Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts because I'm not that creative, and I don't own 'Please Speak Well of Me' by the Weepies because I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Sigh.

A/N: This is my very first post! Yay! It's short, it's sad, I don't think it's very good.. I hope you all like it :) It's an AkuRoku, because they're my OTP. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think in a review :P

I would highly, highly recommend listening to 'Please Speak Well of Me' by the Weepies while reading this. It's what made me write it.

Please Speak Well Of Me

"So I guess I'll see you in about a year, yeah?"

The cheeky grin. The cock-eye confidence. It's hard not to just believe it, to not just go with it. Roxas wants to so, so badly. So he does, stuffs his hands in his pockets and kicks at the ground with his scuffed tennis shoes. Beside him, Reno, Axel's brother, looks bored as always, and Mrs. Gainsborough is crying uncontrollably onto Axel's privates' uniform, grief stricken and heart sick over the fact that her youngest child, her baby, is going off to war. It makes Roxas either want to do the same, but he doesn't. Because he doesn't care. Of course he doesn't.

(Oh, but he cares so so much, it's killing him a little bit on the inside every time Axel's too-green eyes happen to flick over to him, every time Axel whispers reassurances into his mother's ear, every time the stupid idiot smiles even though he shouldn't be. He shouldn't be shouldn't be shouldn't be, he should be staying here, here with Roxas, here at home, where its safe, not going out to serve some country that doesn't even care that he exists so long as he's willing to sacrifice himself for whatever greater good there's supposed to be)

Mrs. Gainsborough does, eventually, detach herself from Axel's shoulder and is replaced by his heavy looking duffel bag. After a quick man-hug with Reno, Axel gives the two members of his family a pointed look and they shuffle off. It's only Roxas and Axel then, and the latter looks at the former with that same blind certainty he's always had. It's the reason Roxas fell for him like he did.

"Just one year, Rox," Axel says again. "Then I'll be home and we can pick right back up where we left off."

Roxas shrugs (he can't trust his voice because if he even thinks of speaking, he knows how quickly he'll break and he doesn't want Axel to think of him as weak –) and keeps his eyes on the ground, but he knows that Axel has that stupid little soft smile on his face he gets whenever he's sad about something. One year to most people is nothing at all. But when you're sixteen years old and waiting for your eighteen year old boyfriend to come home from war, it's an entire lifetime. Who knows what'll change in that time? Will Roxas even be the same person when Axel comes back? Will Axel?

Almost as if he knows what's going on in Roxas' blond head, long fingers lift up his chin so that he's staring into Axel's bright green eyes that are alive with too much hope, too much everything that Roxas can't possibly muster right now (he wants to beg to borrow that hope, that complete faith, because he's not quite sure he has any left, could he please just have a little tiny bit?). Just like he thought, Axel's got that little smile and he leans in to press a kiss to Roxas' forehead, but the shorter boy moves too fast and the kiss misses. Roxas has never liked PDA. He isn't going to start breaking his own rules now (because that's like admitting Ax isn't coming home. And of course he's coming home. He has to).

Axel frowns for half a second before shrugging and dropping his hands back to his sides. "I promise, Roxy," Axel pledges. "One year, and I'll meet you right back in this exact spot. I'll write you everyday until then. I swear, Rox. I will."

Roxas shrugs and Axel stares at his mouth. He knows what he wants but he's not going to do it, not until Axel comes home and then he can have all the kisses he likes. Roxas purses his lips and nods. Axel gives a tiny half smile. He always makes good on his promises. He'll be home.

"I love you," he says.

"Love you too," Roxas answers (he loves him he loves him, don't go. Don't go, he'll do whatever it takes, just don't go). The smile broadens, just a little bit.

And as Axel walks away, Roxas thinks about making a spectacle of himself and sprinting after the lanky teenager, thinks about wrapping his legs around that too-skinny waist and showering his face with kisses and whispered I Love Yous. He almost does it, too, makes a small noise in the back of his throat that might sound like the first letter of Axel's name. But then the redhead turns around once he's past security, waves, and keeps going. Just like that. And Roxas knows he can't follow.

(He should have taken that kiss, god damn it, he should have taken that kiss)

That was eleven months, two weeks, and three days ago, and it plays itself over and over in Roxas' head, so vividly it feels like just hours, minutes, seconds ago instead of almost a year. Almost one year, and Axel is almost home. He keeps bringing it up in the letters Roxas gets every week, a bundle of seven, like clockwork every Monday morning. One day, the postman comes late and Roxas waits for him for three hours in the rain before getting his letters. He reads them again and again until he nearly has them memorized, until the ink smudges from his thumbs going over the words too often. They all end the same. They all end I love you.

But for two weeks, no letters come. Roxas waits all day, never left his mailbox, but the postman never shows up (oh no what happened what happened what happened? Was Axel hurt? Unable to write? Was he de...).

And then the morning of what would have been the third week with no letters, Roxas gets a phone call from a sobbing Mrs. Gainsborough, telling him the news and she's sorry, she's sorry, she's so sorry. Roxas doesn't know why she's consoling him. But he just nods numbly, as if she can see him. The line goes dead. Roxas drops the phone.

One week and four days later, Roxas goes to the airport and stands in the spot where Axel promised to meet him. He stands there for one, two, three, four hours before a TSA officer asks him to leave. He does so without complaint. He goes back to his house and stares at all the letters he's read too many times. They all end the same. They all end I love you.

( He should have taken that last kiss, god damn it, he should have taken that last kiss)