Cigarettes
Roxas stood by the windowsill of their shared flat, looking out to the busy street below. Images of a crimson coffin swirled through his brain, eventually mixing with the coffins of his family, gone in a fire years before.
Fire. Fire reminded him of Axel, of his lighter collection, his hair, Axel's very soul. Fire was how they met, and it was fitting that fire aided in their separation. He remembered that day, when all he had wanted to do was save innocent people from the twirling pyromaniac in the center, and the abrupt change of plans that followed.
Roxas was pushed back by a guy walking backward, saying, 'No! Don't go in there! He's gone insane, I tells ya! Please! Back away now!"
Roxas, naturally curious, pushed his way to the middle, stopped at the sight of a flaming redhead on the phone, pacing like an erratic sprinkler, brandishing a lighter as he went. He seemed oblivious to the mess of people around him, and was apparently involved in a heated argument with someone. Seeing no immediate danger, Roxas decided to go up to the man and ask him to stop being an Antisprinkler.
"Demyx, they are not the same kind of music! Any idiot can see that they shouldn't be grouped in the same award class. Is The Beatles the same as say, Suicide Silence? So why do they only get one award, while pop gets the rest?"
"Excuse me sir?"
"Huh? Oh Dem, I have to go. Yeah. I'll call you later!" Axel placed his phone back in his pocket. "What's up?"
"Only that you have these people terrified. You should be more careful, someone "
"Really?" Axel raised his voice. "Relax, I only burn people on Saturdays!"
The crowd fled in a screaming, tumbling mess.
"It's Saturday, dumbass."
"Well, seeing as you didn't run away, do you want coffee?"
Roxas remembered coming home from the coffee shop, clenching a small piece of paper in his hand. He remembered the lunches and coffee meetings after that, remembered developing feelings towards Axel, who had become a flame of hope in Roxas's lonely life. He remembered the night he had first seen Axel smoke.
"Axel. You know you shouldn't do that."
"Relax, Rox. It hasn't killed me yet."
But it had killed him. A renegade tear slipped down his cheek, despite Roxas's strict no-crying policy. He was alone. It wouldn't kill him.
"Axel, please, I ca- I don't want you to die." Like my parents.
"Hmm? What were you going to say there, Roxie?"
"N-nothing."
"Sure? Sounded a lot like 'I care about you, my Axie-poo'" His voice took a more serious tone. " Because if that's what you wanted to say," Axel moved closer. "Then I wanted to say.." Axel backed away suddenly, resumed his mocking tone. "I care about my Roxie-poo too!"
And that, as they say, was that. This was the part where everyone lived happily ever after the end. But life doesn't work that way. If it had, Roxas would still be surrounded by people who love him. But Axel was never able to kick his smoking habit, no matter how hard he tried. And it caught up to him. And Roxas was left all alone. The end. Roxas adjusted his grip on the windowsill, felt a box, and turned to see what it was.
Axel's cigarettes looked back at him, a pack he must have left for those nights when all his body would let him do is pace around this same window. Roxas pulled out his "lucky" lighter, the one Axel claimed to have bought just for him. Pulling a cigarette out of the case, he brought it to his lips and lit up. No one left to live for anyway.