weakly, his cerulean eyes down cast. He couldn't stand looking at that room any more. Out of all of the rooms in this place, this one hurt the most.

"S'all right, Roxas," was all Marluxia said before adding softly, "Would you like me to leave?"

"No," Roxas gasped. Realizing his answer had been too fast, he muttered, "I don't know if I'll be able to bring myself to do what I'd come here for if I do it alone."

"All right."

"Thank you, Marluxia."

And without another word, Roxas turned a cold shoulder to the even icier room and headed up the narrow staircases to the dormitories up above. The hallway on the second floor was narrow, and gave off the feeling of once having been the cramped quarters of a convent of nuns back when it was a church. All the doors were shut here, and they didn't seem like they were ever going to open again. Roxas didn't let himself think about all of the people who used to use these rooms over that one eventful year but just concentrated on the dorm he was looking for. The blonde came to a door that had the old bronze number thirteen upon it and paused. He took the handle and turned, finding that it opened, if not a bit stubbornly. The lock seemed to have given out, as if someone had messed with it enough to make it simply no longer lock. Roxas didn't notice anything but the room he entered, the room he'd lived in for those long months. But they had never been long enough. The old, low bed that squeaked when you sat on it was in the same corner he always remembered, a window separating the other bed his roommate had used. The mattresses appeared to be housing for a few families of mice, and the once warm yellow paint was chipping badly and gave off the feeling of dried mustard rather than rays of sunshine. Roxas stepped inside hesitantly, the oak floorboards below his sneakers creaking like they always had.

Marluxia waited outside, understanding he wasn't needed here. Roxas moved towards his bed and knelt down onto his knees. He fumbled in his cargo pant's pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that was crinkled and yellowed with age. The fold lines appeared to be threatening to rip as he gingerly opened it. He stared down at the words that he'd memorized by now, reassured by that familiar elegant handwriting.

Roxas—

I know that when you find this, you're going to hate me. I'm sorry I left without a proper good bye. I've never been too good with those. They're just too messy. But I don't want to say good-bye to you forever. I just needed some space from everyone after all that's happened. I can't stay here any more Roxas. Remember what you told me? About the music always being a part of you, reminding you why you were here, why you kept going even though so much bad stuff's happening? My music's gone. I need to move on. I left you something under your bed before I left. Please don't hate me.

I love you.

--Riku

He'd gotten the note too late. He never got to say good-bye to Riku. The name was so painful in his heart, here in this place. With a deep breath that he held in, Roxas leaned down and felt around the dusty floor beneath the cot and found what he prayed was truly there. He pulled out a leather bound book with trembling hands, staring down at it in awe. It was beautiful brown leather that felt slightly oily under his hands that was just soft enough. The pages within it all looked rather fresh for being trapped in a drafty church for the past five years. Roxas stood up slowly and undid the string. He let the book open easily into his hands onto the first page, expecting another glimpse to the past, another glimpse of Riku.

But as he stared down at the page expectantly, a new feeling washed over him. It felt like an icy dose of numbness as his brain refused to register what he saw.

It was empty.

Fervently, Roxas began to roughly flip through the pages, finding nothing, towards the end he found himself all but tearing the pages out in dismay. "No," he whispered, eyes wide and frantic. "No. No! No, no, no!"

The book fell from his hands as he clutched at his spiky hair, pulling hard but feeling no pain. This had been his last hope. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Riku all this time; only to find out that Riku had really just left him with nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The young man fell to his knees again; hot burning tears sliding down his face as he buried it in his hands. How could he have done this to himself? Slowly bringing his head up, he blinked as he saw a piece of paper on the floor that looked like it had fallen out of something…

Anxiously, Roxas picked it up and turned it over to find another message that made his heart stop.

Roxas--

Get your stuff and meet me at the station. Bring this book. It's important. You didn't honestly think I would leave without you, did you? We can ride the train anywhere. We can do anything.

We can find the music somewhere else.

Please come, Roxas. I've never felt tied to someone the way I do to you. Be there by noon. Train leaves five minutes past.

Yours Always,

Riku

With an angry cry, Roxas recklessly smashed his fist against the wall, sending dust and spider webs to fall down upon him as he tried to get the anger he felt towards his own stupidity out. Why had he been so stupid?

The door slowly creaked open once more, and Marluxia walked forward and knelt beside Roxas and gently took his arm. "Roxas," he said soothingly. "Roxas… shh… You have to let go. This was five years ago. That's why you came here, right? You need to just let it go…"

Roxas took a deep breath, choking on a dry sob that was forming in his throat. How could he just give this up? Music was his life, and if he wanted to give up what happened five years ago, it'd be just like giving up music.

But as Marluxia got the now utterly silent blonde out of the conservatory and back walking down the street as he talked about Roxas staying with the gardener for a while, Roxas realized something.

He'd given up the music a long time ago.