Disclaimer: They aren't mine.

A/N: This story is killing me, but I'm trying to ignore that part to control the pacing and the style. Soon it won't matter any more and this will read like literal word vomit. Whatevs, that day is not today. Took me forever to get started on this one. The song mentioned is "The Summer Ends" by American Football. I'm in the middle of making an AkuRoku mix (which I might post a link to in a future chapter, for those inclined), and this song in particular works nicely into the story. The following is the MLA citation for the textbook sentence Roxas gets stuck on (pg 235):

Comer, Ronald J. Abnormal Psychology. New York: Worth, 2007.

There is like a deluge of dialogue in this chapter. I don't even pretend to know what's going on.

--

Chapter Two: Pirouettes

It is easy to see him as a convention. Everything about him—the blonde and the blue of him—is all very much expected. The angles of his face, the expanse of his lips, even the tint of his skin speaks to ideas of what it is to be beautiful; what it means to have the command of a room with presence alone, or how it sounds to have the whispers of three girls stifling adoring giggles over your shoulder in your Abnormal Psych class at one in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Roxas couldn't help being born with the exact amounts of charm and luck that would guarantee features on par with Renaissance masterworks, clichés be damned. No, he couldn't help it at all, which is why Zexion innocently suggested what he thought would be the perfect costume for the Halloween party at Little Vista.

"Put the wings on," the boy urged, holding up a cloying amalgamation of feathers and glitter. His eyes were red and glazed, and Roxas wondered when he'd last seen his roommate. It has been three days at least. He debated tearing the wings in half, but suspected Zexion's currently stoned state might result in tears, or worse, confusion. Because it is fine if his good looks are expected and disarming. It is fine because the unexpected of him—the brooding, the scathing replies, the unending disinterest—more than makes up for it.

"Fuck off." He was used to the "angel" comments, had received them both playfully and nastily most of his life, but Zexion had another thing coming if he thought Roxas would dress up as a fucking angel with glittering wings for Halloween. "I'll forgive you for this because you're high, but if you don't drop it, I swear to god I'll beat your ass."

"Touchy touchy, Roxie. They won't let you in without a costume." Zexion waved the wings ominously. "You want them, Roxas. You need these wings in your life."

"You sound delusional," Roxas huffed, shoving himself resolutely against the wall of their dorm, arms crossed. "I just won't go. I have this paper to re-write anyway."

"It's Halloween! Fuck your papers!" Zexion shouted, flapping the wings manically. "This!" Flap. "Is!" Flap flap. "For!" More of the same. "Your own GOOD!" Zexion thrust the wings down triumphantly, his bloodshot eyes bright with emotion. Or pot.

"Whatever, man. Yeah, I'll go, but I'm not wearing any fucking wings." Roxas pointed at a hoodie lying in a heap under his university-issued 3/4 inch birch desk. "I'll wear white. Okay?"

Zexion looked unconvinced, frowning at the piece of clothing. "What about glitter?"

"You fuck!" Roxas shouted, pleased at the flinch it elicited. Zexion raised his hands slowly in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you. Fuck. You need to chillax, Rox. Come and partake of the awesome wonder that is individually-wrapped bite-size candy and weed from Humboldt State."

"Uh, I don't smoke stress."

"Stress? What the fuck about stress, Rox? Hayner's brother is back in town and he brought back like fifty sacks of kush."

Roxas sighed. "Okay, yeah. Whatever. I can't keep up with your stoner geography. I'll just catch up with you guys later, okay? I seriously have to at least finish one chapter for Abnormal Psych."

Zexion shook his head and frowned. "Your call. If you show up late the party will probably move over to Naminé's. Demyx and his douchebagging roommate are already at Little V, and Demyx says you need to do this thing with him, so you need to come. Okay?"

Roxas frowned. He really, really didn't like that Naminé chick. She didn't live at Little Vista, but she was like their reigning queen of All that is Arty Bullshit. Everyone was constantly fawning over her apparently amazing poetry. She identified as a lesbian, but it didn't stop her from flirting with Hayner. Ugh. "Yeah, Zex, I said I'd be there. I'll be there." Roxas watched as Zexion swayed in the center of the room. "You can leave now."

Zexion chuckled and headed for the door. "So touchy today, Rox. Don't think I didn't hear your little screaming match on the phone last night." Roxas started to say something he'd probably regret, but the door clicked into place. Bastard, he fumed silently. He'd tried to keep his voice down in the third floor study room last night, but he'd gotten… carried away.

Sora had been calling every night at 9:01pm on the dot, spurred by Roxas' refusal to answer any of his e-mails. Mostly his punctuality had to do with the different service providers they had, but, seriously, 9:01pm on the dot? Every goddamn night? Roxas thumbed through the chapter on mood disorders, but his thoughts strayed to what Zexion rightly referred to as his shouting match with Sora. I was just fed up. It was too much. Roxas wasn't much for phones, but Sora could talk for hours and hours. As much as he liked to imagine he disliked it, he enjoyed the way the minutes would slide past as Sora related some small incident in epic detail, like dueling with popsicle sticks or pulling barnacles off the end of the pier. Sora's voice made it all come alive for Roxas, holed up in the study room, laying on the couch with his arm pillowed under his head and his feet jammed in between the cushions, cellphone pressed against his ear and a smile plastered all over his face. Only a hundred miles separated them, but sometimes Roxas swore Sora was a world away.

Roxas realized he'd read the same sentence five times. "Finally, depressed people experience automatic thoughts, a steady train of unpleasant thoughts that keep suggesting to them that they are inadequate and that their situation is hopeless." He talks about it all the time. "Depressed people—" Every day for weeks now.—"experience automatic thoughts—" As if I fucking care.—"a steady train"—As if I'd even be interested.—"of unpleasant thoughts"—Except I am.—"that keep suggesting to them"—I'm too interested.—"that they are inadequate"—I'd say my hand down my pants while I'm on the phone with him is pretty fucking interested.—"and that their situation is hopeless." Fuck. Roxas stopped reading and wiped away the tears that had fallen on the page. For one agonizing second he debated walking to his car and just driving away, driving somewhere far, just somewhere else. Then he shoved his book on the floor and grabbed at the white hoodie under his desk, thrusting his arms angrily through the sleeves before storming out the door.

--

He flicked his dead cigarette down the driveway and walked up the steps of Little Vista's front porch. He debated knocking, decided that they wouldn't hear him since the party appeared to be in the backyard, and he made to open the front door when it was suddenly yanked open in front of him.

"You," he said, and he wondered if it was too surprised sounding. Demyx's roommate, Axel, stood before him, no costume, with a faintly panicked expression.

"Hello to you, too, sweetheart." He grabbed Roxas by the hand and tugged him back down the stairs. "We're leaving, by the way."

"Uh, I'm supposed to be at the party," Roxas said, mystified.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll come right back. Right now I need not to be here, and you're a great alibi."

"What'd you do? Set the kitchen on fire?"

"No, but I'll try that one next time. I knocked over the fucking bong, man. They're gunna kill me."

"Shouldn't you, y'know, like, clean it up?"

Axel halted and studied him appraisingly. "Do you know how impossible it is to clean that shit up?" Roxas stared at him blankly. "You're a bad pothead, kid. I tossed some baking soda on it. It needs to dry up before anything else can be done about it, and I'd rather no one know it was me." Axel started walking again, headed towards the beach access steps. Turning back to Roxas briefly he asked, "We good?"

"Yeah."

"Well let's go, then, man." Roxas shrugged and fell into step beside the other boy, figuring Zexion wouldn't be expecting him to show up for at least another hour. "Nice costume, by the way. Kinda understated, but I can get into it. Missing wings though, right?" Axel's finger traced an outline against Roxas' back.

"Yeah," he whispered involuntarily, flushing at the slightly strangled sound his voice made. He was glad his hood was up. Fuck, why can't I just be normal for like two seconds?

"Sorry," Axel said, dropping his hand. "I'm like… I'm really high right now."

"Oh," Roxas frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to just stay around Vista? I'm not much of a trip sitter. As in, like, I don't know what to do if you, I dunno, like—"

"Whoa, can you chill the fuck out? I'm not going to have a seizure or anything; it's just pot. I'm fucked up, and you're making me paranoid." They walked down the beach access stairs, the sand gleaming under a full moon. Roxas suppressed the insane desire to howl at it. He wondered what time it was.

"So, what's your name again?" Axel asked, sitting roughly on the sand.

"Uh, Roxas." Roxas wondered if he should sit in front of him or beside him, and how close. Axel laughed lightly and pulled him down unceremoniously beside him.

"Well, Roxas, thanks for coming with me. Are you high? Because you're acting pretty high."

"I'm just… tired?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Eyes darting sideways, Roxas realized that Axel was wearing a paper Burger King crown, titled at an arrogant angle over his outrageously bright hair. "Nice hat."

"You like it, right?" Axel smirked broadly, flicking a fake paper jewel with a finger. "It was a birthday present."

There are these awkward moments in conversations with relative strangers, moments where something that has just been said warrants some sort of apology, as if you had any idea that it had happened. Example: "My mother actually just died." Oh, sorry. Or, "I never really learned how to ride a bike because my father was hit by a car and killed while he was riding one when I was twelve." Awkward moments. This was one of them.

"Oh. Sorry. Happy Birthday." Roxas fidgeted next to Axel, wondering if it would stupid to offer him a cigarette as a birthday gift.

"Nah, it's not today. Last week. The kids at Vista wanted to do a little something. Since I'm the new guy, and all."

"So… Happy Belated Birthday, I guess. How old did you turn?"

Axel gave a short bark of laughter. "I'm like old, dude. I'm 24."

For some reason Roxas' mind immediately thought, Not rape!, and he couldn't figure out why. "That's not old."

"Yeah, well, tell that to my mom. She's all stuck on the idea that I'm 24 and a junior in college." He laughed again; a short, bitter, laugh. "Got stuck in a JC for a couple extra years. No biggie. Just fuckin' around."

"That… uh, sucks." Roxas offered, feeling stupider by the second. He was never good with people he didn't know well, often relying on Sora's relentless optimism to do the talking, otherwise falling back on whatever alcohol was present in his system, which, at this moment, was none at all. "I need a drink."

Axel brightened and reached into his back pocket. "Lucky for you, I'm quite the deviant." He pulled out a small silver flask and uncapped it, taking a long sip before handing it to Roxas. "Its Ketel One, so cherish it." Roxas brought the flask to his mouth and took a sip, felt the lukewarm liquid slide and burn only marginally down his throat. He noticed Axel watching him. He handed the flask back, felt the swell of uncomfortable silence between them, and wondered if he could ask for another sip.

"So—don't hate me—what's your name again? I don't have a memory problem or anything, I'm just not used to having to remember people's names. Usually it's just… haha, uh," he wiped his hands and spread them in the air, "pretty clean."

"It's Roxas." Pretty clean? Like…

"Right. Roxas. Yeah, I just don't get into the habit of remembering names when…" he drifted off, eyes on the waves in front of them, licking his lips. "I mentioned that I was high, right? I'm so fucked up right now, I don't know what I'm doing."

"You don't… look very high."

"Thanks? I think? It comes with experience." He turned his focus back on Roxas. "So you gunna take your pants off?"

Roxas was sure his heart stopped beating. "Um, sorry. What?"

"Your pants," Axel said, eyes suddenly very green in the moonlight. "Are you taking them off?"

"I'm… I'm not…" Roxas forced out, his mouth like a desert, his hands dripping oceans.

"Ohhhh, shit," Axel said, leaning back. "You're not fucking gay? I could've fucking sworn, man. I mean, my gaydar is never wrong." He stared at Roxas hard. "Like, never."

Roxas opened his mouth to respond when his cell went off and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd never been more grateful for Sora's punctuality. "Sorry. Could you just—just hold that thought for a second." He connected to the call and pressed the phone to his ear, hoping his heart would stop pounding so loudly. "Hey."

"…"

"Uh, Sora?"

"…I didn't think you would pick up."

"Listen, about last night. I'm really sorry, man."

"You think you can just apologize and make it okay again, Roxas? I don't even know why I'm calling you. He said I should just leave you alone."

Roxas felt time draw to a shuddering halt. "He—he said that? He said that?"

"Well, yeah, Rox. What did you think he'd say?"

"Sora," Roxas said, voice strained, "why would you tell him what I said?"

"Why? Why not?! It was about him, and—"

"Sora, don't yell."

"Why are you so mean to me, Roxas? WHY? He wants to know, too."

Roxas swallowed, a lump hard in his throat, and he was aware of Axel actively trying not to stare at him. "Is—is he there now?"

"Why? You want to tell him he's an asshole personally?"

Roxas choked on the lump as is squeezed tears from his eyes. "No, no. That's—that's okay. I'm sorry, Sora. I'm really sorry."

"…Don't cry."

In a lot of ways it was like select reverse psychology. Where Sora would say, "Don't cry," Roxas would instantly burst into tears. The response, learned from years of Sora's comfort and patience, was not something Roxas could unlearn. Tears rolled with abandon down his face, and he didn't even have the sense of mind to walk away from Axel to embarrass himself in private.

"I'm really sorry. Please, please tell him I'm sorry."

"Yeah, okay, Roxas. I'm just… frustrated. I'm trying really hard to be there for you, but you're so…"

Roxas felt the phone ripped out of his hand. Before he could protest, Axel was speaking.

"Yeah, hi. Roxas has company right now." Pause. "Oh, I'm sure, I'm sure." Pause, Axel tapping a finger against the back of the phone. "Yeah, I'll let him know. Have a nice Halloween. Yup. Yeah, bye." Axel flipped the phone closed and tossed it into Roxas' lap. He fixed Roxas with a pointed look. "You can thank me for that later."

"Thank you? If I don't kill you first, I'll make sure to do that." Roxas wavered between disbelief and full-blown rage.

"That guy was giving you a hard fucking time even though you were apologizing, and you were gunna let him torture you over something you already fucking apologized for. I did you a favor, and you are going to pay it back."

"Whatever, man." Roxas stood up, dusting the sand off his pants. Axel prompt yanked him back down.

"Like I said, the gaydar's never wrong." Roxas stopped struggling in Axel's grasp.

"Sora's not my boyfriend," he snarled.

Axel was not swayed. "Right. And that lover's spat you just had didn't really happen, right?"

Roxas shoved against the redhead with every ounce of strength in his body, sending the other boy sprawling in the sand. "He's my best fucking friend, okay, so shut the fuck up about it!"

Axel, surprised to find himself with a face full of sand, burst into hysterical laughter. Roxas scowled, scrambled to his feet, and headed for the stairs, determined to leave Axel laughing alone on the beach like a lunatic. Of course his hasty plan was thwarted when Axel caught up with him halfway back to Little Vista and clamped an arm across his shoulders.

"You're good company, kid."

"You're a fucking asshole," Roxas fumed.

"Well, I was going to suck your cock as an apology for the phone thing, but, golly gee, it sounds like you just want to be friends."

"I don't have friends." Roxas slapped himself mentally. I can't believe the shit this guy drives me to say.

"Admirable sentiment, Roxas, but I don't think that's the sort of thing you're supposed to admit."

"I meant I don't need friends. I have friends. At home." They walked slowly up Little Vista's small driveway, almost like they were both stalling for time. Almost. Axel's mouth quirked.

"Sora, right? Some friend." Roxas shoved him hard and Axel chuckled. "By the way, mind telling me what that was about? The whole… crying thing?"

Roxas ground his teeth together. "It was nothing, seriously." Roxas reached a hand toward the door, but Axel tugged him back at the shoulders and spun him around.

"It was not nothing. You don't have to tell me, but don't lie to me." There was none of the characteristic smirk lying just under the lines of the boy's mouth, and Roxas felt exhausted.

"I can lie to whoever I want," Roxas said simply, not even having the grace to wince at how harsh it sounded. He didn't care what Axel thought. He was just some guy. Some guy he didn't even know, who couldn't even remember his fucking name, whose hands were on his shoulders. Axel's eyes stared into his, blinking slowly, silence between them while the party thumped noisily just a few feet away.

"I hate my mom," Axel began. Roxas squinted at the other boy. What… the fuck? "I've hated her since I was four. I remember being four, a little four year old brat, and hating the shit out of her. I went into her desk one day and pulled out her box of thumbtacks. I placed all seventy-three on her bed, sharp points up. I hated her, and I wanted to hurt her. She got into bed that night and screamed. I was the only one who could've done it, and I didn't deny it when she came into my room and demanded the truth. That was the first time she took me to a psychologist."

Axel's eyes were unreadable under the overhang of the porch, and Roxas wished the moon were just a little bit brighter. Why is he telling me this? Roxas felt one of Axel's hands slide up from his shoulder, up against his neck, to the curve of his cheekbone. It stroked one long touch there and went back to his shoulder.

"Okay, Roxas?" Roxas didn't respond, his mind screaming at him to pull away, to punch and kick and scream. "So no lies, okay?" Axel's expression didn't change; a blank slate void of emotion, intensity only in his eyes. Roxas felt sure in that moment that nothing made sense any more, that everything he knew was wrong.

"Okay," he whispered, the word sounding more certain than he thought he was capable of.

A smile spread over Axel's face, the kind you can't help, and he dropped his arms from Roxas' shoulders. He pulled the front door open. "Let's get drunk."

--

Roxas was on this fifth—sixth?—shot of Popov, referred to at Little Vista as "the devil's semen," and Sora's angry voice only nudged at his buzzed consciousness half-heartedly. Pence had been Febrezing the shit out of the carpet where "some dirty motherfucker" had knocked over the bong when Axel and Roxas walked in, Axel immediately joining Pence in cursing the "stupid stoner bastard" who skipped out on the blame. The party had wound down considerably; about half of the fifty or so kids decided to move the festivities to Naminé's before the noise ordinance at midnight. A couple kids, including one noisy Tidus dressed as a goblin, were rolling in the backyard and passing around a Vicks inhaler. To escape the smothering scent of Febreze, several of them were bunched in Hayner's garage, obediently keeping their hands off his turntables while he lined up shots on the floor and Demyx played guitar on the bed.

Roxas was only mildly annoyed that, after his fourth shot, Zexion had manipulated him into donning the glittery angel wings. As soon as they were on, Olette and Kairi, both dressed as sailors, issued twin peals of delight—"Soooo cute!"—much to Roxas' chagrin. Inevitably, any time a group of males witnessed a female comment on Roxas' admittedly pleasing features, it was followed by suggestions to "totally tap that, man." Even Axel contributed, noting that Roxas could focus in on Kairi's red hair and think of him. It was all Roxas could do not to dissolve into a puddle of alarm and terribly cheap vodka.

Roxas took his sixth—eighth?—shot when Demyx stopped strumming and looked over to where Roxas sat, between a random kid dressed as a banana who was definitely stuck in a k-hole and Zexion, wearing his traditional black on black with the added effects of a cape and, hilariously, a Phantom of the Opera mask.

"Roxas is going to help me out with the next song," Demyx said, accepting a shot and a peck on the cheek from his girlfriend—a frail, birdlike brunette that Roxas remembered always smelled like rosewater.

Axel, sitting behind him, nudged Roxas with his knee. "Didn't know you could play guitar."

Roxas sent an elbow in the redhead's general direction, contacting only air. "Yeah, well, you don't know lots of things about me. And I can't. Play guitar, I can't. I mean I can, but not really, and I'm drunk. But that's not… and I'm not doing it Dem, forget it." He didn't think he was slurring his words, but he knew there was a good possibility that he actually was.

"Come on, Roxas! I really need you on this one!" The kids in the room all looked towards Roxas, Zexion chuckling thickly beside him.

"I don't get it. What? Are you going to like suck his dick while he plays?" Axel was completely shameless, Roxas realized. Completely. Demyx's girlfriend, sitting beside Axel, punched him in the ribs. "Well, what! Seriously, are you going to play the bass or something?" Hayner had a collection of instruments in his garage, though he played none of them. He referred to them as "art."

"He can sing, you idiot," Zexion said. For as much as he claimed to believe Axel was merely "Demyx's douchebagging roommate," the two got on fairly well. At least, when Roxas noticed Axel rub up against Zexion on his way to the bathroom and Zexion flushed crimson, it seemed like they got on well enough.

"Can, but won't," Roxas chimed in.

"Oh, come on, Roxas. I got you to a party, I got you in those gorgeous wings, and you're two seconds away from having free pick from any of these lovely ladies if you'd just grace us with your ample gifts." Despite smoking several bowls over the course of the evening, Zexion was still remarkably coherent, probably something to do with the RedBull he'd been chasing his vodka with. Lightweight.

"You're going to pay me for this in a pound of flesh. You know that, right?" Roxas said, rising unsteadily to join Demyx at the edge of Hayner's bed. There was mild applause, and Roxas wondered if he'd feel nervous if he was sober. The last time he'd sung before an audience was…

"So, how does 'Summer' sound?" Demyx asked, picking the first few notes of the song. It sent a wave of heat down Roxas' body.

"Um, I dunno, Dem. It's been awhile." Demyx continued picking the intro of the song, and Roxas could tell this would be a bad idea, each note calling up goosebumps over his skin. "Maybe something happier?"

"Come on, Rox!" Zexion shouted. "Give us your emo passion!" There was a twitter among the females, and Roxas was sure this would be a bad idea.

"What do you say, Rox?" Demyx asked, starting the song over. "Just like freshman year."

Roxas bit his lip, knew he wouldn't be in this position if he was sober, and debated swearing off alcohol forever. He nodded, turning to face the small group of kids. Hayner passed him a shot, fingers lingering, and Roxas tossed it back in one swift motion.

"This song is called 'The Summer Ends.'" Roxas knew he had the habit of closing his eyes when he sang, so he picked a spot on the floor right in front of the random banana kid and focused on it, letting the gentle strains of Demyx's picking sweep into him and lead him away. He came in on his cue, voice low but steady, and the world fell away.

Freshman year found Zexion and Roxas across the hall from Demyx and Xigbar in the underclassmen dorms. By some small twist of fate, Demyx and Xigbar were both music majors, and Roxas, once hearing them play a song he knew across the hall, had started singing. Roxas hadn't realized his neighbors were no longer playing and were instead listening to him sing his heart out, eyes closed in the middle of his room. From then on he'd had weekly jam sessions with the two of them, Zexion often watching and suggesting new songs to cover. They'd played a few shows, and eventually Roxas' friends from home drove up to see them perform. That was the last show they'd ever played, the last time Roxas sung for a real audience.

Singing the same lyrics, a song he'd personally picked to cover, more than a year after an expanse of silence was a strange experience. The words came to him with practiced ease and the spot on the floor was the only thing in the world besides the twinkle of guitar to his right. The memory of warm breath floated down to him from an impossible height, the scent of cigarettes and coffee clouded with dust and elevation. He thought maybe he'd be able to get past the memories sitting just below the words, thought maybe one year was long enough to leave the ghost of emotion in the past, but he was wrong. Even now, even with distance and time, even now every single word reminded Roxas of him. Floods of silver dollars and tropical waters assailed his senses, the guitar swelling as his fingers remembered fret positions and twitched at his side.

Roxas wasn't aware the song was over, wasn't aware of the applause, until Demyx's arms were around him, stroking his back. He was sobbing. Zexion approached, clapping, and pulled Roxas into a hug.

"You still got it, man! Dry your fucking eyes, you emo bastard, because these chicks are about to cream themselves, man!" Leave it to a baked and drunken Zexion to make a mad dash toward the optimistic at any cost. Roxas, however, was still drowning in a memory that was overwhelmingly present. "Okay, okay, let's get you some air," Zexion said, helping Roxas to his feet. On their way out the door, Zexion folding his wings so he'd fit, Roxas thought he saw Axel staring at him with something like quiet awe.

--

"What happened back there, Rox? You were like, 'Whoaaa, I'm an emo god of emo,' and then you really were because you were bawling. I mean, you still sounded good, just… sad." Zexion's eyes were completely unfocused, and Roxas miserably pleaded with unseen deities to magically make him sober. He was so much more unstable when drunk; his anger was sharper, his melancholy heavier, and the vast nothing he hovered over seemed infinitely vaster.

"I just—just nothing," Roxas choked out, sniffling erratically and drawing in shaky breaths alternately. "I'm just drunk."

"He's lying," a voice said, almost bored, emerging from the garage. "Enjoy yourself a little more, Zex. I'll take him back to the dorms." Roxas looked up to the boy who came to stand beside him, but Axel wouldn't meet his eyes.

Zexion looked unconvinced. "How do I know you're not going to rape him in some dark alley?"

"Well, for starters there aren't any alleys around here. Second, I'm pretty fucking drunk, and I wouldn't be able to get it up if I tried." Axel tapped Zexion on the temple. "Not too bright, are you, Zex? I might suck him off, though. I'll let you know how it goes." Axel said, faux bright. Roxas vaguely registered that he did this a lot, this sarcastically chipper voice that made Roxas want to strangle him.

"I'm fucking serious, you douche. He's a virgin, okay—sorry, Rox—so you gotta keep your pedo paws to yourself." Zexion glared as much as anyone fucked up can properly glare, and Axel laughed.

"Right. 'Pedo paws.' That's a good one, except me and Angel Face Crooner over here are legal everywhere on the fucking planet."

"You're just saying that because you don't remember my name!" Roxas wailed miserably, startling the two other boys.

"Okay," Axel said slowly. "How about 'Roxas: The Angel Face Crooner; Simultaneously Getting Boys Hard and Girls Naked Since… shit, Since Five Minutes Ago.' That title good enough for you?" Zexion snorted and then coughed to cover his laugh and Roxas nodded, feeling the last shot of Popov hit him like a sledgehammer. "Look, I'll take him back to my room, and then you can pick him up when you drop Demyx off. Do not, I repeat, do not, let him go home with that bitch girlfriend of his." Axel paused for his command to sink in. Then, "We good?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Bitch girlfriend, got it. Rox, if he tries anything, beat him within an inch of his life… and then let me have the last inch."

"I'm touched at your show of confidence and solidarity. I'll make sure he comes twice."

Zexion rolled his eyes and gave Axel the finger before stalking back into the garage. Roxas swayed on his feet, wondering why, if Axel was as drunk and as stoned as he said he was, he wasn't falling over himself.

"You're so sober," he slurred, walking toward the loose board in the fence closing off Little Vista's backyard, determined to avoid the stench of Febreze at all costs.

"Actually I'm so fucked up I can hardly see straight. Like I said, experience. You need to be able to handle cops, right? So you learn to keep your head on straight. I never do more that what I can handle. Besides, I'm never this patient when I'm sober."

Roxas looked at the other boy, confused. "Am I—doing it wrong? We're just walking? How do you have to be patient?" There is something I'm seriously not getting, Roxas thought. He wondered if he was sober he'd be able to understand the subtext. Probably not.

Axel's mouth quirked and he held the loose board aside so Roxas could step through. "I never pegged you for a singer."

"Never? You've known me, what? A total of six hours?"

"I'm good with people. Known a lot of them."

"Well, I'm not a lot of people. I'm Roxas."

"Hi, Roxas."

"Seriously, fuck you."

Axel chuckled. "You're not very friendly."

"I'm sorry, I just fought with my best friend, cried like five fucking thousand times today, and I can't get this… this someone out of my head. I'm drunk and the only only ONLY thing I want right now is to be sober." Or him. I just want him again. "I'll apologize tomorrow."

"You can tell me you know," Axel said as they approached HPV, the telling scent of pot clinging around the open windows of the Crack House as they passed. "About your 'someone.' I can help. Good with people, and everything."

"It's… complicated," Roxas shrugged. "It's all done, anyway. Just chasing the past."

"If you're crying about her today, then it's the present for you even if it's the past for her."

Her. Her. Her. Every-fucking-body in the world thinks I'm straight. Roxas wondered if it was because he was nice to girls that everybody thought he was straight. He practically made out with Hayner the other day, but apparently Hayner didn't count? Too slutty? Fuck, Roxas thought.

"…or him," Axel said then, eyes ahead as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. He glanced at Roxas briefly, saw how the shorter boy had blanched, and added, "Or whatever. Whoever. Doesn't matter." Axel worked his keys in the door, soft murmurings of reggae sailing through the hallway. Axel led him to the second door on the right, and Roxas felt mildly jealous that he got a beach-side view while he and Zexion got a dining commons-side view.

"I don't feel like talking about it. I'll talk about anything else but this." Axel held open the door, flicking on the lights, and Roxas stepped in. Something about being in another person's dorm room is intensely personal. When a person's whole home is only half a room hardly bigger than a walk in closet, you can't help but notice how everything is uniquely flavored with that person. When Xigbar had been Demyx's roommate, musical equipment had been everywhere: pedals, picks, tuners, stands, cases—everything scattered in a somehow organized chaos. Now the room Demyx shared was very different. Demyx always had top bunk all two years Roxas had known him, and he only glanced casually at the half-made deep blue sheets hanging slightly off the top bed before his eyes drifted downward. He was surprised to find Axel's bed made perfectly, sheets a dazzling white that looked, rather than starchy and stiff, soft and slightly blurred like snow.

"Nice," he said without meaning to.

Axel gave a small smile, pulling open the mini-fridge Demyx's crappy T.V. rested on. "Thanks." The redhead's hand moved to the prehistoric looking dials on the television and flipped them with movements that looked like blind habit. CNN. "You need some water," Axel said, tossing Roxas a bottle. "Otherwise you're going to be hungover like hell tomorrow." Roxas gulped at the water noisily, guzzling it like someone dying of thirst. He opened his eyes, wondering how they'd gotten closed, and saw Axel staring at him, smirking.

"That may probably have been the most erotic rendition of 'drinking a bottle of water' I have ever witnessed."

Roxas scowled and tossed the empty bottle at him, which Axel caught deftly and rocketed back, deflecting it off of Roxas' shoulder expertly so it landed in the university-issued royal blue recycling bin. He meant to be angry, but Roxas knew very well his face was drawn up in astonishment.

"That was totally unplanned," Axel said, bursting into laughter. Roxas joined, feeling the alcohol in his bloodstream eat away at the nerves he hadn't acknowledged. Somewhere, under eight shots of Popov, he was nervous at being alone with Axel. Alone with Axel in Axel's room where his bed had beautiful, clean white sheets, where he had a mini-fridge full of water and no liquor, and where stacks and stacks of what appeared to be history books rose up under his bottom bunk.

"You—you're a History major?" Roxas asked, settling in a chair Axel pulled out for him while he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Trying to be," Axel said, gesturing toward his desk where an open book lay, a pen jammed impressively through the pages by its point so it stood straight in the air. "Not working out so hot right now. I had a little battle with the book over the American Revolution. As you can see, it lost." Roxas smiled, feeling the nerves rear up in him. He didn't know what to do with his hands. "So," Axel said, "you're a Music major?"

Roxas laughed shortly before answering. "No. I mean, I like to sing, but that's just… singing. I don't love it enough. I'm a Psych major."

Axel studied him thoughtfully. "Psych major?" Roxas nodded, noting happily that Axel's university-issued chair was just as rock-able as his was, the bottom beam slightly bowed. "Well, you know what that means, right?" Axel asked, shoving away from his bed and toward the fridge, taking out another bottle for Roxas.

"Yeah. I'm like… fucked up. I know the myth. 'Psychology is only appealing to crazy people.' It's pretty bullshit, really. But I'm actually a lot more interested in social psych, anyway." Roxas sipped the water slowly and as un-erotically as possible.

"So… you are fucked up?" Axel asked, eyes on Roxas. "I get the sense you're evading it."

"Well, no, I am, but… social psych is so much more interesting. The way people react to certain situations, why they do, it's… interesting." Why are you lying to him? He said don't lie to him.

"…you did it again." Roxas wondered if his cheeks could burn any more than they currently were, wondered if he could stop biting his nails as Axel watched.

"Okay. Yeah. I am. Fucked up, I mean. Just a bunch of weird shit in the past. I don't—I don't think about it anymore."

"You and the past, huh?" Axel asked, leaning back against the wall. Roxas noticed he touched his sheets as little as possible. "You're just full of secrets."

"Oh yeah? Mr. I Thumbtacked My Mom When I Was Four?"

Axel smiled, waving a hand dismissively. "Fodder. If you think that's bad, you should hear what I do on weekends."

"Will you tell me?" Roxas asked, seized by the sudden drunken desire to know exactly what Axel did with his weekends.

"Probably," Axel said, and Roxas was confused at the lack of teasing in it. Axel sounded… regretful? "You're sobering up way too fast. I need to ask you about all your deep dark secrets still," Axel said, shoulders against the wall, hands clasped over his waist.

"You want to trade sob stories? I barely know you. I've known Zex for two years—we fucking live together—and he doesn't know anything. Nothing. And you think I'm just gunna spill it?"

"Yes," Axel said simply. "I bet you can guess why, too."

Roxas sighed and bit his lip, wishing he'd smoked on the way over. "I'm not playing if this is a game."

"I don't joke about shit like this. I'm already way too fucking impressed with you. Five hours ago I wanted to suck your cock, Roxas. I'm past it." While Axel's voice was light, playful, there was something serious just behind it. His eyes, impossibly green, were bright.

"Okay. Fine. I'll guess." Roxas studied Axel appraisingly from the loudness of his hair to the statements on his cheeks. He noted the angle of Axel's shoulders as he leaned against the wall, took stock of the way his eyes held nothing at all, showed none of his cards beyond the small amused smile at the corner of his mouth. "For you? Residential. I'm 97 percent sure."

Axel just stared back at him for a few moments before clapping. "I'm impressed. Seriously impressed. How long were you in?"

"Not long, but a couple different times. Four visits total. I forced my mom to take me out AMA the first two." Roxas shrugged, studying his hands. "Lost two months of my life. You?"

"Seven weeks short of two years."

Roxas thought the silence would swallow them up. Almost two years. Holy shit. "That sounds… intense."

"Yeah, it was pretty intense. Ran away a bunch of times, tried to run across the fucking freeway at one point. That was easily one of the stupider things I've done. Mostly I just ate with my hands a lot."

Roxas wanted to meet the other boy's eyes, but he couldn't. "Yeah," he managed. "Me too. Second time. I was stockpiling knives in my drawer and an orderly found them while I was in a lesson. I didn't find out they knew until we broke for lunch and I had to eat in a corner with my hands. Of all the fucking days to get a salad…"

Axel laughed, something just south of bitter. "See how easy it is? It feels like… home." Roxas nodded, head swimming. How many times had he traded stories just like this? How many? "It's probably bad for us," Axel admitted, "but I can do worse things to myself than talk about the past." Again Roxas heard the weird note of what sounded like regret in Axel's voice. He wondered if he really did want to know what the redhead did on weekends.

"Were you really going to suck my dick?" He didn't know what made him say it. Probably some misguided attempt to get Axel light and playful again.

Axel cleared his throat before answering. "Probably. I'd have let you put it wherever you wanted, to be honest. I'd probably let you do it now, too; would probably ask if I thought you'd do it." He cleared his throat again and Roxas felt his stomach squirm. "But I think it'd be nice to be friends with you."

"I think so, too," Roxas offered, frowning at how it came across, arrogantly.

"Good. Well… do you want to smoke some meth with me?" Axel asked suddenly, not looking at Roxas. At that exact moment a knock sounded at the door, Demyx's muffled voice saying that he was coming in and they'd better be dressed. Roxas wondered if maybe he'd heard wrong, but Axel would not meet his eyes and Demyx and Zexion were already in the room, flushed and stumbling.

"Virginity intact?" Zexion asked, dragging Roxas up. Roxas, still confused and slightly stunned, could only stare at Axel. The redhead was strangely interested in his clasped hands, as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I—yeah—but," Roxas stammered.

"Great! Good to know you retain the powers of speech. Let's crash, shall we?" Zexion dragged him to the door, waving absently at Demyx. As Zexion dragged him across the breezeway to their dorm, Roxas reasoned that Axel wanted to smoke meth with him as some sort of twisted bonding. But meth? I was thinking of sharing a fucking cigarette!

"You okay?" Zexion asked as they stumbled into their room, Zexion groping madly alone the wall for the light switch as if someone had moved it while they were away. "You're acting kinda… not good."

"Sure, yeah. Just drunk."

"You don't sound very drunk."

Roxas smiled and thought of paper crowns. "Comes with experience."

"Oh, I'm sure, Mr. Eight Shots and Down For The Count." Zexion kicked off his shoes and scaled the side of their bunks, lifting himself nosily into his bed. "Take your fucking clothes off and hit the lights already, would you?"

Roxas flipped the lights off, figured out he was still wearing the damn angel wings before nearly tearing them off him, and stripped down to his briefs. He groped around for his sweats on the floor, wondering how he could ask Zexion his question without sounding anything more than curious.

"Zex?"

"Hrmf?"

"Ever smoke any meth?"

"Roxas, I swear to god, if that motherfucker got you turned on to tweak I will seriously cut his balls off."

"What? No! I'm just… Tidus was talking about it." Roxas crossed his fingers and hoped Zexion wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning.

"No. I haven't. I'm not about hard stuff, Rox, you know that. I know it's bad and it's brutal and only idiots get mixed up with it."

"Okay," Roxas said, determined not to worry about it, sliding between his sheets, cellphone in hand. He noticed he had a new message, probably Sora. "Night, Zex."

"Nnnffh."

Roxas smiled and navigated to his inbox. The name that popped up on the tiny screen made him gasp audibly, eliciting an annoyed bounce from Zexion. His fingers flew across the keys, opening the text.

Who was that guy?

That was it. The first time in two years Roxas had ever heard from him while he was away at Kingdom, and that was all he could say? Who was that guy? Roxas powered his phone off and threw it angrily across the room. He jammed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. I need a fucking cigarette. Breathe in. I need to fucking piss. Breathe out. I can't believe he has the nerve to text me at all, let alone text me that. Breathe—fuck it. Roxas slid out of bed as quietly as possible and darted into the hall. One of the two floor bathrooms was directly across from his door, and he was glad it was empty. He pissed away eight shots of shitty vodka and two bottles of Axel's water, letting a couple tears drip in for good measure. Two fucking years and that's all he can say, he thought as he washed his hands, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. If I'm so fucking good looking, if everyone thinks I'm so fucking gorgeous, then why doesn't he want me? Roxas slammed a fist down on the marble counter, marveling at how wonderful it hurt. Why doesn't he want me?

It was a long time before Roxas tore his eyes away from the mirror, his chronicle of the way his hair stubbornly shifted to one side, the way it seemed like one eye was bluer than the other, how his chin was too pointy, how his face naturally fell into a glower as opposed to a smile, and how his mouth was too small, and how, really, he was ugly. He was ugly, so it was no wonder he didn't want him. So many things wrong, Roxas thought as he slid into his covers, the sun already brightening the sky through the gaps in the curtain. A part of him was pleased with his discovery, disdainful of all the people who'd ever been too careless to look at him closely. Another part, infinitely smaller, sat mutely in a corner of his mind, carving a name over and over into the soft underside of his forearm.