There was a scuffling, a flurry of sound from above him, the second floor, echoing from somewhere in the hallway. Roxas inhaled, shallow and soft, exhaled just the same, back against cold painted drywall plaster, right arm cold against the textured side of the refrigerator. His left arm was free, skin prickling, and just beyond it was the kitchen entry. A few inches of wall separated his back from the foyer, ten square feet of polished hardwood waiting to slide under his socks between there and the door, and the descending staircase occupied that same space, along the wall. Just behind him.
Somewhere above there was a shout, and the scuffling stopped, stilled, and everything went silent. He tried to be perfectly still, slow his breath, stop his heart from pounding so goddamned hard and tried to identify who had made the shout. If it was Axel, if he'd gone down, they were done for. Roxas held his breath, listening for the soft, soft, almost inaudible pad of footsteps down the carpeted stairs. The whisk of dry fingers along the banister.
He swallowed, hard, wrapped his fingers tight in the pillowcase, and waited.
The steps continued, baby-soft over the throw rug in the entry, warm from the morning sun through the cut-glass windows in the door. Delicate taps of bare feet on the hardwood, closer now, and closer, and every part of his presence was going to give him away. The shrill buzzing of his nerves, the creak of the pillowcase in his hands, his pulse, the bare, shallow breath he took before holding it, waiting. Waiting for just the right moment, when those steps were just on the verge of being right beside him. Almost.
Almost.
Palms sweating, every nerve steeled, Roxas hefted the pillow and swung.
WHUMP!
"MOTHER--" the intended assailant screeched, stumbling backwards and barely catching himself, one hand on the frame of the entryway, limbs flailing, silver hair flying around the pillow that just slammed across his face, "--FUCKER!"
Roxas dodged, keeping low, unable to restrain a hysterical laugh and tried to twist past Riku, out of the kitchen and into the foyer and with one hand on the floor he almost made it until--
WHUMP!
Riku's pillow landed hard in the center of his back, knocking him flat, half on the kitchen tile and half on the hardwood, a halfhearted, "Ow, fuck," for the sting in his knees from landing. Something was scurrying on the second floor again, hard footsteps running down the hall and Roxas scrabbled at the slick floor beneath him, barely ducking as Riku aimed another swing that landed hard against the wall just over Roxas's head.
He rolled to the side, aimed a swing against Riku's knee that knocked him just off-balance enough that he had to grab the frame again and Roxas used that opportunity well, flailing back to his feet and snatching up his pillow. He ran three steps, slid past the entry to the living room in his socks and had to double back another to race into it, diving behind the couch just as Riku roared and pounded after him.
"Get back here and fight me like a man!"
He couldn't help it. If he had any sense of preservation, Roxas thought, he would keep his mouth shut, stay low and try to sneak around to the french doors that led to the patio. They were right there, beckoning, promising freedom even if he had to run the five blocks home in nothing but flannel sleep pants and white socks, pillow inexplicably clutched in one hand, toothbrush and the promise of blueberry pancakes when Sora's mom got home from the night shift forgotten.
Roxas, however, had never known when to quit, and thus after the challenging bellow he immediately shouted back, "But if I'm the man, what does that make you, Riku?"
"The princess that's gonna kick your ass, micro machine!"
The pillow landed on the couch back right next to his head before Roxas thought to bolt, startled into action like a sleeping cat woke by thunder, scampering around the corner on all fours before righting himself, hurling a poorly-aimed swing at Riku as he spun to follow only to stumble over the coffee table, into the easy chair, which jostled the piano behind it and something fell to the floor with a resounding, incriminating thump.
The running footsteps on the second floor stopped at the head of the stairs, and Sora's voice was loud enough to carry over anything and everything, echoing through the house in resounding doom. "IF ANYONE BREAKS SOMETHING IN MY MOM'S HOUSE I'M CUTTING OFF HIS BALLS!"
They both froze, Roxas sprawled on the recliner nearly upside-down, Riku on his feet behind the coffee table with the pillow raised over his head, tilted just slightly towards Sora's voice. He blinked once, and Roxas blinked twice, and then Riku said, "That was totally your fault."
"The fuck it was, you tripped me, you oversized fashion doll!"
"Shove it, Baby Smurf, I was nowhere near you!"
"Go fucking wash your hair, prima--oh shit."
Just as immediately and in tandem they broke into action as footsteps pounded down the stairs--Roxas scrambled off the chair, tumbled to the floor and squirmed back to his feet in the space between the recliner and the coffee table, jostling it and heard something else land on the carpet with a muffled thud. He made a break for the french doors but Riku caught him, unmerciful pillow to the side of the head and he went down, rolling, switched directions midway and dodged Riku's feet, scrabbling on all fours under the coffee table just as Sora flew through the entry, all wild brown hair and yellow flannel pajamas and a star-patterned pillow swinging from his fists. Momentum propelling him, he leapt onto the coffee table and over it, garbled battle cry ringing out (and it sounded sort of like "EAT KEYBLADE" if Roxas really thought about it), and--
WHUMP!
The piano made a soft, disturbed noise as he and Riku both hit the floor.
"PWNED!" Sora cheered, and Roxas wriggled out from under the coffee table, opposite the boypile and towards the entry, only chancing a look over his shoulder when he was safely on his feet and not yet slipping on the hardwood, one hand on the frame of the entry. Riku was on his back, writhing from side to side and feebly trying to defend himself as Sora whacked him with the pillow again and again, Riku's own weapon lost and tumbled away, half-propped against the french doors.
Roxas sighed in relief and slipped into the foyer, padding slowly and softly to keep his balance and not attract attention, knowing Sora would come for him next once Riku was defeated to his satisfaction. He crept into the kitchen, slid to the side into the nook where he'd started, forehead against the side of the refrigerator, and for a moment he just breathed. Inhale, exhale, pillow against his knees and both hands curled in the case, and he considered his options. The french doors were out, and to get to the front door he'd have to pass the living room. He thought there might be a rear exit through the laundry room, if he remembered right, and that was just a bit further through the kitchen. He could stay, of course, there was his toothbrush to think about, and the battered green blanket he kept in his pillowcase that Riku had taken hostage ("Aww, does widdle Roxas need his security blanket to go to slumber parties wif?") and pancakes. He did love blueberry pancakes.
But if he stayed here, he was done for, and that was all there was to it.
Roxas nodded to himself, one hand up alongside his face, squaring his shoulders to make a break for the laundry room, and--
Breath, right against the back of his neck.
"Aren't you forgetting someone?"
He spun, a proper pirouette on one sock on the slick tiles, room spinning around him in a sickening blur, but Axel was faster. He swung wildly, one-handed, barely caught Axel on the shoulder but--
WHUMP!
Right in the chest, a direct hit, and Roxas went down.
Cold tile against his back, he struggled to catch his breath for a moment, and a pillow dropped to his chest, Axel's hands landed on either side of his head, face swimming through Roxas's vision somewhere above. Grinning, green eyes twinkling.
"We," Roxas gasped, wheezed, inhaled and tried again. "We had an alliance, you bastard."
Axel chuckled, infinitely pleased with himself and he had every reason to be. Moment of victory and all that. "What d'you think this is, reality television? Sorry Rox, but this ain't the Big Brother house. This is war."
"I am," Roxas said, eyes narrowed in a dark glare that didn't work as well when his vision was spinning and his voice was wheezing, "so freezing your underwear next weekend."
