Being indecisive? Is that really so scary?

Roxas had bad habits, and he never denied it. As flawed as he felt he was as a person, he was at least authentic, and that had to make up for some of his pitfalls. He lit his second cigarette of the morning, and as he strained his eyes to watch cars drive up and down the freshly paved street, he could tell they were puffy and tired, and he hadn't even looked in a mirror yet. It was Sunday, and he was probably going to work first thing in the morning, eight AM sharp... Give or take twenty minutes.

Last night, he had felt mostly defeated, but today he woke up fueled by a sense of anger, pride, and more than a little annoyance- at himself as well as Xigbar. He didn't feel good about being dismissed by the man, who he had come to a conclusion he would probably never see again. He knew his worth, and Xigbar didn't, and that was Xigbar's fucking problem, not his.

He checked his phone, clearing notifications, reading comments but not replying to them. He didn't have time today. He went straight to texting friends or whoever had expressed interest in getting tattooed over the past few years, and sent them all the same message.

Hey, remember when we talked about doing that _ tattoo? I have a really nice set up at the house now, we can knock it out whenever you're ready, and don't worry about paying me, I just need it for my portfolio. Lmk when you're ready.

He put his phone next to him on the steps and waited, eyes back to the street, the trees, the flower bushes and unlit street lamps while he fidgeted with his nose ring. In theory, it all seemed so simple, but it hardly ever worked out the way he expected.

'It's the fucking curse,' Roxas thought.

'The Curse' the gang lovingly coined it. It hadn't only been Roxas who had noticed how uncanny their misfortune was. Everyone had seen the patterns, the constant setbacks and failures, even when things seemed so foolproof and easy. Nothing ever just worked.

Roxas was getting sick of thinking about it. He just wanted to spend his Sunday stoned and brain dead. One last exhale, and he put his cigarette out against the brick steps and tossed it in the little bucket on the porch that was threatening to overflow. He stood up to go back into the house, and almost defaulted to his old routine of playing video games until one of his roommates got back to give his neurotic brain something else to focus on. Instead, inspiration struck him like lightning, hard and fast, in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was physical and raw and had him nearly shaking in anticipation, like good sex or hard drugs.

With renewed energy, he took off back to his room to dig out a pad of paper and a pack of Micron pens he hoped hadn't dried out. He tested one on a corner of scrap paper. Still good! For the first time in years, he cozied up on his bed and began to draw. His hands worked with a frenzy, making beautiful, bold, clean shapes with ease. Within a couple of hours, he had a page full of designs. A whole page. Finished!

It was some of the best work he had done since right before he left his old shop.

"Where the hell did this come from?" Roxas asked aloud.

He guessed it was the anger. He never got anything done unless he was pissed, and after the past few months he'd dealt with, he had every reason to be mad.

It was all fruits and leaves and sunshine and foliage and natural things. Things that reminded him of summers home from school, popsicles, bumblebees, and water balloon fights. For the second time in twelve hours, he started to cry, but this time it wasn't out of fear or despair- he was elated and full of blissful things, the urge to laugh for no reason and sing at the top of his lungs. Is this what happy felt like?

He took a picture and posted it to Facebook, announcing that the designs were available to get tattooed any time. Soon, he was getting notifications, comments, messages, renewed interest from people who he'd figured had forgotten about him as an artist.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

"Who's cooking tonight?" Hayner asked the gang.

Olette groaned and Roxas sucked his teeth.

"Oh come on, I made dinner last night!" Hayner exclaimed.

"Can we just go to the chinese buffet tonight? I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm too tired to deal with it." Pence said, leaning forward against the coffee table in a way that looked more like emotional support than physical.

"I second that motion," said Olette, raising one hand lazily.

"Seven dollars for all you can eat, dude," Roxas added in agreement.

"Fine, but I'm not eating shitty chinese food without getting high first."

The whole gang agreed and shook their head while Hayner fetched the hemp papers and the grinder.

"Guys I wanna show you something I did today," Roxas said, opening the drawing pad that had been sitting on the table.

"Oh my god, did you draw something?" Olette asked with bright eyes.

"Yeah, I know, shocking. Check it out." He turned the page towards Pence and Olette, and they both lit up like Christmas lights.

"Oh my god! Roxas! I want the peach! And the little bee! And the lime wedge! These are so beautiful, I would get any of these in a heartbeat!"

"You did all of these today?" Pence asked with a smile.

"Yeah, it just kind of spewed out of me. I didn't know I had it in me anymore."

"What's that?" Hayner asked, coming back into the living room.

"Roxas drew a bunch of cute tattoos and they're amazing!" Olette said, picking up the book and showing Hayner the page.

"Oh shit dude, those are dope! You just did those today?"

"Yeah, the line-work and color and everything. I don't think I've ever finished a flash sheet before, not with full color like this."

"You totally deserve to treat yourself at the china-buff today," Olette said, placing the book delicately back onto the table as if it were treasure.

"Yeah, man. Sugar biscuits until you're diabetic," Pence said.

"Thanks guys, it's really cool that you like them, I'm pretty proud of how they came out."

Hayner had rolled an expert joint and lit the end, passing it to Roxas. They all got sufficiently high, full of giggles and ravenous hunger, and ready to gorge on MSG and old fried rice. On the way to the restaurant, Roxas felt like his heart would well and burst. This kind of raw, unrefined happiness was something that had felt like a distant memory to him for years, something to chase, like an addict chasing after the elusive feeling of his first high. In this moment though, it was effortless. This had to be a sign that he was on the right path, that this really was the destiny that he'd been so sure of since he was a child.

The gang seemed to be in a lighter mood today. When you spend so much time with the same group of people, everyone's energy becomes symbiotic in a way. Roxas could feel when Hayner was depressed, when Olette was lonely, when Pence was discouraged and defeated, and any time someone was feeling down, it affected everyone else. The closeness was something Roxas wouldn't trade for the world, but it wasn't always peaches and cream. Particularly a few years ago, Roxas probably almost destroyed their entire dynamic single handedly. He could admit that he was never the best decision maker, but that was probably the height of his total disregard to everyone's wellbeing, his own included.

It was around ten o' clock in the morning the next day when Roxas started feeling really dramatic.

He looked around the dental lab that had been his second home for years, at the lab equipment, bunsen burners, acrylic dust covering every square inch, hazardous chemicals and heavy machinery all around. The Pandora station was set to the only band they were allowed to listen to- Three Dog Night. It was terrible. I mean, it was kind of cool that there was a machine in the corner with a hand held spray nozzle that shot boiling water, and he essentially got to play with fire and hot wax all day, but today he felt especially different. Today, he suddenly felt so out of place, like such an imposter, and he couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how hard he tried, he didn't fucking belong there. He's not meant to get up at 6:30 in the morning and work his fingers to the bone, go home exhausted, wake up still tired, and do it all again for the sake of a few hundred dollars a week and health insurance. Fuck health insurance. He didn't even want it anymore.

He stood up from his desk and took off his apron and his safety glasses, gingerly putting them away and turning off his burner. A sense of calm washed over him, and he wasn't anxious about what he was about to do at all.

He grabbed his keys, double checked for his wallet in his pocket, and walked up to the front desk.

"Are you... going somewhere? It's barely past ten," his manager, a kind older man asked, genuinely concerned. He was sweet and had always looked out for Roxas, and was probably the only reason he was going to feel bad about doing this.

"I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore. Just send my last check in the mail. Here's my key," he said, taking it off his key ring and dropping it next to the time clock.

"You're not quitting, are you?"

Everyone looked up then, shock written all over their faces.

"I guess I am, yeah."

"You know we can't re-hire you if you don't give any notice," he warned.

"Honestly... I'm kind of banking on that."

He didn't give anyone a chance to say anything that might make him change his mind before he walked out. He knew he'd hear it from the gang about rent being even harder to pay now, but ultimately, he knew they would support this decision. If he didn't give himself anything to fall back on, it would be impossible for him to fail... right?

"Oh god, oh my god, what have I done, what the fuck have I done," Roxas muttered to himself while he paced wide-eyed around the living room. It had been four hours since he got home, and the longer he waited for his friends to come home, the more frantic and out-of-control he felt.

He stopped to hit the bong that was sitting on the coffee table in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves. There's no way they'd be able to make rent now. He should have crunched the numbers before he made such a ridiculous decision, but here he was, in one of the shittiest pickles he'd ever been in because he wanted to be rash and impulsive for once.

This was exactly why he was always so indecisive- when he did make one of those rare, spontaneous decisions, it was always something stupid like this, and it was always unequivocally wrong.

He hit the bong one more time, a little too roughly, and had to go spit dirty bong water into the sink.

He was a fucking mess.

"Okay," he said, continuing to talk aloud, leaning over the sink, hands shaking, "I'm going to wait for everyone to get home before I tell them what happened. I'm going to ask my dad to help with rent while I get situated in a shop, which will take what, a month, two months, max? Yeah. I've got this. We've got this. Everything is cool."

He took one deep breath, in through the nose, and out through the mouth. All he needed to do was stay calm and wait for everyone to get home, and they could all sit down and figure it out. They might have to cancel their Hulu and Netflix subscriptions, but who needs TV anyways? They could kick it old school- they had plenty of movies to watch on DVD and Blu-ray. They might have to stay at home and cook more often- but wasn't that a bonus, really? They'd all be a little healthier for it. They were eating too much pizza and chinese, anyway.

Roxas shook his head and walked back to the futon, falling into it to finally relax for a moment. He could handle this. No biggie.

Pence came in first, a couple of hours later, and didn't really question why Roxas was home early. It wasn't a rare thing for him to be let go early on days that he got ahead on his work. Hayner and Olette came in shortly after that, and soon they all found themselves in their usual spots, sitting around the coffee table, talking about their day.

Olette started, "You guys wouldn't believe the amount of poop I had to clean up today. We got in a litter of parvo puppies, and it was just awful, the poor things are swimming in diarrhea, close to death, and Crystal is having to stay overnight at the clinic with them to make sure they make it through the night. I would have stayed too, but I just can't take it anymore. It's really starting to get to me, all the sick and injured babies..." She swirled the steaming hot tea in her mug, looking contemplative.

"From what you've told us, like half of the people who come in with their animals don't fucking deserve them," Hayner said with a grimace.

"They don't. I can't imagine taking in a living being and neglecting it to death like some of these people. Everyone wants a dog, but no one realizes the responsibility required to care for one. It's almost like adopting a child- and sometimes just as expensive."

"You know what I was thinking, though? On a lighter note," Pence asked. "I thought it would be really cool for us to get a cat. Like adopt an adult one from the shelter and skip all the kitten stuff."

"Cats are so much more self-sufficient than dogs, and just as cuddly. I'm down if we can afford it!" Olette said, looking up from her tea with a smile.

"Big if, unless Roxas got that raise his boss has been talking about for a year," Hayner added.

Oh boy. Here we go.

"Actually, about that..." Roxas said, biting his lip.

"Don't tell me they upped your insurance policy again. That company is a shit-stain," Hayner interrupted.

"Actually..." He didn't know if he could even force the words past the lump in his throat. "Guys, I kind of have something to tell you."

No one said a word. They all had enough experience with Roxas to know this wasn't good.

"I uhh... I may have been feeling really dramatic this morning... And I may have done something really... impulsive."

"Oh no," Hayner groaned, his head falling into his hands.

"It's okay, though!" Roxas said, feeling his hands start to shake again. "Listen, if rent gets really tight-"

"It's already tight, Rox," Olette near-whispered.

"I know. I know... Just hear me out..."

He went to explain getting his dad to help with rent and how it wouldn't be for long and how they could pinch pennies and make it work, but everything got caught in his throat, and all of his failures and bungled plans and mishaps crashed into him like an unforgiving wave at high tide and all of a sudden, shit came bubbling out of him that he wasn't expecting to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, choking up. He could feel his eyes well with tears. This was the third time he had cried in two days. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm fucking miserable. And what am I gonna do, just keep doing the same shit over and over again and expect something different to happen, expect to be happy?" He jumped out of his chair and started pacing around the room again, running his fingers through his messy blond hair too hard and pulling out strands. "I've got to change something, and I felt like if I stayed there, I was never going to. My life is turning into a fucking prison and for too long I've felt like I can't do anything about it, like I have no control, like I'm just watching my life happen to me from inside a glass box and I have no say in what happens." His words were being forced out of a tight throat and clenched teeth and he felt like he would shatter any moment. "Well fuck that... Fuck that! I'm not going to sit back and waste away and let the world turn me into an old, bitter man tormented by regret! I'm going to reach out and take everything I ever wanted, I'm going to have my dream that I started seven years ago when I was eighteen years old, and I'm going to fucking finish it! And I'm going to be goddamn good at it! Once and for all, I'm DONE."

He screamed that last word. Everyone silently watched as he sat on the floor and put his head between his knees. He was having a full blown crisis now, and no one knew what had been going on in his head until this moment.

Olette fought back tears as she knelt on the floor next to him and put her arms around him.

"It's okay," she whispered. "We're here for you, we will always be here for you, and we will help any way we can."

Hayner and Pence chimed in gently, both agreeing that they could make it work, and noting that his dad wouldn't just let them starve or get evicted.

They were going to be fine. The question was whether or not Roxas would be.

The next day, he found himself sitting in his parked Jeep again, in front of a different shop- Five Points. He was surprised at himself that he had gotten the gall to come here so quickly. It was tucked between a shopping center and a local deli on the northeast end of town, which was less bogged down by the hustle and bustle of downtown, but had enough foot traffic that it was consistently busy. Roxas thought the location was pretty ideal, and mentally noted that there would be less drunk students wandering in on a Friday night, unlike Xigbar's shop.

He had rehearsed his introduction the entire drive over, hoping he could drive Lexaeus' attention away from the number of years he'd been on hiatus and keep him focused on the here and now, the drive and willingness that Roxas had today, in the year of our lord 2018. He didn't see a reason to dwell on the past anymore. He was a different person.

This time, he'd even put together a photo album on his phone of any drawing, painting, or tattoo he could scrounge up, including his newest flash sheet. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Still, even while being much more prepared this time around, his fingers twitched, his heart raced in his ears, his palms were slick with sweat, and he felt another desperate flight response creep into his bones.

Run.

Run!

"Goddamn it," Roxas groaned before getting out of the car and walking across the small parking lot, forcing himself to feel some sort of assurance and confidence. He knew he was talented, he just had to show others what he was capable of, and they would give him a chance. It had to work at some point.

The sign had bold, black font on a white background, with five stars stars surrounding the logo. Simple, but eye-catching, hard to miss from the street.

He tentatively pulled on the door and was greeted again with the smell of disinfectant and loud music. This place was much busier than Xigbar's shop, and Roxas had to weave his way around customers to get to the front desk, which was crowded by artists trying print off stencils, grab paperwork and scan ID's, and handle payments.

Roxas felt so small and overwhelmed in an ocean of anxiety. The noise, the people, the rush... what would have been exciting to him when he was young only terrified him now.

"Um... Hey there!" Roxas near shouted over the music and laughter to a blond haired man with wide, bright blue eyes that looked somehow anxious and elated at once. He was handing out clipboards with paperwork that asked the usual 'do you have HIV?' and 'are you fucked up on anything right now that might impair your judgement?' questions.

"Hey-ohhh!" the man practically sang. "Do you have an appointment? Because we are slammed with walk-ins right now, you might have to come back tomorrow if you don't."

"Oh no, I'm Roxas, I was wondering if Lexaeus was around for me to talk to, Xigbar actually sent me."

"Ohhh, shit, Xigbar! Hate that guy. Super weird. Lexaeus actually isn't here right now, and I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea if or when he'll show up today."

As the man talked, it was clear he was the type of person without an 'off' switch. His hands and eyes moved constantly as he spoke, able to work with ease while he talked to Roxas as cool as a cucumber, all while somehow giving off the vibe that he could do something unpredictable at any moment. He had a dermal piercing under each eye and japanese style finger waves tattooed across his neck, framing his face perfectly. Not to mention a sweet mullet, which Roxas mentally approved of- a modern form of the cut was in style lately, which he loved, but knew he could never pull off.

"Oh okay, well what's the best way to contact him?"

"He's always checking his messages on Facebook, so that's probably the fastest way to reach him. Just start typing in Lexaeus and he should be the first to pop up, big stoic ginger fuck, can't miss him."

"Okay cool," Roxas said, pulling out his phone.

"I'm Demyx, by the way! What brings you here? Looking for work?"

"Well, yeah if you guys have the space for me."

Demyx made a face that was unsure and apologetic all at once.

"I don't know about space, we have five booths and five artists right now, and it already gets crowded some days. Do you have a portfolio?"

"Well, sort of. I'm probably looking for more of a working apprenticeship right now. I started tattooing years ago, but took a long break, so I'm pretty out of practice." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Ohh, gotcha, hey don't feel bad about taking a break, not many artists can do this without getting burned out at some point. Hell, last year even I found myself at a point where I hadn't touched a machine in over three years. It happens in this industry."

Roxas was sure the man didn't know it, but he was comforted beyond anything he could have expected by Demyx's words. Even pros have to walk away sometimes.

He found Lexaeus' profile and double checked with Demyx to see if it was the right one.

"Yep, that's him! I feel like he'll be here later tonight, but let him know your situation, and I'm sure he'll try to help you in some way. And if he can't, come back and talk to me. You seem like a cool kid and I know how tough this industry is. And bring your portfolio, let me see what you got!"

Roxas smiled.

"I will, definitely. Say could I use your bathroom really quick?"

"Yeah, go straight back, down the hallway to the right, and it's the one door on the end."

"Thanks."

Roxas didn't actually have to go, he just wanted an excuse to walk through the shop and check it out. The walls were a cool, professional gray, and the floor a simple, laminated black, but the aesthetic wasn't boring at all. Every wall was covered in paintings- not typical flash or bullshit prints. Every painting was obviously done by an artist here, and he could easily tell which ones were done by the same person. Each piece was steeped in an individual's style, and he wanted to know each person who had put so much heart and soul into every canvas.

The booths were all separated by six foot tall walls, which of course Roxas couldn't see over. As he walked past each booth, he took an inconspicuous glance at each artist. Every booth but one was being used at that point, and Roxas saw two artists, Larxene and Zexion, that he had met once before. He didn't want to interrupt them to talk though, and he wasn't even sure if they remembered him.

When he rounded the corner to walk down the unlit hallway in the back, he almost bumped into the last artist.

"Oh shit, sorry dude," Roxas said, feeling awkward and not wanting to look at him.

The man hummed cooly and eyeballed him in a way that felt invasive to Roxas, but not in a bad way.

Roxas did look up at him then. He was very tall, well over six feet if he had to guess. His energy was strong, palpable, intimidating- it was a combination of his presence and his overall look. The strongest of angled features, unnaturally, near dreaded red hair, shocking, poison green eyes, every inch of skin tattooed to hell, save for his face which only had two simple triangles, one under each eye. Roxas wondered if they were prison tattoos, and got the feeling that he wouldn't be surprised at all if they were.

Looking at him gave him an unmistakable sensation that he hadn't felt in many, many years- a combination of excitement and danger that almost made his toes curl.

The man smirked, just slightly, enough to make Roxas cast his eyes away before he continued back to his booth. Roxas shook his head, not sure what that was all about, and made his way back to the bathroom, which was impeccably clean.

So far, he really liked the place. Not only that, but being here gave him the strangest feeling that he'd been here before, with familiarity, like he'd already had the best and worst times of his life right here.

He leaned against the sink and took several, steadying deep breaths, slowly, carefully. He closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, taking a moment to message Lexaeus, wondering how long it would take to get a response.

Even before Lexaeus messaged him back, about a minute and a half later, he knew it, deep in his bones.

This was it.

This was his new beginning.