Title: Flawless Soul
Author: Sabaku-no-Ai
Status: Introduction of characters; Incomplete (1/5 chapters)
Summary: A family crisis forces straight-A student Roxas to move to a cruddy little apartment. Every night, he hears the dramatic lifestory of his next door neighbor Axel, the resident badass, moving Roxas with disgust, pity, and misplaced comfort.
Pairing(s): Axel/Roxas centric and many others as the story goes along.
Warning(s): Male/Male love (homophobes beware!), AU, possible mild OOC-ness, language, violence, drugs, mentions of self-abuse, crude humor
A/N: Haven't done a story in a while. :/ Especially a KH one. But oh well. Haha. I've been meaning to, anyway. Just didn't know what it's about. :D Hm…this fic is the lovechild of songs from Cute Is What We Aim For (Newport Living, Curse of Curves, Lyrical Lie) and Paolo Nutini (Rewind, Autumn, Alloway Grove). Listen to them. C: While you do, though, care to review?
Additional Note: Tifa fans may not want to read paragraph 6. Haha. :P Also, I kept it…KH2-ish, and got rid of two of the Org members that didn't (really) appear in the game (because you –beepbeep- in KH1 and Chain of Memories).
Cerulean eyes met the world once more, half-awake. They glanced around indifferently, looking at the chipped white-wash walls, ceiling, and ugly wooden floor with disgust; as much disgust as Roxas could muster, which isn't nearly substantial enough to make the building implode just like how he imagined it in his mind. How he wished. "I hate this." he murmured to the rotting floor planks, clutching to his rock-solid pillow with a tired hand. Wasn't there any possibility in this damned Earth that he will die today?
At 6:15 everyday, a female voice called out, trying to be as pleasant sounding as possible. "Roxas! Are you awake yet? It's breakfast time!" The blonde groaned aloud. This apartment wasn't as big as his old house. They didn't need to shout anymore. Just a few steps, and they'll be at his door…which squeaked open at a moment's notice, and a familiar head popped in from behind it. "R-roxas?" A small though unwavering smile hung on the lips of the entrant.
"What is it, Naminé?" the teen sat up, pushing all negativity from his mind. His little sister didn't need any shit from him. The aforementioned walked towards his bed shyly, receiving a pat on the head. Naminé, 5 years younger than Roxas, was blonde just like he was, but considerably paler. All the white she wore didn't help much, either. But she was starting to bloom, thanks to puberty. Instinctively glancing down, Roxas began to scold the girl lightly. "Where are your shoes? Mom and I told you to wear them always." Splinters, germs, loose floor boards, anything could happen. The girl just apologized, looking down and said she was only here to check if Roxas was awake. "Mom says you have to eat now because you might be late for your new school." After describing breakfast—eggs and cereal—she exited the room to look for her shoes.
It's been four months since his father died, two since their family went bankrupt and couldn't sustain life in the nice big house upstate, and just a week since they've been forcefully moved out from their house, and into a frugal apartment building located at the busiest part of town, made up of stale-smelling rooms and lousy plumbing. Roxas, despite his normally bright and upbeat personality, already felt like committing multiple homicides, especially with his landlords who pester his mother for rent even if they're not due yet. His mother Halle, on the other hand, seemed to have been even partially successful in her adjusting, taking two part-time jobs. Unfortunately, this hasn't been enough to keep everyone's education intact. Roxas is to start public-school life today, while Naminé has stopped schooling altogether. To the girl, though, Halle promises redemption; Roxas has no doubt in his body that she is telling the truth. …One day, things will be back to normal.
Letting the thought linger for a moment, Roxas ran a hand through his hair, before jumping in surprise when he heard a loud thud from the other side of his wall. "Noisy neighbors…" he got up and rummaged through his unpacked bags for good school clothes. He has, after all, never had to worry about what to wear because of the school uniforms he grew up with. As he changed, Roxas could hear crisp chatter. Every night, when he had nothing to do, he would just sit with his back to the wall, listening…and no, he didn't really care that it was invasion of privacy. He doesn't plan to ever meet his neighbor anyway.
His neighbor's life seemed very dramatic. A prostitute named Tifa came in during Sundays and Wednesdays. Loud, rowdy men visited often as well, joking around while drinking and smoking. They talk about boobs a lot, actually (Roxas finds it quite hilarious). By the time they said any of their names, though, they were smashed drunk. He's only caught the name of one of them…Demyx, who seemed to prefer Doritos and Mountain Dew to boobs and beer. He, more often than not, brings different instruments, too. He plays them quite well, in fact. He also caught some nicknames like Cherry-top. Perhaps that meant one of them was a red-head. "I'm going to be late, babe." The gruff, slurred voice that Roxas identified as his neighbor's suddenly said. "Money's on the bed. Leave when you find your bra." Tifa's over, it seems. But what was the other going to be late for…?
"Oh, screw this." Roxas mumbled, looping his belt and finishing up. His clothes were still branded, which, wearing, he knew wasn't going to be a good idea in a public-school unless he wants to get bullied and stolen from. But he didn't have anything else aside from his usual khaki slacks, black rubber shoes, black shirt and hooded jacket. He also wore his trademark checkered bangle, rubber rings, and X-shaped medal accompanied by a few chains. While his neighbor's soap-operas was addicting, he himself was going to be late if he keeps spacing out in thought like this. Walking out to the kitchen, he helped himself to some milk-drowned cereal—the brand of which, his favorite, did not change—and hurriedly gulped it down. He went to brush his teeth, being the hygienic freak that he is, and recheck his hair for any parts the gel had possibly missed.
"Bye mom, Naminé!" he shouted as he made his way to the door, following calls of good luck and love. Slipping out of the apartment, a slam was heard. Glancing to his right, a haggard, nearly skeletal man with deep, cherry-red hair and electric-green eyes emerged from the apartment door next to his. Roxas had to blink for a moment. The man looked like a train-wreck. Pale, bluish skin clung to the lanky figure, hidden from behind a tight black shirt under a one-size-too-big hoodie. His pants were a little low as well, showing off a hint of skin below his belly button. He also had several studded belts along his narrow hips. He did not seem to have noticed Roxas.
Taking out a cigarette, he cupped a hand over the tip to light it. The red-head took a drag, and made his way to the shaky elevator without so much as a glance to the staring blonde. "Freakish risk-seeker." He mumbled under his breath. No one ever dared to ride the elevator here. Not if they wanted to die, of course, which kind of sounds like Roxas, but, "…Nah." He sighed, walking over to the stairs.
The bus ride to school was one big nostalgia trip back to grade school. No matter how exclusive the school Roxas went to, the students weren't being paid to be nice to each other. No one offered the blonde a seat, much less looked at him. All the 'cool kids' probably had their own cars. Some stared at his clothes, though, somehow familiar…as if they've seen it in a Gucci catalogue before. But when they came to the assumption that it was probably a fake, they scoffed and looked away again.
Settling on an empty bench by the near front of the bus, Roxas pulled on his earphones, thumb clicking over the mp3 he managed to save from the Repo men. He partially wondered why no one wanted to sit here. It was the most convenient place, nearest the exit, after all. When the loud guitar riffs of Remember to Feel Real by Armor For Sleep suddenly flooded into Roxas' ears, he let go of the player and stuffed it into his bag, looking forward as a tendency. He blinked. "Oh god." He said aloud, sounding horrified, earning a few snickers from the people who had apparently been watching him.
In front of him, was the thick, dark and hairy neck of Pete the bus driver; polo shirt tan lines can be seen from beneath his white, sweat-stained collar, which began to yellow. What, was his sweat acidic or something? More importantly, does this guy do his laundry regularly? Roxas thought to himself apprehensively. He made a mental note to try and be the coolest kid in the world so he'd get a better seat, or at least relocate so that he'd ride the bus first. "Scared?" a friendly voice said from behind him. Glancing back, he saw a chubby guy, about his age, with brown hair and eyes. He wore a basketball jersey, but something told Roxas—or better yet, smacked him in the face—that he didn't play. He shifted in his seat so he could get a (way) better view, sticking his tongue out in disgust. The guy chuckled. "Is this why no one sits here?" he asked.
"Yeah, pretty much." He glanced to Pete, a little sympathetic. "Poor guy doesn't know it, though. …That he smells. That he dresses bad. That we've caught on to his world-record breaking attempt at not shaving." He began to enumerate the ways, though talking a little quietly. He didn't want to get kicked of the bus, if ever. "It might sound unbelievable but under all the sweat-stains, the hair, Pete's a nice guy." It kind of sounded that the guy was trying to convince himself of what he was saying, and not Roxas. Nevertheless, the blonde nodded, turning off his mp3 player and stuffing the earphones back into his bag. When he looked back to the guy behind him, he was talking to two people sitting on the opposite bench in the bus. One was a brunette wearing an orange floral sun dress and matching sandals. She had a flower in her hair. The other was male, his dusty blonde hair spiked up. He wore army shorts that reached to his knees, and rubber shoes. His black shirt and printed vest showed off his toned arms. He caught their names from the conversation…Olette and Hayner. Not wanting to interrupt, Roxas sat properly and looked down at his hands instead.
He stood as the bus door opened, but people started rushing forward, blocking Roxas' path. With wavering patience, he waited for a space to squeeze himself in. He didn't want to stay any longer in the bus, either. He saw an opening and a hand that motioned for him to go ahead. That guy again. "Hey, are you a freshman?" he asked. Roxas had to control himself from exploding with laughter. Or anger? He doesn't really know the appropriate feeling. "Junior." He smirked a little, earning a quick apology. Olette and Hayner glanced to him, too. "We're juniors, too!" the guy said. Hooray, company.
Once they were out of the bus, he stuck his hand out at Roxas. "I'm Pence, by the way." He smiled. Likeable guy, Roxas thought inwardly, taking Pence's hand and firmly shaking it. Olette and Hayner went up and shook hands, too. "Roxas." He introduced himself, smiling sincerely for the first time in nearly two months. It felt nice. Pence and Olette had to go to their class immediately ("You know how it is with those strict professors…"), so Hayner offered to go with Roxas to fetch his schedule and generally ensure his safety. He didn't seem to be as much in a hurry, anyway. As they walked to the secretary's office, Hayner talked about his varsity wrestling jacket, and that he was currently in varsity football. "It's going awesome, man." He said when asked how it's working for him. "So, what kind of sports are 'ya into?" he asked as they sat on the bench by the office, waiting in line.
"Uhm…" It really did involve much thinking. Roxas wasn't really into any sports…he was just forced to do most of them. He was in varsity swimming for a few years, though. "Swimming, I guess." He shrugged. Hayner nodded approvingly. "Good sport," he began, a smirk slowly beginning to creep up his face. "But…are you any good? I mean, you can like the thing, but suck, y'know?" he made hand-gestures for emphasis. Roxas felt slightly offended. The smirk the boy had on, however, dispelled any such thoughts. Instead, he recognized it as a silent challenge. "I'm way good," He felt himself grin. "Maybe even better than you." Hayner's hazel eyes darted to stare at the other's aquamarine ones. "Wanna test that theory?" Roxas added, earning a laugh from the other. Guess this is going to be a competitive friendship. "You're on, pal."
"Lessee…first period Calculus and Trig…third is Physics…History then Gym…bullshit." A frustrated growl, followed by the sound of crumpling paper was heard once Roxas and Hayner entered the room. A tall, blonde male with what looked like a lame '80s hairdo, in a black jacket stood in the middle of the room, seemingly enraged. He had an oddly-shaped guitar case hanging from his back. He had lots of earrings, gloves, and he wore leather pants. Hm. "Demyx, shut up. You're making a scene." A statuesque man with layered rosewood hair stepped up beside him, hand slipping down to the blonde's waist, who seems unfazed. The man leaned down to speak into Demyx's ear. "Besides, Axel and I could always make you cut these shit subjects." You could almost hear the smirk in his words. Frankly, it gave Roxas the shivers. …But not before he realized what he heard. Demyx? Wasn't that his neighbor's friend? Who was Axel? He could faintly remember the other man's voice, though…
Demyx pouted. "But c'mon, Marluxia…I don't want to have to repeat senior year for the third time with crappy subjects." The man named Marluxia shrugged, and told him to repeat it again to see if he'll get better subjects. …Was this the only thing Demyx wanted? Good subjects? Strange man. "That's a fucked up plan, eh—oh, hey, we're next." Hayner whispered to Roxas, rolling his eyes and pushing his way towards the secretary's awaiting desk with his new friend in tow. Both men stole a nanosecond of eye contact from Roxas, before going back to arguing. Marluxia, though, kept his hand on Demyx's waist, sometimes drawing small circles. They left the room eventually, prompting Roxas to ask, "Uhm, hey, do you know that guy? The blonde one?"
Hayner blinked at him as they both waited for Roxas' schedule to be printed out. "Yep. His name's Demyx," He flexed his fingers boredly. "Junkie…aspiring rock star. Good guy. Though a lacking in the…uh," he pointed to his head. "Upper region." Roxas wanted to laugh out loud…and he did. "Don't mess with him, though. He's part of this outside group…real dangerous guys; calls themselves the Organization XIII." Hayner seemed to like speaking in phrases and simple sentences. Oh well. "There's only 10 of them left, though. Vexen died of overdose. The other one, Zexion, shot himself in the head, I think." He shrugged as if it was normal to talk about these things. Roxas was appalled, actually. "There were only 12 of them. Weird, right? Hahaha…" then he started laughing. Roxas still had his jaw open wide, when the secretary nudged a paper to him wordlessly.
The first few periods breezed through. Roxas had a few periods with Pence, luckily, and one with Olette. She was a quiet girl, but very friendly. It sort of reminds him of Naminé. He had Gym with Hayner…which would end up in total competitive chaos, most probably, but he won't have to worry about that until later in the afternoon. For now… "LUNCHBREAK!" someone shouted from their seat, interrupting the teacher who was in the middle of giving out homework. Everybody cheered, and pushed themselves out of the room, not giving a damn about the assignment. Roxas just walked behind, not wanting to crowd. The Guidance Counselor/Psychology teacher, Ms. Aerith, who was here to orientate them on changes with the school system, is married to the Gym coach Cloud. They make an…outrageous couple, so to say. She sighed, fixing her scattered papers. Roxas looked at her quietly, debating whether he should help or not. …The latter won, unfortunately. Roxas' polite demeanor diminished with his atmosphere's integrity.
"One thing's still bothering me with that…Demyx guy." Roxas mumbled as he set his tray of food down to the table where they sat. He should thank these guys for welcoming him so warmly the next chance he gets. Hayner stared up from poking at his 'Mystery Casserole' with a fork, to stare at Roxas questioningly. "Is he…you know, gay?" Better be blunt, then. Don't want to be misunderstood as a homophobe. Olette dropped her spoon, Pence was about to laugh his milk out from his nose, and Hayner was this close to smacking the silly out of the blonde. "SHH." He settled for pulling the other down by the collar. "They might hear, you! God, Roxas, you're such a big mouth." Letting go and allowing himself to sit properly, Roxas fixed himself, though still very much interested. His neighbor's life seemed so much interesting than his…considerably more problematic, but there was a slight, though misplaced, comfort that comes out with knowing that someone has it worse than you, that there's still hope with you as compared to the train-wrecks that live next door…prostitutes, alcohol, illegal substances…all the violence. It's mind-numbing.
Hayner hid his mouth with his hands, elbows propped up on the table. "To answer you question," he began. "We don't really know. But some people say they sometimes have sex with each other when they get really drunk…which is everyday, I guess. There's only one girl in the Organization, by the way, and she's the tough kind." He rambled on. Not that Roxas minded. "They all know that their leader and vice-leader…or whatever you call it, are gay. Demyx is so far the youngest among them. The others are working, except for one who's barely scraping college, kind like Demyx here with highschool. Anyway, so…yeah, a lot of them hit on the poor guy, who doesn't seem to care all that much, right? Marluxia, the other one you saw, I assume is the whore. I dunno. It's just a bunch of messed up, sick lives." He sipped at his juice box nonchalantly.
"Why does this sound so natural to you? How do you know all this?" Roxas leaned in. His food was untouched, but his curiosity was being poked by a butcher knife. Pence and Olette seemed to have heard the story before, so they didn't pay much attention. Instead, they chatted about a new seat plan strategy during the morning ride to school. Hopefully they'll work that out. "Vexen was my brother." Again, Hayner made it sound all too easy. Roxas was about to open his mouth to give condolences and apologize, but the dirty-blonde stopped him with a bitter statement. "He was a screw up anyway. He deserved it. Don't say anything." He finished off his juice box, and stood to follow Pence and Olette to the trash bin. Might as well follow, too.
Once they cleaned up, Pence suggested that it would be an appropriate time to show Roxas around, enumerate the Do's and Don'ts when it comes to public school life, and reveal the best faculty-free spots in the campus. "If the seniors offer you anything, don't put it anywhere near your mouth, nose, eyes and bloodstream." Pence said. "Do throw it away immediately once they're beyond a 50-foot radius, and not looking." The blonde nodded, understanding why. Pence explained earlier that most of the seniors are trouble-makers who prey on new students and freshman. After being told that acting like he's attended the school since kindergarten is key, Roxas was practically dragged behind a few buildings, helpfully being pointed to the usual make-out spots and monuments to guarantee that he won't get lost. He made mental notes of them, all the while trying to hide the fact that he was a lost puppy. Upon hearing the tales of each monument or memorable location, Roxas decided that he didn't belong here one bit…though was partially thankful for these three giving their time for him. He'll make up for it later.
"Oh, that reminds me. If you see anyone from outside, with a black hooded jacket, don't mess with them." Pence warned, scratching his side from over his colored jersey. "They're from the organization." Olette nodded nervously in agreement, seemingly remembering a past experience. "Especially the one with red hair," she added, a little louder than what she intended. "His name's Axel, a junior in a nearby college. He doesn't look like it, but he can take you on like some Trojan warrior. I accidentally spilled my Sea salt ice cream on his shoe one day, and he pushed me to a wall. It was so scary…" Surely she was exaggerating. Roxas raised a brow at this. Axel? Red hair? Black jacket…? It has to be. He was neighbors with Axel, the 8th member to join Organization XIII, badass, junkie, college flunk and Trojan-warrior-crony. Should he fear for the life of his family and him? Should he report to the cops about their illegal affairs with drugs and prostitutes and gambling? If he does, Roxas might as well be digging his own grave, he knew that as much. He nodded apprehensively, biting his lower lip. The bell resounded in a far off distance.
A/N: Please take time toREVIEW the story so far. It lets me know what you guys think, and how I can improve (if you have any story predictions, don't hesitate to tell them!). Limited to CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM only! Flames will only be laughed at. :D But don't forget: This is only the first chapter. Thanks guys! Read my other stories if you have time. (P.S. If you're a Tifa fan…just wanted you to know she's a big slut. XD)