Title: Whatever Lola Wants

Author: Akane Arihyoshi

Disclaimer: NOPE.

Notes: The title and inspiration came from a very old song entitled "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets" and I've been listening to it almost nonstop since I found it. Go ahead, listen to it, it's amazing. It's sung by Sarah Vaughn, on YouTube.

Whatever Axel wants

, Demyx explained, Axel gets.

And suddenly there was a sob, and Demyx was hugging a small blond boy, and there was nothing anyone could do except Axel, and Axel never did anything for anyone but himself. Demyx felt like an enabler, and felt like he should have, could have, would have, had he only had the perfect opportunity, and so this is his price to pay: holding this poor kid as he sobs his heart out because of a lapse in judgment, but nobody knows whose judgment lapsed, and no one is really concerned at the moment.

This child sobs because of trust, because of love, because of anger, hate, ridicule, and most of all because of hope. He trusted Axel, loves Axel, is angry, hates Axel, was ridiculed by him, but the thing that hurts most is the irrational hope that keeps him going, the hope that just maybe, just maybe…

But there can never be a just maybe, because there can only be what there is, and what's there is really simple: Axel never loved Roxas, and Roxas was stupid to ever believe he would.

And Demyx starts to cry, too, because he should have warned the boy, should have kept them apart, and knows deep down inside that that wouldn't have helped a god damn bit, but wants to go back and change it anyway just for the sake of being able to do something, anything. He recalls the moment he met the boy, that golden haired kid, and weeps for the innocence lost.

He was so full of life, proud to show it, quick to laugh, cry, bursting with emotion and joy. One couldn't be around him without smiles, he was a savior, and so loved by everyone. He was inhuman in the best and worst of ways, wearing his heart on his sleeve for all to see, touch, know. He made you think, about your life, people. Introductions to worlds you'd never dreamed of before, worlds you'd never touched, never knew were there, and he brought them to you.

Axel wanted him from the moment he saw him.

Roxas can remember it perfectly. A seductive voice, a beckoning hand, attached to a skinny arm attached to the torso of an angel. Axel, said the angel, and Roxas took the hand. Doorways began to open that Roxas had never seen before, doorways to hell, to heaven, and to Axel, always to Axel, and he was left with the choice of the road to be taken, but the road less traveled by terrified him, so he began his trek to hell, and to this angel, the one he barely even knew.

And that's when it all began, the hope, the dreams, the love. Axel, so wicked, so sly, but so seductive, so careful, so appealing, from too many years of practice. He wore Roxas down with promises of friendship and happiness, pleasure and paradise, and Roxas swallowed every lie, every deception, every fallacy.

And the thing that bugs Demyx most isn't that he just stood by and watched, that he was just as much to blame as Axel was, but that he'd ever known Axel in the first place. It hurts him to know that he had other places to go, and he stayed with Axel. He could have gone with Zexion, Xigbar--hell, even Lex would have taken him--but he hadn't. Instead he'd stayed with the one person he hated most in the whole world, the one person who made him want to scream, and he never said a word.

Roxas is still crying, and Demyx wonders whether or not he ought to stop crying himself, but he can't bring himself to, because he's always been weak like that, always been so inclined to take on other people's problems, and this is the first time he's ever really allowed himself to, as a punishment to himself for letting it get this far out of hand in the first place.

Then Roxas wonders why, and who, and what, and even though he already knows the where and how, he asks those too, just to be thorough. Why would Axel do this? and Who does he think he is? and What makes him think stuff like this is okay? and everything in between, and they're all spinning through his head at an alarming rate, which only makes him cry harder. And he's so confused, and so tired of being confused, and so confused by all the confusion that he feels like his head is going to explode. Demyx can't answer him.

He knows it will hurt, but he remembers the middle of the story, back when he knew Axel, and Axel knew him, and they were what passed for friends, and Roxas was still so horribly oblivious.

When you wear your heart on your sleeve, eventually, you're going to get it stolen.

He remembers the way Axel said his name, and how it used to send shivers down his spine. He remembers how he always used to think that if he was ever going to fall in love, he'd want to be in love with Axel, and as if those were the magic words, he starts to feel funny around Axel, notes how his heart always beats faster, and he starts to notice the little things, like how Axel's eyes close sometimes when he smiles, or how the corner of Axel's mouth twitches when he doesn't want anyone to know he's amused, or how Axel grins a lot more now than he did before.

Except, the last wasn't a love-blinded observation, because as Axel saw how deeply Roxas was falling, how well his plan was unfolding, how fun this game was getting, he did begin to smile more, that treacherous, roguish smile that anyone but a lovesick fool would have caught on to, and Roxas, being a lovesick fool, could never have dreamed of the intent behind it.

Roxas starts to suspect his own feelings, and silently rejoices, silently worries, stupid worries, he tells himself, that will never come to pass, but he's right to worry, so right, and if he ever knows, he'll be broken. He focuses instead on the joy of a first love, confiding in Demyx.

Demyx recalls that night too well, too often. The flustered, completely excited look on Roxas's face, the way he couldn't stop smiling all night, the way it hurt to look at him, hoping so much that he would have a happy ending, and knowing full well that he wouldn't. The way he kept averting his gaze, until Roxas noticed--and it takes a lot to get a lovesick kid to notice any behavioral pattern of yours when he's rambling about the point of his interest--and began to stammer apologies, that he forgot, and he's so sorry, but he's sure that Demyx will make up with Zexion sooner or later, and he's so terribly sorry for bringing up this subject, of all things, and Demyx finds himself laughing and hugging the kid, which cuts off the faltering words pretty nicely, replacing them with direct confusion as Roxas realizes that never once has Demyx ever touched him before.

It's been an hour, and Demyx is still hugging Roxas, only partially dry at this point, covered in tears he caused, however indirectly, and he still feels terrible, and nothing is changing that, and right now he feels like he deserves every ounce of discomfort he's feeling right now, times a million.

He finds himself wishing he could talk to Zexion, wishing Zexion still talked to him, wishing, hoping, dreaming of better days, even though it just took him an hour to establish that dreams and hopes and wishes are worthless, stupid things, not worth a minute of his time, but he really doesn't give a damn, and he wishes with all his might that he could just talk to Zexion once more, just to tell him how sorry he was…how much he wished…

And Roxas has begun to shake, and when Demyx looks down at him, he realizes that the boys eyes are in the past, and Roxas, poor, lonely Roxas, has just begun to recall the worst part of the story, the part that hurts the most, and the most recent part, only a few hours old, much too soon for a wound to heal.

He'd gone in to see Axel. To finally, once and for all, confess. It had gone so well, too. A stammered declaration, cheeks turning pink, air swirling around in the room making him dizzy, his eyes diverted to the carpet, breathing suddenly so loud, so loud, and then the added pressure of another person's lips on his own, good pressure, welcome pressure, and the rest all a blur, sudden everything, sudden nothing, sudden death.

He won't remember the rest, not because he can't--that's the most memorable hour of his life, he will never forget it, never--but because if he did, his heart would shatter more that it already has.

But he will remember this--he'll remember the after.

Completely vulnerable, open, trusting, and the worst possible time for Axel to do what he did.

Roxas, it was all a joke, and you fell for it.

Laughter, horrible, grating laughter, except it isn't, it's just as seductive as the rest of him, but Roxas wishes it was. Laughter, terrible, vile, beautiful laughter, bouncing around in Roxas's skull, and tears, sobs, water on his cheeks, a small, terrified voice asking the simplest of questions, and yet, it has no answer in his mind.

Why, why?

The laughter stops, but the horrid smile remains, the smile of a predator at the end of the hunt, of a cat with a mouse, the smile of horrible, dreadful people, the smile on hell's own mouth when it beckons in another weary fool.

You know why, Roxas. You know why.

Confusion, anger, the stinging pain of betrayal. All of them fight for a place in his mind, futile though it is, as another emotion has just taken over. Despair.

I don't know. I have no idea. Why, Axel, why?

And Roxas knows that what he just said, asking why, that's the stupidest thing he could ever have done, because that's the one question whose answer will irrevocably cement the despair and betrayal into the center of his heart, but he waits with patient dread for the answer. Axel grins, that cheshire cat grin Roxas always used to adore, but tonight it's filled with malice of the worst kind.

Roxas, I don't love you.

Roxas feels something in his chest break beyond repair. Struggling to move with his world falling apart everywhere he looks isn't an easy task, concentration, concentrate, keep going, even when you can't. Putting one foot in front of the other, he stumbles out of the room, then, in one last show of bravery, stupidity, pride, hope, he turns.

I still love you Axel. I still do.

And, chin held high, pride all that's keeping him alive, he shuts the door with a dignified flourish, dragging himself only a few inches before he's falling, falling, and how nice it would feel to sleep, no waking, just sleeping, no death, just sleep, wonderful, beautiful sleep. How nice it would be to forget. And suddenly he's on the floor, and his eyes are closing, and all he wants is sleep.

Before he knows it, though, wakefulness is invading his senses, and he cries out, because it hurts to be alive, and to know things, and he longs for the bliss of being nothing, but he can't be, and that makes it hurt more. And he's in the sitarist's room with no idea of how he could have come to be there, and he doesn't even care, because caring hurts too.

And then, suddenly, as Demyx watches, Roxas's eyes snap back to the present again, and he begins his sobs afresh. Demyx is just so sick of this. Not sick of Roxas, that would be cruel, not sick of this poor child, this poor heartbroken child. No, no, not ever. So sick of Axel, wicked, cruel, cunning Axel. Horrid, despicable, lies, lies, so many lies, so many untruths, a web of them, a spun web of all his fallacies, and Demyx is so sick of it, so sick he could cry, and he is, he's crying, and they need to get out. Pushing Roxas off of him--Roxas doesn't care, he's too seeped in misery--he pulls out a bag and begins to pack.

Clothing, brush, comb, clothing, shoes, books, his music, oh, his music, everything went in his bag. Everything. Digging through his closet (such a mess, he should have cleaned it out months ago, but he's so glad he didn't) he locates clothing he's grown out of, for Roxas, of course for Roxas, because it's for Roxas he's leaving, he tells himself. It's all for Roxas, he says, and even though her knows it's a lie, he clings to it for, just a while longer, a little while longer, and then, then he can be free. Such fantasy, but he needs it to live with himself.

Tossing the bag on the chair, he packs up his sitar, throws the strap of the case around Roxas's torso, the case on Roxas's back, and leans back to carry Roxas on his own back. The kid can't walk, the kid can't even talk, and he's so weak, so weak with love and hate and hope, and hope is such a tiring thing to be weighted down with. Demyx is sinking too, but he knows he can last a while longer yet, and he can make it, where Roxas can't. He can get there, and he can get Roxas there too, even if it kills him.

Pushing open the door, pulling Roxas up a little higher on his back, and looping his arms around the kid's legs, he strides through purposefully, grabbing his bag. The front door is watched, however, and Axel's eyes go straight through Demyx, he feels himself shudder. No, no, this is not happening, not now. Not ever again.

What are you doing with the kid, Dem? Axel teases, leaning back against the wall. And what's with the bags? Not planning on leaving, I hope. Leaving is bad for you, Dem.

And this is Demyx's last chance to say it, this is where it really counts, so why are his knees shaking, and why is his mouth going dry?

Axel, go to hell. God knows you belong there.

Ah, that's more like it. He glides across the entrance floor, feeling lighter than air. Finally, finally said it, finally did it, he deserved it, and I was the one to tell him, no one else, but me, he thinks. He tries to open the door, but there's a thin hand on the doorknob already.

Who else would take you in, Demyx? You're nobody. Nothing. You should be thanking me.

Demyx was surprised to hear himself snarl. Pulling Roxas up higher again, he twisted the handle of his bag, turn, twist, don't hurt him, don't punch him, you've got Roxas, too, he thought.

No.

That was all he said, and that was all he needed to say, and Axel's hand moved off of the door. Axel was grinning, laughing, like he knew the punch line to a joke Demyx hadn't yet heard, and Demyx was so tired, so sick of it, so ready to be gone, that he didn't even hear Axel's last words to him as he walked through the door and outside.

Immediately Demyx saw his fault, and that was that it was freezing, cold, horrible outside, snowing, and he'd just brought a very sick child out here. It was a thirty minute walk to where they were headed.

God, he hoped, he wished, he prayed, that he would have a place to let Roxas get better, at least for the night. One night. That was all he needed right now, and the rest he would deal with as it came.

The buses didn't work this late. Even if they had, it was a Sunday. Everyone was asleep by now, dreading the Monday to come. No one on the roads meant no one to see as Demyx carried Roxas across town to a little house on the outskirts. Roxas shivered, and Demyx cried, and nothing was going right, nothing. A turn on this street, a left on that one, but which way here? It's been too long. Demyx only barely remembers, and it's hours later that they finally stumble across the house.

Demyx wants to just sit and look at it, look at the exterior changes to it, but he doesn't dare. He doesn't have the luxury of that kind of time. Instead, he swallows every fear he has associated with this place and stamps up the front steps, pulling at the knocker and banging it loudly against the door. After a few seconds, a light turns on upstairs, and it occurs to Demyx how late it really is, past midnight, it was midnight when they left, and they're so cold, they lost track of time, and if you squint, you can almost see the light from the coming sunrise, even thought that must be hours away, it has to be, because if Roxas was out in this weather for too long…

He's interrupted by the door opening. A man in his twenties stands inside, disgruntled, and sleepy, but when he sees who's at the door, his eyes widen and he loses all traces of sleep.

Zexion, I need your help, really bad.

And Demyx is pleading in every way he knows how besides getting down on his knees in the snow and begging, and Zexion ushers him in without a word, pointing to the couch, where Demyx gently sets Roxas down, talking off the guitar case and accepting the blanket from Zexion's hands to place over the boy. Zexion notices the tear stains on their cheeks, and you can tell he wants to ask, but he doesn't, because he kind of doesn't want to know. And then Demyx is hugging him, and it's all he can do to get enough oxygen, but he's used to this, it's happened so many times before, what's one more? And then suddenly Demyx lets go, and he's on the floor, completely unconscious, and Zexion is scrambling to move him to a more comfortable place and make him warmer. It's only been a few minutes but Demyx opens his eyes.

I'm so sorry, Zexion, he mutters sleepily.

Zexion nods, happy with this answer, kisses Demyx's forehead, and walks back downstairs to check on the blond boy Demyx brought with him. He arrives downstairs, but it's to bad news. The kid has a fever, tossing and turning, completely out of it.

Maybe he won't make it through the night.

Author's Notes: This was all written tonight. I started around eight PM, and it's just about midnight now as I'm posting.

Please review.

~Akane