A/N: So. Uh. Hi there. First submission to . I would love some nice, constructive criticism. And praise, if you're high enough to believe this story deserves it.

~Enjoy~

There was nothing left.

The sky was empty as I looked for something, anything to dull the sharp throbs in my chest. My dancing fire was extinguished. Tiny oceans of green, green grass would no longer stare me right in the eye, shining with glee and adoration, and say those three words that everyone searches for. Except me.

He fell into my life just as suddenly as he fell out of it. A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, he tackled me into the dirt in flag football. He had been late to the game and decided to jump in, unannounced. It pissed me off, but it seemed to make his friends laugh. After, he helped me limp home. Since no one else was there, he invited himself in. Despite my many, loud protests. He fucking picked me right up as if it was his duty, and proceeded to ignore me and search half the house before he found the bathroom. He fixed me up, so careful despite his long, clumsy fingers. And then, completely without warning, he kissed me. Long and gentle.

Before I could process anything, he was waving cheerfully and closing the front door behind himself. I was shocked. Angry. But most of all, I just wanted to see him again.

And I did. A lot. He came by my house often; swept my parents off their feet with a simple ease; and before I knew it, we were dating.

It didn't take me long to fall completely, painfully in love with him. He was impulsive, reckless, dangerous, volatile, and apparently very flammable. He got drunk, he got high, he got into stupid fights; but I was there to help him, every step of the way. I got angry at him a lot, sure; but it never lasted long. He was too happy, too high on life to begrudge him for anything. And he was so, so loyal. He never (intentionally) flirted with other people; he broke Setzer's arm when he beat him up because I felt violated; and he always, always answered my calls and texts as soon as he got them. There was no one else like him. I could never have loved anyone else.

But suddenly, things began to change. He started partying a lot more. He'd stumble into my house when my parents were asleep, drunk and angry, and rail at me until he passed out. He started ignoring everyone's calls and texts, including my own. He would sit for hours and stare at nothing when he was sober. His moods were even more explosive. He even hit me, once. But he apologized, over and over, and I held him as he cried in desperation.

I was with him for every moment I was free. We talked about everything, I was always in physical contact with him in any way I could be, and he eventually got better. He was back to being the same old crazy pyro. He started talking with his friends again, who accepted him without question; he got his feet back under him and found a part-time job. We laughed together in bed, legs tangled beneath the blankets and crazy red hair everywhere.

But even then, I saw the shining emerald of his eyes go dull. Small, quick flashes; right after laughing hard, after smiling, after talking; after anything. But I told myself it was nothing, that I was just seeing things. He was better. I made him better.

But I didn't. He wasn't better, and I found out in the worst way possible. It was a beautiful, sunny day; school let out early; and I had a dinner date with him as soon as he got off of work. So I lay on my bed, listening to Guns 'n Roses (his favorite band), dozing in the golden warmth of the sun. When my mom walked in with a troubled expression, I had a list of excuses lined up for why my report card was so bad. Sadly, this wasn't about grades, or scolding. The love of my life, the man who drank gilded life by the gallon…

…was dead.

Was it a car crash? A seizure? Alcohol poisoning? Anything that was a result of his hectic lifestyle? Ohh, wait, I knew. It was all a big joke. Haha, very funny.

But it wasn't.

He'd burned down a small, useless shed that he and I had found a month or so back. We thought it was so cool, and like children imagined it our own secret palace. But now it was gone. Desecrated by a guy who thought he had lost it all, just by living.

He was in the shed when it burned. He died in the same way he lived; flamboyantly.

He left a few letters in his room to the people he considered close in his life. His brother, his mother, even a letter to his father in prison. The only person he left a letter for that wasn't in his family…was me.

So here I sit. Alone in my room, numb. If someone stabbed me through the heart, it wouldn't feel worse than this heartbreak. His funeral was today. I went, but I wasn't there. My mind was lost in the first time I saw those impossibly green eyes and the blood-red hair (those spikes were unnatural, had to be; but even as we woke together, they were there, if not a bit mussed); the first time he touched me; the first time he kissed me.

I guess now, a week later, it's probably a good idea to read his note; it's not as if there's any sort of "too late" for this type of thing. My name is scrawled across the envelope in his wild handwriting. There's weird stains on it; I don't know what they're from, and I'm pretty sure I never want to know. But… since it was him, maybe I should.

He always made fun of the way I carefully separated the lip of the envelope from the rest of it; but now, I'm being even more methodical than I usually am. I gingerly pull out the letter, only to realize it's written on old notebook paper, folded several times over, then unfolded, then folded again, more carefully. (He always wanted things to look their best for me; I guess this was no different.) I gently unfold the letter, revealing more of his scrawling handwriting.

Dear Rox,

I know, to you, this may seem way outta left field. Then again, you've always been pretty damn obsi (scribbled out) obz (also scribbled out) observant.(Damn, I had to pull out my dictionary for that one. I bet your suprised I even own one. I boght it when you told me to "expand my vocabulary.") Anyways, I just want you to know that this wasn't your fault. And I know, kids with divorsed parent's get that crap all the time and it doesn't make em feel any better. But I always, always loved you. Why the fuck else would I tackle some random-ass blond kid that I thought was a chick at first?

Anyways, you know I ain't to good with words and shit. But I thought I'd try to make yours as long as I can, even longer than anyone else, cuz I love you more than anyone else. And I know my grammer and spelling are shit, but you always knew what I meant when I said anything.

Anyways, this shit's been coming for a long time. You just helped me push it away as long as I coud, and I love you so much for that. Remember those voices I told you about? They never went away. They were quiter and I thought they were almost gone, but now they're worse than ever and I can't stop them Rox I can't and I love you Roxas and I'm scared and

This is the only way I can find any peace and quite now. They won't stop til I'm dead. They told me so. So I understand if you hate me after this because I'm really selfish for doing this to you, and I only ever wanted to make you feel loved. Because you were my only, Rox. My one and only. Did you know I was a virgin when I met you? Heh, I guess that makes two of us

Wow, I wrote "anyways" alot. Heh. But I guess its time to wrap this up and head to our place. I want you to be the last thing I think of before I die. You made living so worth it, Rox. And I ain't repaying you very well like this. But maybe in the next life, eh? Maybe I won't be so crazy then.

But until then, just know I love ya. Go make babies and save the world or some shit. Make it like one a those love novels that we used to crack up over. (I always knew you secretley liked them. I found them in a box under your bed. Your to fucking cute, Rox.)

Enjoy the life I couldn't. Make it worth it for the both of us.

Axel

God, fuck. The stupid sap. My eyes are itching from all these tears. And what the hell am I supposed to do with this letter? Keep it in my underwear drawer? What does someone do with something like this?

And, of course, this is so like me. Avoiding the issue until it blows up in my face. Ax is dead. He will be for forever.

But maybe… maybe in the next life. Eh?