Something to distract me from "that other fic draining the life out of me."

This one was inspired by a song called 'Puhu äänellä jonka kuulen' by the Finnish rock band Happoradio and the title is the translated name of the song. (And in case you were wondering: 'Happoradio' means 'Acid Radio'.) So you don't understand what the lyrics are about and therefore can't catch the references in this text, big deal, you still understand the tone of the singer's voice and the look in his eyes (if you watch the video.) Go listen to it somewhere, the singer's got a pretty voice.

And on a stylistic note, I've let loose and I'm writing as it comes to me. I hope you'll approve.

Speak With a Voice I Hear

Roxas has a habit of closing up and withdrawing from the world from time to time. It happens gradually and Axel's learned to recognize the signs, but he still hasn't accepted that there isn't anything he can do about it, so when Roxas starts to speak in monosyllables and averts his eyes, the redhead becomes agitated and at some point, pins the blonde to the bedroom wall with a growled "What am I doing wrong?" to force a reaction out of him.

And a reaction is exactly what he gets: a sound punch to the face and a front door that slams loud enough to make a neighbor complain about the noise the lover's tiff is making. Fuck off is all Axel can think as he dumps the contents of his bag onto the bed he shares with Roxas, intent on flipping through his calendar where he's marked Roxas's Impossible Days as he's taken to calling them. Axel's hands shake with anger and he almost rips half the pages out, but then he notices the red circles, beginning from November 20 and ending at December 1. He then finds the current date, spots a red pen on the bed and slowly, controlling his breathing, circles February 21, 2009. After that he marks the five previous days, remembering the first signs were there on Monday: the blonde lost in thought, sitting still in ice cold bathwater for God knows how long. The shivers that suddenly run down Axel's stiffened spine at the bleak memory cool down the man's temper, and the concerned boyfriend in him remembers that it's freezing outside and Roxas doesn't have his coat on. This time when his hands shake, it's not from anger, and he drops the calendar.

Fifteen minutes later and Axel feels calmer because having made a phone call, he knows now that Roxas dropped by Naminé's to borrow one of her boyfriend's coats and then went off somewhere without a word. It's still not good but better than having the boy dying from cold. The real problem is he's debating at least a dozen different places where Roxas might be, and they're all in a dozen different directions so he can't just go out and start from number one.

So he waits and uses the time to change the sheets, wash the dishes and catch up on world news – all the while clutching his long trench coat in his lap just in case a call comes in – not actually remembering any of the stories after five seconds. He's about to turn the thing off when he sees the Big Ben in the background as an immaculate woman gives her report. Axel is out the door in a heartbeat and the TV is left on, images of couples kissing at a train station flickering on the screen.

As the redhead reaches the top and spots Roxas sitting on the edge of the clock tower, he wants to do one of two things: to run to the boy and hold him in his arms or to turn and leave him there because he can freeze to death for all I care. So Axel decides on a third option, a fusion of the two others, really, and with a glance at the grey sky, sends a plea for help to whoever has power over people and their fates.

"Rox," Axel snarls darkly, exasperation poorly concealed. "You can't keep on pulling shit like this." Then realizing that the edge that has crept into his tone won't do any good, he relaxes his face and speaks more softly and, thinking about the blonde's smile, he one by one picks away the razors cutting into his voice.

"I'm not a mind reader. I need words, Roxas, actual spoken words. I like to think that I know you better than anyone, even better than your sister, but I've seriously started to think I'd need a degree in psychology to begin to comprehend the workings of that… infuriating mind of yours. If it was something I did, I'd tell you how sorry I am, but frankly, it can't be me, not every time."

Pausing to see if Roxas bothers to acknowledge him, Axel notices the fresh, powdery snow that has covered all footprints and has settled over the boy's hunched shoulders. Without realizing it, Axel's feet take him three feet behind Roxas and the redhead's teeth rattle, not from the cold, but from the emotion he manages to put into words: "I'd give anything to know what you are trying to see out there, on the horizon or whatever it is you're looking at. But I can't, Roxas, I just can't, I'm a sorry little bartender, what can I do? I can't just get you drunk and to spill all your dark secrets like I do with half the guys I serve to."

Axel is not sure, but he thinks the blonde is listening to him; the exposed neck between the collar of the borrowed, too big coat and golden hair looks taut and pink. "You're some real deep and dark water," Axel murmurs thoughtfully, unsure if he wants Roxas to hear that. "What are you afraid of?" Axel's voice hitches a little and he flushes, looks around, suddenly conscious of where they are. He almost jumps as Roxas lets out a shuddering breath, the puff of warm air circling around him before being caught in the wind. They both shiver.

"Anyway," the redhead says after a tense minute or two and sighs, sweeping his hair back. "I'm… freezing my balls off here so I'm headed home. I wouldn't mind company since I always end up cooking too much for just one person, but, huh, you know that already."

Axel thinks he can see Roxas's head turning a little, a mere fraction, but still tilting into his direction right before the man turns and begins the descend from the clock tower. As he passes a window on his way down, he catches his reflection and realizes he can't remember ever having such a shadow over his eyes. Axel's done all he can for himself and for the boy he loves. If he doesn't come back, that's it then, and Axel can go out and figure out a way to get his heart back from the blonde. But he refuses to think any further.

Axel doesn't reach the last of the steps before he hears Roxas behind him, following the man back home, sneakers – way too light for this weather – skipping off the stairs in a hurried pace. So Axel stops at the bottom and waits without looking back and when he feels Roxas next to him, he wraps an arm around the boy, reveling in how the blonde latches onto his waist with a muted call of Axel, an apology in a name.