A/N: Just to clarify a few things before this starts:
I'm not a doctor, nor do I or anyone else I know have diabetes. My information is limited to the bunch of books I read as a kid where this one chick had to have insulin injections; I'm guessing here as to the procedure and effects of diabetes, so please don't crucify me if I got anything wrong. If enough people review or PM me with corrections, I will revise it with correct facts (if that's what you guys want).
Enjoy the story!
The bustle of the airport always makes me nervous. I don't like being around people; too much noise, for one, and I'm always afraid that I'm going to get pick-pocketed by a random thief with halitosis and an odor problem; unshaven and wearing only a pair of ragged jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, hood pulled over their face. Sora always tells me that it's unrealistic and I'm just being silly, that people are nicer than that, but I don't know. It happened to Xion once, or at least that's what Riku said the last time I saw him.
Airports also seem to constantly have people moving, all the time. They're always in a rush to get somewhere, anywhere; why can't they just calm down, for a moment? Stop and have a coffee, or a beer, like Dad always does. I have a glass of fruit juice, and Sora a smoothie; Mum always waves her hand away, saying she isn't thirsty, but I think she drinks more of my drink than I do. Then Dad will shake his head at her, laughing; this is around the time we realize that we're supposed to be at the checkout, or we'll miss our plane.
Then there's the smell, which never fails to make me gag. I don't believe that there is such thing as too clean, but the airport always makes me rethink that, with its chemicals and the spray that I'm sure they use to cover the smell of the passengers coming off the planes. My friend Marly once told me never to use those sort of chemicals, because they'll end up burning your insides and you'll shrivel into a little peanut of irradiated flesh; mind you, I was ten years old and impressionable when he told me, so somehow I think he was exaggerating slightly.
Airports always mean saying goodbye, too; I've never, ever met someone coming back off one. It's partly the fact that I live in the tiniest hick town ever to get a plane; partly the fact that I don't have many people willing to come visit me that don't already live where I do. And whenever my family goes on a trip, we never have anyone on the other side to say hello to; no one has ever welcomed us back.
There's only one person I would willingly go to the airport for, ever- and he's never coming back.
I can't remember him without thinking about the airport, about the last time I saw him. I can't remember him without remembering also how I said goodbye as he walked onto the plane, how I grabbed him by his vermilion colored hair- shaggy and in desperate need of a cut- and smashed my mouth against his, pulling him down for one last kiss before he left. I remember how when he straightened, he was at least a foot taller than me, maybe more; and I remember how he ruffled my hair, and smiled as I heard him tell me he loved me for the last time.
Axel was always the one keeping me sane, when we were growing up. He would look after me, keep me safe- protect me until I was too old to be protected. Seifer's gang never troubled me, until the day he backed off, and it was only then that I realized all that he'd done for me; it was only then that I realized that I was irrevocably in love with him.
Of course, seeing as I was only about fifteen at the time, I'd put it down as platonic love; the sort of love I held for Letty or Hayner. And he was dating Larxene at the time, a blonde bitch with a heart of stone. I, on the other hand, was in a fairly serious relationship with chocolate chip cookies and sea salt ice cream; I may have cheated once or twice with gingerbread and strawberry jam, but it wasn't an everyday thing. And if Larxene ever found herself face down in a rubbish heap, it wasn't me that had done it- it was some other half-pint blonde kid with anger management issues.
Sometime in the subsequent year, I found out that I was diabetic, and couldn't eat sweets anymore. After a few brief stints in hospital I learned that to try to flout that was not the best idea, and I would never have sea salt ice cream again; Axel learned that it was times like those that I most needed to be held, to be comforted. And I learned that sometimes it's easier to stay silent than to try to fill the empty void that not talking creates. Sometimes, talking can ruin a moment, send it up in ashes until it's gone.
The last week I spent in hospital, Axel was a lot quieter than before. I didn't know whether this was because I myself was quieter, or if it was something else... my stay in hospital, perhaps? But when I asked him he just smiled brittlely and whispered something about it not being my fault... that it had nothing to do with me, that I should just get better. I remember nodding and lying back on the cold, impersonal, white bed, holding his much larger hand in mine and not letting go until I fell asleep... him sleeping in the chair beside me when I woke up.
When I got back home, I found out from Pence that Axel and Larxene had been broken up for a while, after a screaming hissy fit down in front of the Clock Tower.
I felt responsible, of course; what else had they been discussing but the time Axel spent with me? But he insisted there was no need- that it was nothing to do with me, that it would have happened sooner or later without me and my sickness, anyway. And when I still refused to believe him, he just took my face in his hands, and asked me if I trusted him; I nodded, of course, and he pressed his lips to mine, tentatively, unafraid.
Kissing Axel is a lot like kissing an open flame. Axel runs a naturally high body temperature, and when he kissed me, he ran his hands everywhere, until all I could feel was his skin against mine, his heat burning where he touched. And for a while we were happy, happy enough in a God-fearing town where we couldn't be free.
He left one afternoon, straight out of the blue. Just packed up and left, holding his hand out to me, trying to persuade me to go with him. He wanted college; I wanted security, the knowledge that I would have my family and friends around me. He wanted knowledge and acceptance, the right to be himself. I wanted to feel safe in my little town, knowing I was loved- even if they didn't know the real me.
Even when he told me we would never see each other again, I refused.
Now I'm in the airport again, alone this time. My bags are few, and they're already through checkout; I have maybe an hour before I have to get to the gate, and I'm not sure what to do with the time I have. There are no shops or cafés in our tiny airport. It's a one-roomed affair, with a few dozen chairs scattered around. The people at ourairport aren't in a rush; in fact, it looks like if their plane did come, they'd miss it out of sheer boredom.
There's a single, square TV in the corner, mounted near the roof between two walls. It's set to channel three, and is showing a made-for-tv movie starring somebody named Rinoa Heartily and her leading man, Squall Leonhart. They're running from some blonde guy with a scar across his face who I dimly recognize as my childhood rival, Seifer Almasy; all three act terribly and look bored to be there. There's a train in the background. It's in flames.
In another corner there's a stack of magazines, ranging from self-help to ten ways to cut down on cellulite. The woman on the front of that one needs no help with fat, like she seems to think; in fact, she needs to eat a bit more, if the hollows by her collarbones are anything to go by.
I pick up my own book from the only bag I have left; it's an outdated copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that I picked up from the hospice shop for three bucks. I'm not that far into it- Bilbo's just disappearing from his birthday party when I sit down on one of the carpeted chairs to wait out the hour. My golden hair has wilted in the humid heat, and not even Gandalf and Frodo can fix that; Strider's no opposition to the forces of nature in the real world, either.
And Merry, Pippin, and Sam have nothing on the bitch that sits down next to me, either.
She's got a snarky laugh that she throws into the phone by her ear, a long nose that hooks at the end, and a cutting business suit that makes her look three feet taller and a good yard wider across the shoulders. Her hair is shoulder length, with two tendrils that curl up and over her head; her expression leaves a lot to be desired, most prominently less makeup. I've known this girl all my life, and never liked her through one minute of it; her name is Larxene, and I think I've mentioned that she was Axel's girlfriend at one point.
I make an effort not to be noticed. She notices me.
"What are you doing here, runt?" she snarls, and I imagine flaps of skin by her jowls, long incisors curling out of her mouth, dripping with slobber and mucus.
She makes a good pug dog.
"I'm catching a plane," I say slowly. "What did you think I was doing, knitting?" I return to my book after looking at the clock and noting that I have a possible twenty minutes left of this torture. I'm happy to ignore her for as long as it takes to keep my sanity; she's happy to insult me for as long as it takes to make me crack.
"Why don't you go slam your head into a brick wall or something? Might improve your face."
I sigh. If there's one thing I hate more than airports, it's Larxene and her stupid insults; I'm not sure who she's kidding. It's been a constant thing with her, her modus operandi; insult everyone in the most contrived, forced way you can to get rise out of them. She can be good at it, if you let her; I try my hardest not to let her see even a tiny chink in my armour. It's the best way to piss her off.
Ten minutes to go; they're ushering us on board early. It's a godsend.
The plane's small, only one seat each side. They look horribly uncomfortable, and I suddenly wish I'd just driven the three hours to the bigger airport. There's no overhead or anything for my bag, and it looks like the only thing that's going to keep me from feeling like a sardine in a can is the fact that I'm at least a foot shorter than normal people.
The plane taking off feels like something is pulling at my navel, and it's slightly unpleasant. I sit and stare out at the changing landscape, not taking it in at all; I don't really need to remember something like that. My book lies on my lap, discarded. Larxene is behind me, and she's tapping away at her computer, murmuring every so often to herself.
The plane ride is over too soon, despite the hours I've spent in it, and I find myself in the midst of a rush of people. It's exactly the kind of thing I try to avoid normally; I'm getting tossed around like a rag doll in the sea of hot, sweaty, smelly bodies. Larxene's talking to someone on the phone, and I take the opportunity to sneak away before she can insult me again.
I go towards the baggage claim, grabbing my small bag and practically running out. The black conveyer belt is mocking; it whirrs at me, laughing. I feel claustrophobic, more so than I had even on the plane; I can barely stand it. The chatter, the people... they're closing in on me. Despite how fast I am going, I barely make it outside before I start feeling dizzy and sick. It's a feeling I know well, and I pat my pockets quickly, a reflex action as I try to remember if I'd had an insulin injection today.
It's useless. I know I haven't.
I hear someone call my name across the road, and I look up to see who it is. The sudden movement throws off my equilibrium, and I sluggishly try to put my hands up to catch myself as my head moves to meet the pavement. My head jolts, and I gag, sour bile rising in my throat despite the fact that I haven't eaten.
The last thing I see before I pass out is a flash of red, and I hear a muffled, "ambulance, please..." as the person tries to save me.
It's a lost cause.
When I wake up, there's a tube running from an IV into a needle in my arm, and an oxygen mask covers my mouth and nose. I try to move my hands, but they feel heavy; too heavy, and I start to panic. Am I dying? I feel like it- everywhere hurts, and there's a weight on my chest. I can't breathe, yet something's pressing air into my lungs constantly. All I can hear is the endless buzzing of machines; it sounds likes swarm of beetles,and I imagine them devouring my flesh slowly, piece by piece.
I try moving again, my hips this time. It hurts, and I feel bruises. From what? The last I remember is the cool feel of the asphalt that I ended up face-down on, life slowly ebbing away from me. Whoever called the ambulance must have succeeded, because there's no questioning whether this is a hospital or not; it smells worse than the airport. I need fresh air, not the tanked and stale stuff they're feeding me; again I try to lift my hand, this time to pull the plastic off my face.
I nearly succeed, too, but this time another hand presses down on mine. At least, I think it's a hand- I can't lift my head far enough to see. "Go back to sleep, Roxas," says a familiar voice, but through the drugs I can't think who it is. "No," I murmur petulantly, yawning slightly- the hand presses harder. "C'mon. Don't argue." I shake my head, but there's a fog descending in my mind and I can't remember why I was protesting. I try to fight it, but it's too strong- I let it pull me under.
The next time I wake up, I feel much better. The oxygen mask is off now, and my chest isn't so tight; there's a glass of water beside my table, and I gulp it down gratefully. Shuffling backwards, I manage to pull myself to a sitting position. I hurt even more than I did before, my throat especially- I think I must have vomited a few times when I was out, because my stomach still has a bruised feeling about it. The IV is still there, attached to my arm, and I squint to try and read the words written on it, but they're too small. It doesn't matter. They're indecipherable anyway.
It's probably sugar, or insulin, or both.
"You told me you would eat properly. I see you haven't been." It's the same voice as before, but this time I recognize it straight away; I should've guessed. It's not like anyone else would come all this way to see me.
"I said a lot of things," I reply. "I don't even remember half of them."
"I do." It's silent after he say that, neither of us knowing what to say; I don't look over, because I know who I'll see. My hands feel shaky, and I wonder if it's from nerves, or the lack of sugar; my legs have gone to sleep. I shuffle a little, trying to get feeling back in my body, and he whispers, "here. Let me get that." Pressing a button, the back of the bed comes up, and I lean on it gratefully. "Thanks."
"It's all right." He says it with an air of finality, as if he's daring me to continue the conversation; I laugh inside. He knows better than that; I won't talk unless he does first.
The silence is like a beast, a horror brought from the depth of our imaginations. I struggle with it like I never have before, fighting the urge to fill it; it's never been like this before, when it was effortless to be in each other's company. When that was enough.
"I'm almost surprised you came," he says finally, and I sigh with relief.
"I said I would, didn't I?"
"You say a lot of things," he parrots, and I can practically see his grin widening; I look out the windows in an effort not to look. "You don't even remember half of them."
"You're right. But I wouldn't lie about this."
"That's good. I'm glad."
Smiling, I close my eyes and lean back. The small of his cologne permeates the air, and I breathe deeply, trying to make it seem natural. He still uses the same stuff he used to in high school; it's so familiar I can almost believe that this is the hospital at home, that I'm still fifteen and he's still my best friend.
"I saw Larxene in the airport," he says suddenly. "She looked good."
"Yeah. She came and sat next to me in the airport at home. She told me to slam my forehead into a brick wall." He chuckles at that, and I assume he's remembering the times we had at home; the times that she was in, anyway.
"You look better, though," he says, and I smile, feeling insanely happy for some reason.
"Thanks."
The next day he's back again, and this time I see him before he sees me, if only just. When he sees me looking, he grins, his electric eyes lighting up like they used to. Blushing, I look away, but I can't erase that image out of my head.
To my surprise, I don't even want to.
"You're looking better," he says, sitting by my bed and grabbing my hand. I look back over at him, smiling, and say, "I feel better. I'm sorry for ruining your vacation."
"You didn't ruin it, you just... spiced it up a little, that's all."
"Yeah, right. You have to visit me in hospital. That's a great holiday."
"You're doing the passive-aggressive thing again, Roxie. As if seeing you isn't the greatest thing I could have in my holiday."
To my great embarrassment, I giggle. It's not something I will ever do again, I vow, but he seems amused by it; it's not a total failure. I twist my fingers in his grasp, feeling the lumps and callouses I feel like I know so well. They haven't changed much; the one on his middle right finger that he got from writing has become more prominent, and the skin on the tips of the fingers on his left hand is harder, from playing the guitar. Perhaps there is a small callous on his right thumb from strumming- he must have lost his picks again- but that's it.
He pulls away, mistaking my movement for wanting out. On a reflex, I grab at his hands quickly, pulling them back towards me, and he looks at me with wide eyes and a surprised smile. I stare back, unable to move away; he leans forward, expelling my name in a breath.
"Roxas..."
Closer, I can see that he's gotten a piercing in his left ear, and there's tan lines from glasses- whether he needs them to see when he's writing or if it's just sunglasses, I can't tell. His crooked smile is beautiful, shining out at me with his trademark devil-may-care expression. He untangles one hand from mine, and reaches out to touch my face with it; it's as hot as ever, his temperature burning higher than normal people. Closer and closer, and I'm leaning forward too, my hand curling up into his hair, until his lips finally reach mine.
Slightly chapped, they rub on mine as he presses forcefully onto me. I push back, teasing his mouth with mine, trying to pry open his lips with my tongue. It's familiar territory, but there's something new to it- a sort of desperation in both of us. I hadn't realized how much I missed him until now, and my heart beats faster as I tug on cinnabar colored hair; I can the coarse strands rubbing agains the soft skin of my hands, and it's perfect.
"Axel," I mumble as I lift my head to kiss along the shell of his ear, and he makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat. He tastes like cinnamon and coconuts, and I wonder if his soap's changed. He never used to taste like that; I think I like it.
Pulling away, he gasps out, "I think we should probably stop."
"Yeah," I reply, reeling. "That's probably a good idea."
He sits back down, but leaves his hand- the one still entangled with mine- on the bed, resting there for me to keep. Smiling, I pick at his fingers, feeling the heat still engulfing my cheeks, relishing the aftertaste of him. I will miss it, when I go home.
"I read your book," I say suddenly. His head snaps up quickly, and he grins. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. It was good. I liked the plot."
"I'm glad you liked it. It was dedicated to you, you know."
"To my dearest childhood friend? Yeah, I guessed. Although I do think we were more than friends."
"To my dearest childhood lover sounds a bit..."
"Skanky?"
"Yeah."
"I liked how it wasn't told from the kid- what was his name? From Ven's point of view. It was different. Renee seemed like a bit of a bitch, though."
"I based her on Larxene."
I smile. It had become apparent while I was reading Axel's book that it was based on his childhood, and my sickness; I should be angry- he hadn't asked or anything- but really, I'm flattered. He told it perfectly.
"I wasn't sure about the end, though. It felt... unfinished. Leaving at the airport like that... Well. There should be more."
"Perhaps I should write another," he says. "Do you think Ven should be in it?"
"Yeah, definitely."
"What happens to him?" I know he's not really talking about the book anymore; he never was in the first place.
"I think they should just... start over. Start again."
"Will Ven maybe come and live in the city with Lea?"
"No. Not with Lea. But maybe he'll go to college... Get his own flat and a job. And he'll stay with Lea, of course."
"They'll fight, you know. Everyone does."
"Happy couples don't sell."
"They'll be happy. Just in their own way."
I smile. This is the only reason I would have ever left; only to have this with Axel.
I'm leaving.
I'm well again, and I've had lectures from all the doctors about my health. They're in the middle of discharging me, and it's kind of awkward; Axel's carrying me for some reason, despite all my protests. "You're staying with me until you get your own place," he says determinedly. "I don't trust you."
"Thanks," I retort. "I appreciate your confidence in me."
"Treasure it, Roxie," he laughs. "It's precious, got it memorised?"
His car is the very nice sort, and I am reminded immediately of how successful he's become. As well as the book he wrote about us, he's written a book about a broker getting targeted by the government for military secrets he found, and he's started a series for teenagers about post-apocalyptic Earth, both of which have been highly successful; he's actually quite well-off.
The car's not too flashy, even if it does look rather expensive; a Mazda with a USB plug in the stereo, and the most comfortable seats I had ever seen. He has wifi built in too, for some reason; I file it away to ask. The car itself is black and silver, and it doesn't look like he's changed the exterior at all, even if the interior does look slightly tampered with- for the better, of course. For a moment I'm jealous, but then I remember that since he's my boyfriend I can get him to let me borrow it sometimes, or better yet, get him to drive.
He's vetoed to apartment idea, even though I try to protest- "there's no point, I have more than enough room in my house. And you'll need all the money you can get, college is expensive." Trying to argue is pointless with him, and he says that he wants me to be close so he can keep an eye on me- "because if I don't, you might start forgetting to eat again, and I don't think the hospital is the right backdrop for the kinds of things I want to do with you."
The car ride to his house isn't that long, but when we get there I feel like sleeping for a hundred years, and then maybe a hundred more. I swing my legs out of the car, knocking my arm and wincing as the bruises from the needle bump onto the metal frame; once my feet hit the concrete, I get up slowly and retrieve my bag from the boot, where he's waiting for me again. Grabbing my bag from my hands, he swings it over his shoulder, and then holds out a hand for me, but I smile and walk around the other way. I don't need him to treat me like a delicate little princess; he seems to forget periodically that I'm not some swooning little sop of a girl.
The house itself is modest, small enough for the neighborhood it's in. It's spacious, though, and quite modern; not in an ugly, square sort of way with that weird textured stuff and too much white plaster, but in a nice stained-wood way, with lots of windows and pot plants. There are a few steps going up to the door, and Axel takes them two at a time; leaving me to trail behind, yawning. He takes a second to push the key into the lock and turn it, and then we're inside, standing in a foyer the size of a bathroom.
There are a lot of pot plants.
Axel's chattering away, but I'm not listening to a word he says as I push open the door and move into another room, this one much larger than the first. Half of it seems to be his dining room, and the other his lounge; there's a wall made up of windows by a large black leather couch. A plasma screen TV covers another wall, and there is a balcony off another wall, next to a doorway that I assume leads to the hall way. The door beside the foyer leads to the kitchen; it's wide open still, so I can see through. The kitchen is modern too, but boring. I look over to Axel, raising an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"
"Um. About what?"
"This is your house?" I take back what I said before- this is the flashiest thing I've ever seen in my life. I turn to look back at him, mouth hanging open; he grins, saying, "I got good money on the last book deal. Thought I'd get a nice house. And the new book's nearly finished, I'll start writing our book soon."
I go over to the door to the hallway and open it. From there I can see a few more rooms; he comes up behind me and starts pointing them out. "My bedroom... That one can be your bedroom... Spare bedroom... Marly's bedroom... Bathroom... There's an ensuite between our rooms, as well... That's my study... Got it memorized?"
Latching onto one of the things I remember from that, I switch tacks. "Marly's here?"
"Yeah, he's been living with me for a while now... He's a landscaper down Central. Got me all these goddamned flowers."
I laugh, grabbing my bag from him and heading into the room he directed me to. It's plain, but the bed looks comfortable and it's got the usual things in it- a dresser and desk, a mirror, a window. There's a built in wardrobe in the corner, the doors to it slightly ajar, and to the left another door which must lead to the bathroom he mentioned. Smiling, he says firmly, "you must be tired. If you want, you can sleep now and we'll have dinner late?"
"That sounds good," I answer. He makes to move out of the room, but seems to change his mind at the last minute; in two strides he's beside me again, and lifting my head up to kiss me softly. "I love you," he says, something I haven't heard since he left.
"Me too," I reply, shuffling back onto the bed. "And I always will."
I can't sleep.
The clock on the dresser tells me that it's eleven o clock at night, but even though I feel so tired, my body refuses to let me drift off. I toss and turn, but I feel like there's something missing- like now that I'm here, I should be doing something else. It's not the greatest feeling in the world.
Sitting up, I contemplate what I should do. I never went out to dinner, and I wonder if Marly is back- although if he is, he'll be getting his 'beauty sleep'. Still, it will be nice to see him again, though that will have to wait for morning now; at eleven thirty, not even Axel will be awake.
I decide to go to the toilet in the absence of anything to do.
The ensuite is pretty cool. It's smaller than the main bathroom, but it's still a fair size- about as big as my bathroom at home, with a shower, toilet, and sink. Stainless steel or white porcelain- or both- cover every surface, and there are no extra patterns or useless things. He's obviously not into decorations or extraneous knick-knacks; but then again, I already knew that.
Directly across from me is a door, exactly like the one I entered through. It's plain white, just like everything else, with a metal handle; a bit bigger than me- actually, quite a lot bigger than me. It's one of those things that I have never seen before, except in movies; this entire house is, but the door just brings it to mind the most. Because, while this is a cool house, it just forces the realization that I'll never go home now.
It wasn't my decision to leave, not at first. I was going to ignore Axel's missive, just get on with my life. I was working at the local corner store at the time, trying to block out my mother's bleating about marriage and children; my brother and Riku were on some world trip that they'd won from TV, and I didn't want to leave her alone since Dad died. She was so lost without him, and you could see that she had depended on him a lot- used him as an emotional crutch, if anything. She needed her family to rally around her, but Sora and his friends had skipped out as soon as they could. Something about a big keyblade expo down Germany, or something; they were going to Japan as well, as soon as that ended. It was where the original Kingdom Key had been made, and neither would sacrifice that chance.
Me? I couldn't care less.
She'd seen the email on my beat-up dinosaur of a computer, the day before I replied. He'd written- what was it? Oh, yeah - I love you still. Axel. It's still something she's not comfortable with, and before I knew it I was out on my ear, bags piled around me, halfway to Central with nothing but a small portion of my stuff and my barely intact male pride.
The door reminds me of that now- a choice I have to make, before someone makes it for me. That door will lead me to Axel- wasn't it his bedroom on the other side? I can go toilet, get back in bed; or I can push open that door and see him, whether he's sleeping, or if he's writing, or doing something completely different. Whatever I do, I know the repercussions won't hurt me; anything I do will be forgiven, so it's not the consequences or the response I'm worried about. Where will this take me, though? If I do this, there's no going back.
Was there ever a choice?
Moving forward, I turn the handle slightly, pushing against it but pulling at the same time, so as to not make a noise. It doesn't take long, and before I know it I'm making my way softly across the carpeted floor where his bed is; the layout is exactly the same as mine, and despite the darkness I can make out the faint outline on the bed, his chest rising and falling softly.
I clamber up as silently as I can, but the jolting alerts him; groaning, he turns over, red hair stinking to his face where he was sleeping on it. His eyes flicker open, then shut.
"Roxas? What're you doin'... what time is it?"
"Axel... I can't sleep."
"What d'ya want me to do about it?" His voice is muffled by his pillow.
"Can I stay here?" I'm sure my face is making some weird kind of childish expression, but this late at night I really couldn't care less.
"How izzat supposed to help?"
"Please?"
He groans. "Fine. C'mere." He holds his hands open limply, and I crawl into them
"Thanks."
"No problem. Love you. Go t' sleep." He nuzzles his chin into the top of my head, and I smile, burrowing into his chest; his skin is even hotter than I remember it. His breathing is steady, and I close my eyes, finally ready to sleep.
"Love you too."
My name is Roxas Strife. I'm twenty-five year old diabetic, from a tiny, very homophobic town down in the south. I've been kicked out by my mother, disowned by my friends, and I'm fairly sure my brother doesn't even know I'm gone. I have no life ambitions, and if I hadn't left I would have ended my life working as a clerk at the local corner store.
I live by Central now, in a house owned by my boyfriend, Axel Clark; he's a successful writer, fairly well off, which always makes me feel kind of like I'm not pulling my own weight. He tells me that it's fine, though, and half of everything is paid for by our friend Marly anyway. Me? I'm going to college to study engineering, and periodically refusing to let him pay for it. He can't afford it, no matter how many times he says that mortgage payments can be put off; I've got a job now instead, at the Twilight Cafe. I'm a waiter.
I'm happy enough where I am. Axel makes sure I eat enough, and Marly makes sure it's all natural; he doesn't trust the additives they put in the brought stuff. If it was possible with my diabetes, I probably wouldn't get to eat anything at all. I'm fairly sure Marly himself doesn't eat; he just photosynthesizes. He's weird like that.
I think it's the bright pink hair, to be honest.
One day I might see my family again, if they'll accept me. Sora will, I know that; I think my mother might come round eventually as well. But until then I'll just be me, because if someone can't deal with that, then I guess I can't deal with them. It's all relative, right? If you're nice to me, I'll be nice to you; and vice versa. I hope.
Every day I come home and kiss Axel on the cheek. Every day I tell him how beautiful he is. Every day I thank God we found each other again... because there was so much that could have gotten in between us ever meeting again. I guess love does always find a way, huh? At least, it did for me, and I'm thankful every day for it.
And because of that, every day I tell him I love him.
A/N:
Yeah. I did it. It was weird. I'm never writing another one in present tense again (They're so damn hard to finish! It was like it was never gonna end). Although you guys got off lucky- I had an alternate ending for it that was just weird, it made no real sense at all!
The book I referenced that Axel wrote is actually The Broker by John Grisham, and the series I was thinking of was Enclave by Ann Aguirre (is that how you spell it?).
I must apologize to Roxas for the diabetes thing! It was kinda the catalyst for the entire thing in a way. If I hadn't done it, I can see them meeting at the airport and being all awkward, and then Roxas leaving and having to deal his entire life with the fact that Axel was more successful than him, and this story would have never gone anywhere. And also, if you didn't notice, I kinda tweaked Larxene's appearance there for my own purposes. Because reasons.
Anyway, thanks for reading, this time you guys can have virtual chocolate cake, and reviews are much appreciated. Kingdom Hearts is not my property, but all plot and OCs are.
Karma Out.