Author's Note: So, like I said I was going to do, I started writing this chapter in 1st person POV. This is Axel talking, in case you couldn't tell. Thanks so much for the reviews! I do so love them. –Hinthinthint- I mean, I tend to write faster when I get reviews. P

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts. If I did, I would be rich, and I wouldn't be writing this at all.

On the back of her dress, were blood stains

I ran down to the edge of the water, scared to death that I'd been a… a… witness! Yeah, a witness to a murder! Oh, God! They would mark me as a suspect! No one would be able to give me an alibi! I'd mysteriously disappeared! Dem would tell them I refused to pay his medical bills! He'd convict me, the bastard! Damn, I was so doomed.

Still, I'm not a bad guy. The poor little girl could've still been alive. I like to think that maybe someone would try to rescue me if I was half dead in an alley with Larxene's knives in my back. Why Larxene, you ask? Because, my friends, my fellow victims, Larxene will someday rule the world. She'll rule the world with her P. P. Power. For you common people, that means Pesky Period Powers. Every time that girl P.M.S's, she kills at least three people. Apparently, I get on her nerves, and she's threatened to kill me. Alas, only my good looks and brilliant charm have kept me alive. Someday, she will kill me. It's this painter's fate, however tragic that may be.

Anyhow, point is, if I'm ever half dead in an alley, I'd like for someone to keep me alive. So, I would attempt to rescue this poor little girl, with her pretty blonde hair, and her pale skin. Hmm… if only she was a guy, she'd be totally edible, and I don't mean cannibalism. Just my luck, her being a… girl. Eww. Girls. Icky.

I mean, don't get me wrong, they're good for some things, like cooking, and baking, and cleaning stuff, and stabbing people… but jeez, who could ever do one of them? That's just… unnatural! Gay Pride, my friends. I am happy to say I'm as flaming as my hair, and that, my friends, is hard to match.

I finally reached the girl and her little canoe. (People, have you ever tried to run on sand? Takes forever and a half.) I tripped a couple of times, but I managed to pull the boat out of the water, so she wouldn't float away.

I put my hand in front of her mouth and received a small blow of air. Good, she was alive. No one could blame me for murder, yet. Gently, or as gently as a weird 'circus freak' of an anorexic gay guy like me can be, I lifted her out of the boat and onto the sand. Aside from the cut she had in her back, which I found out wasn't even that deep, she appeared to be fine. I was pretty sure she wasn't even in coma or anything cool like that. The blonde girl was just… asleep. Unconscious? Whatever that fucking word is. I'm an artist, not a librarian. You can't seriously expect me to remember how to spell.

It took forever to walk on sand, but I finally reached the hotel room, while carrying the girl. I figured I really didn't need to go to the hospital, because she would probably wake up any time now. Plus, I'll admit it, I'm cheap. Gas is expensive. I'm just a poor, lowly College Freshman who can barely afford to pay his rent because his IDIOT of a ROOMATE doesn't pay his share. I mean, and I'm an artist. Isn't that radical? I'm probably the best artist I know. I mean, come on, I'm awesome! Got it memorized?

I opened my door and laid the girl down on a bed. The way the sunlight hit her hair send rays of light into my eyes. She was beautiful, and once more I wished she was a guy. I wondered what color eyes she had. My guess would be brown. Most blondes like that aren't natural, and they have the annoying brown eyes that don't really match.

She really inspired me, in her slumber, and I couldn't help but get out my sketchpad. I sighed, running a pale hand through my fire truck red hair. Oh, yeah, did I mention? I've got red hair and not that horrible excuse for 'red' but RED. I mean, RED RED. Not just red. Got it memorized?

I was hesitant about sketching her. She couldn't be more than 16, and she looked a little bit short. She might already think I was her kidnapper, and if I sketched her, she'd be even more suspicious. Still… the artist in me wanted to paint so badly it started to hurt. With grim satisfaction, I set up a stand and got to work.

The ugly hotel bedspreads paled in comparison to her ivory skin, which shone almost as gold as her hair in the setting sun. I painted her lithe figure first, only to be confused by her lack of chest. Was she underdeveloped? Poor thing, she'd never get a boyfriend with that flat of a chest. Still, she was beautiful and she was my muse for the day, and that's all that mattered.

The drawing turned out great. With her short blonde hair spread out on the pillow, and her soft pink mouth slightly open, she looked almost like sleeping beauty. If I was a poet, I could write thousands and thousands of pages of shit about the color of her hair, and the texture of the dress. But, I'm not a fucking loser poet. I'm an artist. Give me a break.

I finished the painting and set it aside with a bit of a leap in my heart. Man, this girl, even with her flat chest, almost made me want to be straight. I sighed, thinking about her. You just didn't get that kind of beauty in people anymore. It was sad. All of the girls, and some of the boys, covered their faces in crappy makeup. Everyone wanted to be Goth, or a poser. The guys flaunted their sexuality in other's faces. The girls pushed their boobs out at you. I wished I'd been alive back when that kind of shit wasn't around. I mean, I may be gay, but I don't go around wearing the word on my forehead. God, people these days.

I had just packed up all of my art when a small thump was head behind me. I just about three feet, cursing, and I turned around. The girl was getting up from the floor, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Apparently, she'd fallen out of her bed or something. Oh well, she was awake now.

"Morning, princess," I cooed at her, and she looked up in surprise. Surprise quickly turned to fear, and then to anger. She grabbed the cheap lamp from the bedside of the table and held it out threateningly.

"Don't come near me, you bastard. You'll never take me back to my father!" she yelled, in a surprisingly masculine voice. Then she swung the lamp at me, and I had to jump back a couple of feet, running into a wall and hitting my head on the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem? I never did anything! I found you in some kind of fucking boat at the side of the sea! God, girls!" I yelled, dodging blows from the cheap lamp. The girl stopped trying to massacre me and looked really confused for a couple of seconds.

"I made it? I'm free? I'm FREE! WOOOOOOO! YES!" she started to scream, and then hugged me, and we both spun around and around until I felt sick.

"Dude, err… girl, you have some serious issues," I muttered, trying to make the room stop spinning. This girl had problems. I should've taken her to the hospital after all.

She looked at me oddly then, tilting her head and looking totally edible again. Her confused was painted clearly on her face, like a masquerader's mask. What had I said to make this girl so confused?

"Huh?" she asked, scratching her hair, which was surprisingly spiky, almost pointy, when it wasn't wet or spread out on a bed. "I'm not a girl," she said, her voice laced with confusion.

Wait.

He?

Well slap my ass and call me Stacy, I've died and gone to heaven. Halleluiah praise the lord, this man can be gay yet!

And that's about enough for now. ) Next chapter will be in Roxas's POV, so look forward to it!

-Crimson