CHAPTER THREE: ALEXITHYMIA
"It's not that we don't talk
It's just no one really listens and honesty fades
Like a politician lost in the course
All smiles and no one remembers our names."
"Alexithymia" - Anberlin
He woke to the smothering heat of his own fetid, sweat-stained bedsheets, the name of his dreamscape provocateur teasing the tip of his parchment-dry lips. Sucking in a breath that seemed to add more moisture than oxygen to his struggling, straining lungs, Roxas fumbled in the darkness, blindly seeking the insubstantial, jutted shoulder bones that hadn't rested next to him in nearly three years.
Hands fisting his sheets, he flung them away, swinging his legs out of bed and teetering precariously while he waited for his equilibrium to kick in. The static sparkle in his peripherals indicated a momentary low blood pressure-induced loss of eyesight. It hardly mattered. Not only was the room still ink-dark, it was a familiar setting, one he could navigate blindfolded or even in a right state of fucked-up intoxicated. Over the years, he'd had experience with one more than the other.
Sidestepping a bed-table, Roxas made his way over to the window, the fingers of his left hand curling around the sweat-dampened arm sleeve on his right, then releasing and repeating the action, an intimation of a claw seeking fleshy purchase. He threw open the window shade in much the same manner that he'd handled the bedclothes, and squinted into the dim pink of an early, windless dawn.
Closing his eyes for a long moment, he swayed in place, an unbalanced reaction to the lingering effects of his brother's pain meds. In this purblind state of semi-consciousness, the girl returned to him, hair fluttering in imaginary wind.
Roxas…
Voice smooth and rich, her inflection was airy with a twang reminiscent of old-time Creole French.
"No one is real," he murmured, eyes still closed.
Arrete toi, they are, the girl assured. It's you who doesn't belong.
The declaration, though gently delivered, forced the air from his lungs. Eyes flying open, Roxas jerked away from the mental apparition, body twisting as if reeling from a direct punch to the deepest part of his gut. His elbow nicked the window frame and Roxas accepted the reverberating sensation that followed from his tricep up into his shoulder, noting with objectivity that it should have hurt more. Chest heaving like he'd just run a relay on the school's newly paved circuit track, Roxas dragged his hands through the tangles of blond follicles just above his scalp and chided himself. The trend toward theatrics was better left to those who were actual members of the school drama club.
He turned away from the window, the girl's words dissolving with his increased wakefulness as he scanned the small space that made up the whole of his bedroom. Sora's room was unquestionably larger. Once, it'd held two twin beds when Ven still lived at home. The moment their older brother had left for college, they'd divvied up his living space, Roxas conceding the bigger room without much fuss. Delighted, Sora had spared nary a minute getting friends to help him relocate his desk from the living room. Like the ramp outside their home, it'd been homemade, a gift from Cloud that'd taken countless hours to construct.
Roxas hadn't needed much space beyond room for a bed and dresser. His brother had offered him one of the two bedside tables from their old room, Roxas having accepted it only on account of his shrewd observation of the unjustified guilt that had followed, the offering Sora's own debatable rationale for having walked away with the larger room.
Ambling over to his dresser, he dug through a drawer of unfolded clothing, emerging with a white t-shirt, two black arm sleeves, underwear, and cut-off shorts. Retrieving his unopened backpack off the floor by the window, he made his way out into the hall, avoiding floorboards he knew were ornery on an auditory level. It was still early but he had no illusions of returning to sleep, restful or otherwise. Between Cloud's overnight shifts, Sora's everlasting study sessions, and the insomnia that stalked Roxas with the casualness of a childhood friend, it was an indisputable fact that the Strife household kept unconventional hours, all-around.
Slipping into the bathroom, Roxas shut the door. He turned on the sink faucet, then peeled off the arm sleeves and dropped them both to the floor. The makeshift finger splint came next, Roxas scratching at the two day old medical tape until a piece of it peeled at the behest of his fingernail's dogged rutting. From there, it was simply a matter of paring the rest off like the skin of a sweet potato, and he was tossing the tape and both sweat-bent popsicle sticks into the trashcan a second later. His finger was an array of purplish bruises, swollen near to twice the size of his other digits, but at least it was straight now. To Roxas, that qualified as a reasonable cutting of losses, and he decided to call it an improvement.
Eyes rising to the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet, Roxas squeezed a generous glob of soap into one hand and thrust both arms under warm running water. He scrubbed up to his elbows, with thoroughness rivaling a surgeon prior to operating, fingers traveling the precipitous, uneven surface of one arm from wrist to elbow without looking down.
His eyes were tinged a mild blood-shot red that would dissipate as the day wore on, features otherwise spotless. While his friends had endured the social agony of pubescent acne, Roxas had kept his perfect complexion, one of the only concessions of a genetic makeup he found otherwise unpardonable. His head was a tangled bird's nest mess of hair so thick that no amount of wetting would ever succeed in flattening, face cherubic, his full lips forming a natural hint of perennial pout. These were some of the few features he shared with his twin, apart from a short stature he'd lost hope in ever growing out of after junior year came and went without so much as gaining an inch. Like their distinctive personalities, the brothers' appearances otherwise seemed nothing short of divine irony. Despite Sora spending most days indoors studying while Roxas was outdoors with friends noodling around, Sora's skin was an olive-tone that tanned pleasingly on his occasional forays outside the house. It was Roxas who remained pale, his skin prone to uncomfortable peeling and irritant sunburn.
Straightening, Roxas reached for a towel, drying his arms, eyes lowered, studying the white-blond hairs that formed a narrow path from his navel downward. His stomach was flat, the hint of abdominal muscles not as defined as the year before when he'd been more physically active as a member of Radiant High's track and field varsity team. As he reached for his shirt and shrugged it over his head and shoulders, he made a mental note to resume the core workouts he'd once engaged in daily. Maybe the exertion would counteract sleepless nights enough for him to more easily pass out, or at least give him something with which to occupy the time. If not in either case, toned abs were an acceptable consolation prize.
He swapped pajama bottoms for cut-off pants, ran a wet comb through uncooperative blond hair, then slid on new arm bands before grabbing his backpack and making his way toward the stairs.
Sora's room was dark and silent as he passed it, the only light discernible a dim flicker from the bottom of the steps. He descended with care, thoughts still sluggish enough to warrant one hand on the banister. The rail wasn't particularly stationary itself and wobbled under anything apart from the lightest pressure. It was just one of the many home improvement projects Cloud had yet to get around to, but it provided a measure of stability that he wouldn't otherwise have possessed this morning.
The living area was empty, save for ghostly imprints resembling Pompeii bodies on the recliner and couch, the hollowed-out indentations a sign that both pieces of furniture should have been replaced well near a decade earlier. Light was filtering in from the kitchen, but Roxas only had to look as far as the dining room table to spot his older brother. Shirtless and in grey sweatpants, Cloud was sitting, shoulders rounded, as he read a week-old local newspaper. As Roxas got closer, he noticed a coffee cup, half-full and blocked from his initial view by one well-angled elbow.
"You're up early," Cloud commented without looking up. "Again."
Roxas approached, scratching an itch at the edge of his sleeve. "And you haven't gone to bed yet."
This was more observation than accusation. Cloud worked a late shift, from five in the evening to 2am, sometimes later if mandatory overtime got called. Apart from the two weekdays he got off in every seven day period, the man was on a schedule contrary to most office workers. Or high school students, more relevant. Even on days off, his brother tended to stay awake through the night and sleep during daytime hours. At some point, he'd gain enough seniority to bid on one of the coveted day schedules, just like their mother had managed about five years ago. Considering the woman had worked the same job for two decades strong, that day would be a long time coming still for Cloud.
Not responding, Cloud turned a page. His eyes remained at the bottom right of the new sheet of low-grade recycled paper, giving Roxas the distinct impression his brother wasn't actually reading anything.
"Any coffee left?" he asked.
Cloud glanced down at his mug, as if just remembering he'd even brewed any himself. "No."
Well, shit. Roxas chewed on his lower lip, reminding himself a moment later that if this habitual gnawing continued, the incisor-ravaged line of flesh was going to end up bleeding again.
Cloud took a long sip, downing the last of his coffee. "There're more grounds in the kitchen." When Roxas didn't initially move from his place behind his brother's shoulder, Cloud sighed and spoke again. "Or I could make you something, I guess."
"Nah," Roxas replied, shutting his eyes tightly, then opening them wide and blinking rapidly in an attempt to jumpstart his idle mind. He made his way toward the kitchen. "I'll whip something up myself."
True to Cloud's word, a tin of cheap coffee was on prominent display on the kitchen counter. Roxas made a beeline for it, tucking it into the crook of his elbow and prying its plastic top off with his good fingers. His eyes traveled to the drip coffee maker nearby, noting the ample coffee and hard water stains that had built up on its exterior with more scrutiny than he generally afforded most humans.
Maybe now wasn't the time to wake full up if it was going to induce undesirable, acute observations and put him off his morning drink choices, especially when they were so limited. Still, it was undisputed that he was in need of a serious caffeine fix if he wanted to survive the horrors of a midweek school day.
Eyes returning to the tin, Roxas idly considered the merits of freebasing Folgers coffee grounds crack cocaine-style over the Strife family stove.
Abandoning the idea as soon as it'd formed, then depositing the tin where he'd first spotted it, Roxas approached the refrigerator. He rummaged around until he found a package of pre-cooked bacon still within its ante-expiration period, then tore a paper towel from a roll above the sink. Opening the microwave oven, he laid the towel down flat and placed four strips of bacon on top of it before slamming the door shut and setting the timer for sixty seconds.
"Mom's been asking about your plans after graduation," Cloud said, his voice low but easily traveling from the next room over.
Returning to the refrigerator, Roxas bent down and yanked the door to the freezer open. "Tell her I've decided to enlist in the Army," he returned, voice muffled as he stuck his head deeper into the frozen receptacle. "Been feeling real patriotic of late."
Cloud's newspaper crackled at the behest of a sharp snap of both wrists. "Oh, shut the fuck up and tell her yourself. It's college she wants to know about."
Roxas was aware. He also knew that his decision directly affected Sora's ability to attend anywhere himself, per their mother's explicitly stated wishes. Despite his brother's urging, Roxas had refused to apply to any four year school, Tulane included. It might've worked for Ven, but Roxas knew he didn't have the grades to qualify for enough of a scholarship to make it a realistic option. He'd already managed to fuck his brother over in this regard, and he was well mindful of it, considering Sora was two weeks shy of securing the RHSH valedictorian title he'd coveted since ninth grade, give or take. His school marks had always been near to pristine. On the other hand, Roxas had a report card that rivaled the Wall Street stock market in the direct aftermath of 2008's shitstorm economic downturn.
He had applied to the closest community college and been accepted, but Cloud didn't know that and Roxas wasn't in a sharing mood at present. The thought of leaving Radiant Hollow, even just temporarily for day classes and returning straight home after, left him nervy as all get-out, although if asked he'd be hard-pressed to express why. To date, no one had.
As if on cue, he heard the familiar sound of Sora's crutches plonking on the floor above him, a sign that his brother was awake and in the process of getting prepped for the school day. Finding the item he was seeking, Roxas straightened, kicking the freezer drawer closed at the same instant the microwave timer went off.
Retracing his steps, now with a pint-sized container that had once contained butter pecan ice cream, Roxas pulled his bacon strips out and dropped them onto a plate he'd found on the counter that looked more or less clean. He dug a spoon out of the pile of dirty dishes that was in the process of forming a small rotten food mountain in the sink, then flipped the faucet on, scrubbing it with a soapy sponge before wiping it dry on the thigh of his pants. Breakfast prep completed to adequate satisfaction, he ambled back into the dining room, food in hand.
"I haven't figured that out yet," he finally answered, balancing the frozen container on top of his plate as he shoved some old junk mail to the other side of the table with one forearm before taking a seat.
With the newspaper serving as a physical barrier between both brothers, Cloud sighed again. "You'd best do so soon if you want to avoid her righteous anger. She don't work herself to the bone just to have you hanging around here after high school makin' nothing of yourself but sorry. I don't either, point in fact."
He lowered the newspaper and fixed Roxas with an unshakable stare.
Raising his hands up, palms out, a piece of freeze-dry rigid bacon clutched between two fingers, Roxas inclined his head. "I know, I know. God as my witness, I'm aware."
Cloud rolled his eyes. "Blessed hypocrite. That's what you actually are." Gaze traveling up his brother's right arm, it came to a halt at his injured hand.
"Did a number on that finger, I see." His voice softened, a subtle look of pride crossing his features before he seemed to remember himself and schooled his expression back to something more impartial. "If your grades were half as good as your right hook, we wouldn't be talking this talk."
Arms still up, Roxas shrugged his shoulders and shoved the brittle-crisp bacon piece full into his mouth. "Preach, brother Cloud!" His voice aped the exuberance of Radiant Hollow's local Baptist reverend with befitting accuracy. "Say it again for the people in the back."
Shooting his younger brother a look that had Roxas envisioning himself two seconds away from a wallop of epic proportions, Cloud ultimately glanced back at the newspaper in front of him and made a disgruntled noise instead. "With you, someone's gotta repeat it as often as possible. That skull of yours is thicker'n brick, I solemnly swear."
Upstairs, a door creaked open and both brothers lapsed into listening silence. Footsteps echoed from where Sora's room was located above the kitchen, slow but measured. The bathroom door clicked shut a few seconds later.
Glancing toward the nearest wall, Roxas followed Cloud's direct line of sight as it fell on the wheelchair folded up in a corner.
"That chair hasn't been getting much use of late."
"His crutches neither," Roxas returned. "If you wanna keep talking about stubborn, be my honored guest, and let's start with that."
Cloud folded his arms onto the table over the newspaper, watching as Roxas stuffed another overcooked strip of bacon between his lips, his crunching audible as he ground it up at the back of his mouth. He remained silent, simply observing as his younger brother reached for the ice cream container, pressed down on the top to pop it off, and reached for his spoon.
"Is that some type of…coffee?"
Roxas nodded. "Grounds at the bottom, water and a bit of milk on top, all shook up. Six hours in the fridge and one overnight freezer pit stop."
Cloud's lip curled in response. "That's disgusting."
Reaching for his spoon, Roxas took a clumsy stab at the frozen confection with his uninjured left hand. "No," he corrected. "Pretty sure it's French pressed something. That makes it classy."
His phone vibrated within the pocket at his thigh and Roxas caught the spoon in his mouth, lips pursed to keep it in place as he pulled out the epileptic tech. He skim-read the text that had just come through, blind to Cloud's responding glower. "Hayner's heading over," he said, his words a garbled mess of near incoherence around the utensil in his mouth. Pulling it out, Roxas hopped out of his chair and sprinted to the foot of the stairs, gripping the banister and almost losing his balance as the rail bowed inward with the force of his weight.
"Sora!" Roxas yelled. "Get a move on if you wanna ride with us."
Cloud twisted in his seat to face his brother. "Pipe down, will you?" The words came out in a low hiss. "Mom's still tryna sleep up there."
Shrugging, Roxas glanced back over toward the dining table, unconcerned. "I wanted to make sure he heard me."
Cloud's expression could have written a full book on exasperation. "You've got two working legs in your possession. You could've just walked up and told him without letting the neighbors know your business in the process."
"I'm coming." Sora's voice drifted downward, quiet in comparison to his brother's. "Just a second…"
Eyes shifting upward, Roxas conceded begrudging defeat and lowered his voice. "Need help?"
"No," came the mild response. Sora appeared at the top of the stairs, crutches under one arm, backpack straps pulled snug around his shoulders. He descended carefully, Roxas watching at the foot of the stairs, the muscles in his legs tensing as he forced himself to remain still and let his brother make his way toward him on his own. Sporting a t-shirt and long, baggy pants that dwarfed his already modest frame, Roxas couldn't help but empathize with how miserably overheated Sora was going to be by mid-day, all on account of wanting to conceal the braces that cupped the back of each leg from ankle to knee.
Unconsciously, his fingers fluttered over one of his own arm sleeves. With dedication that rivaled some of the most God-fearing-consistent churchgoers in Radiant Hollow, every day Sora covered his legs, and Roxas his arms. Polar opposites, they were, from the womb on forward.
With three steps remaining, Roxas extended his arms toward his brother, fingers flexing. "Give 'em here," he said, inclining his head toward the crutches held in a tenuous grip under one of Sora's arms.
Rolling his eyes in unknowingly perfect mimicry of his oldest brother's earlier expression, Sora reluctantly complied.
"Your finger looks terrible," he noted as he conquered the final step. "Please tell me you're not going to subject everyone at school to a picture of that all day." Eyes traveling to the dining room, Sora offered a quick wave. "Morning, Cloud."
Cloud returned the gesture without a word, content to watch his younger brothers as they exchanged familiar banter.
Crutches in hand, Roxas headed back toward the dining table. "I'll stop at the nurse's to wrap it up before first period. No point in paying for what they give away free." Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he popped the third piece of bacon into his mouth and wrapped the grease-laden paper towel around the fourth. He stabbed the spoon back into the erstwhile ice cream container, and plodded on over to Sora.
"Breakfast," Roxas declared, holding up his leftovers as though offering a physical form of salvation in two open palms.
Cloud's eyes widened. "You are not seriously going to subject him to tha—"
"Ooh," Sora trilled, inadvertently cutting his brother off as he reached toward the pseudo-nourishment. "You made café français? I love that stuff!"
Shooting a smug look over his shoulder, Roxas half-skipped himself over to the door and opened it. Sora followed a beat behind him, eyes on the frozen confection cupped between both hands with an expression of plain appreciation.
As his younger brothers exited the house, Cloud reached up and slid a hand through the thick mess of blond hair that so closely conformed with pre-ordained Strife genetics. He shook his head minutely, waiting for the screen door to creak shut. Only then did he allow a small smile to form. Fatigued but silently conceding amusement, Cloud reached for his empty coffee mug and the plate that Roxas had abandoned on the table. He carried them to the kitchen, bare shoulders still subtly hunched. Depositing them in the sink, he made a mental note to leave enough time to wash the dishes before heading out for his work shift that evening.
"Two peas, one pod," he muttered as he made his way through the living room and to the stairs. He paused at the first step, hand resting on the banister lightly enough that it didn't sway. The uplifted expression at both corners of his mouth remained. Cloud took a moment to look skyward, then finished the rest of his softly spoken observation. "Whether either likes it or not."
Then, pondering the prospects of even a small degree of uninterrupted sleep, Cloud ascended the stairs without another word.
o - o
Hayner's van had seen better days, as had his mood.
As the group of four drove out of their neighborhood, aiming for the town's center and toward school, he remained silent, features set like stone in a display of undiluted resentment.
Feet crossed and propped up on the dashboard, right arm hanging half out the passenger-side window, and bucket chair reclined as far as Pence's knees would allow in the seat behind him, Roxas glanced over at his friend. "Still pissed about yesterday, I see."
The scowl deepened. Without uttering a word, Hayner thrust his arm toward the van's center console and twisted the volume on the radio up to a borderline deafening level. Country music blared out of the speakers, assaulting the inner membranes of Roxas' ears with the eagerness of first-year fraternity pledge. Something told him his ears weren't going to have much success surviving Hayner's hissy-fit version of a freshman hazing ritual if this endured for any real length of time.
Roxas cleared his throat, aiming for maximum verbal amplification. "Please change the station. I hate this shit-stick genre."
When Hayner didn't make a move to comply, it was Pence who jumped into action. Unfastening his seatbelt and sucking in his gut to clear the back of Roxas' chair, the boy leaned forward between the two front seats and batted at the dial until the nubby tips of his fingers succeeded in lowering the volume to a more humane level. Next to him, Sora slid closer to the window to give Pence more wiggle room, his eyes never leaving the most recent book he'd checked out of their local library. Wedged between oversized shoes used to compensate for his bulky bracings, the half-finished pint of iced coffee sloshed quietly with the sway of the vehicle, having already begun melting from the fatal combination of Sora's natural body heat and the van's lack of working AC. As Pence fell back into his seat with an audible huff, he offered Roxas an apologetic shrug via the passenger-side mirror. "I couldn't reach the station dial."
"Yeah, let's cater to him," Hayner spoke on the heels of Pence's words. "What does Roxas want to listen to, if my music's too redneck for your oh-so sophisticated tastes? Iggy Azalea, maybe? Nicki Minaj?"
Teeth working their way unforgivingly over his lower lip, Roxas suppressed the urge to tell his friend to fuck the hell off, get over himself, and reevaluate his definition of sophistication if he thought either singer qualified in that regard. Hayner was taking this entire redneck name-calling business way too serious, as far as he was damn well concerned.
Bobbing his head in tune with the country song still playing in the background, Pence's expression turned thoughtful. "I think those singers are closer to Olette's preferences, actually."
Like a sudden pressure change in an airplane's main cabin, the atmosphere within the van became stifling at a near-instantaneous rate, Hayner's upper body going still as rigid stone in the aftermath of Pence's comment. Wholly engrossed in his reading material, Sora was the only rider who made no indication that he'd noticed.
Hayner's jaw clenched then released as he glanced behind him. "Change the subject."
Roxas poked his friend's shoulder. "Keep your eyes on the road."
"We should probably talk about it at some point," Pence returned half a beat later, brows rising in a flicker of consternation.
Again, Hayner craned his neck, fixing Pence with a dour expression. In front of him, one of only six stoplights located in Radiant Hollow's downtown district turned from green to yellow, then settled on red. Still in a pain med-induced partial mental haze, Roxas processed the impending chain of events without fully connecting them to himself. "Actually," Hayner said, still glaring at Pence, "you should probably shut the fuck up about h—"
"Brake, you ingrate!" Roxas bellowed, finally rendering the mental warnings into actual wording.
If there was one thing Roxas could give his friend credit for, it was Hayner's reflexes. No more than a second later, Hayner had switched his foot from gas pedal to brake. The force of the action had the van tires squealing, and Roxas took a split-second moment to calculate how much the inevitable brake pad replacements were going to set his friend back out of involuntary high schooler algebraic habit, before the van jerked to an abrupt stop just inches behind the car in front of them. The squealing tires against heat-warped asphalt was almost loud enough to make Roxas wish the stereo had remained at its former volume.
Almost.
A quiet yelp sounded from the backseat while the car driver in front of them shot the teens a nasty look in his rearview mirror. Knuckles blanching as he clutched the frame of the van through his open window, arm throbbing as a direct result of the added pressure to his broken finger, Roxas turned on his friend. "What the righteous fuck, Hayner?! My brother's in the backseat."
"I'm fine," Sora called in a small voice. "It just caught me by surprise." Roxas glanced back, scrutinizing him with unconcealed severity. Slipping a hand underneath his seatbelt, Sora was gingerly pressing against the line on his chest where the belt strap had been resting. He offered Roxas an assured nod. "Yeah. All good."
"You'd better damn well be." Roxas inhaled sharply, then turned toward Hayner, set to verbally ream his friend a new one. Or four.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," Hayner muttered before Roxas could jump in. His eyes were now trained on the road ahead of them, expression a picture of chagrin. "I got… distracted."
"No. Shit." Roxas gnashed his teeth. "You don't fucking say."
The light turned and Hayner pulled the van forward. For the next five minutes, he drove in silence, Roxas staring darkly out his open window, rapping his swollen finger against the side of the van door as Hayner's expression filled with progressive guilt.
A few minutes out from their destination, Hayner cleared his throat, eyes rising to the rearview mirror to steal a glance at Sora. They darted back to the road ahead of him a quick beat later before Roxas could find it in him to say anything in reprisal.
"No ride from Kairi again, huh?" Hayner's voice sounded strained, his question posed with an awkwardness he didn't seem wholly acquainted with as he performed the verbal version of flailing for opportune wording. When Sora didn't initially answer, he forged on, apparently determined to raze the tension that had built up over the past ten minutes. "She sick or something?"
Out of the corner of one eye, Roxas saw Sora look up and shake his head. "No, just family troubles. I didn't want to add to it by making her tote me around, so thanks for the ride if I didn't already say it." He offered Hayner a small, grateful smile.
Ever the peacemaker, Roxas noted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sora truly angry about anything, even when an occasion was well past justifying it.
"What kind of troubles?" Hayner asked, voice a tense falsetto that Roxas might have been inclined to home in on and rib about if he'd been in a lighter mood.
"Not my place to say," Sora said, attention drifting back down toward the book in his hands.
Roxas snorted half a full breath of air, expression turning well-practiced smug. "Wait, I got this in five words." Left palm up, he ticked off each successive locution with the index finger of his other hand. "Her… daddy… violated… parole. Again."
He looked over to Hayner. "Happy now? You're no longer the hickest in discussion. Be sure to thank little miss hooker nails the next time you see her."
Mouth closed, Hayner's lips thinned, the edges twitching like he was trying to suppress a concessionary smile. He ultimately succeeded in holding his tongue, probably on sole account of Sora's enduring presence in his direct line of rearview sight.
Roxas glanced back at Sora, brows rising. "So, am I right?"
"You're unkind is what you are," his brother replied. Not even affording Roxas the most fleeting of glances, Sora sighed. "Now lay off her. It's not like she got to choose her relations. I know that tragic scenario all too well myself."
Pence snickered as, brows rising even higher, Roxas pressed a hand to his chest in mock-offense. "That hurts deep down. Who's being unkind now?"
A smile played at the corners of his lips, but Sora didn't deign to look up or reply further. In front of him, even Hayner finally gave in and conceded defeat to a grin.
As Radiant High's main building came into view, Hayner angled the van into the student parking lot, traversing speed bumps with more care than he typically aimed for.
"Anyone got weekend plans?" he asked as he trolled down a row of parking spaces looking for an unoccupied spot.
Sora didn't respond, and Roxas shook his head.
"There's supposed to be some sort of get-together out at the marshes Friday night," Pence spoke up. "I think it's pretty close to the Usual Sp—"
"Don't say it," Roxas cut in, eyeballing Hayner for any inkling of a negative reaction without moving his neck from the bucket seat headrest. His friend's expression remained carefully neutral, and Roxas supposed there was something to be said about having been able to so recently guilt-trip the shit out of him for the morning's pitiful excuse for responsible driving. He turned back to Pence. "And who's gonna be there to make it worth the drive?"
Pence shrugged. "I'm not totally sure. I overheard Tidus and Wakka talking about rounding up some of the senior class to roast hot dogs and s'mores and…" He hesitated a moment, stealing a glance over at Sora whose nose remained buried halfway to China in his book. "Other stuff, probably."
Running the fingers of his good hand through a tangle in his hair, Roxas exhaled. "That sounds real tempting and all, on account of how much I love activities as well defined as 'other stuff'. I think I'll pass."
Locating a spot as close to the school entrance as possible, Hayner turned into it, switched gears to park, and twisted the ignition off.
"It was just an answer to Hayner's question," Pence said. "I don't know if it'll be any fun." He unbuckled his seatbelt, then reached for his bag before grabbing the interior latch and pressing a shoulder against the van's sliding door. In front of him, Roxas grabbed his backpack, opened his own door, and hopped out. He helped Pence slide the door open as far as it would go, ignoring its agonized protests as the rusted trackline ground against the connecting slide bolt.
Stepping aside to let Pence hop out, Roxas poked his head into the van's backseat and made a grab for Sora's crutches. He watched as Sora unbuckled himself, then leaned down to retrieve the sweating ice cream pint. Roxas reached forward and, without a word, Sora passed it to his brother, who wasted no time in popping its top open a crack and allowing the freestanding liquid to leak out onto the asphalt ground next to the van.
"Waste of some perfectly good iced coffee," he muttered as Sora scooted himself across the van's padded seat bench.
His brother looked over at him, brows furrowing. "Hey, I ate some." One leg after the other, he carefully exited the vehicle. Pence and Hayner waited a few feet away, gazes directed opposite the van over toward the edge of the RHSH football stadium.
Eyes traveling back to the van's interior, Roxas let out a harried sigh. He leaned forward onto his knees and reached the length of the vehicle's floor, emerging a moment later with the greasy paper towel in which a sole slice of bacon remained nestled, uneaten.
"Right," Roxas said, one brow arching in skeptical expressivity. Holding what had once qualified as food prior to an extended stay on the dusty van floor out away from him and back in Sora's general direction, he followed the look up with a full roll of his eyes. "The same as you ate this too, I suppose."
o - o
He made it out of the nurse's office in record time, ignoring the annoyed look the receptionist seemed bent on skewering him with for the mere act of existing in her general proximity. Even so, Roxas had missed Hayner who had followed him so far as the reception area to wait for his new student charge with barely concealed irritation.
It was probably for the best, Roxas reasoned. He wasn't really in the mood to play nice with some over-dressed outsider who looked like he'd just stepped straight off an album cover for the newest J-pop boy band.
Making his way down one of the school's main corridors, Roxas turned a sharp corner into the hall where his locker was located — and just about collided straight into another student.
"Oh! I'm sor—" The girl stopped mid-word when she saw who she'd nearly run into, her gaze shifting as though she suddenly didn't know where to look. "Roxas, hi."
Roxas inclined his head in acknowledgement, then glanced at a wall clock above her head to gauge the time. "Olette."
He sidestepped his friend and increased his gait back to its previous pace, only to hear the clicking of Olette's kitten heels following a few steps behind.
"Can I walk with you?"
Roxas shrugged. "It's a free country. God save the Queen."
She drew up along one side, clasping her hands together and wringing them. Idly, Roxas wondered what it'd feel like for her to do that with a broken finger. He theorized that it'd probably smart to high hell, and she'd be all the luckier to experience a sensation that to him was as remote as the nearest city with a headcount higher than 9,000.
"There's going to be a party out by St. Bastion's Friday night," Olette said. The final words of her sentence rose as though she were asking a question. "Are you guys… I mean, do you think Hayner will be there?"
Reaching his locker, Roxas let his backpack slide off his shoulder and drop with a heavy thud to the vinyl beneath his feet. "Why don't you ask him yourself? I don't exist for the sole purpose of being your go-between." He turned back toward his locker, and twisted in the first two digits of the lock combo.
Olette hung her head slightly. "I know that. But he just keeps being avoidant. At least you're talking to me."
"That's because you stalked me down a school hallway," Roxas pointed out. "Guess I could've run off, but I'm not really jonesing to relive my track and field glory days at the present moment." Sliding the handle up, Roxas swung his locker door outward and caught just enough of a glance at Olette's crestfallen expression to wish it was more socially acceptable to tell people what he really thought about their pedantic high school dramas.
"Look," he said, deciding to throw her beaten-puppy look an inch of bone. "It's going to take some time for him. It's weird enough for me," he said, waving his splinted finger past her face before dropping it back down to his thigh. "I know it's not your fault and so does Pence. Hayner probably too. But that doesn't mean we can just flip a mental switch and leap to break bread at maison Almasy hardly two weeks removed from that train-wreck travesty."
Olette blinked, her eyes shining in a way that looked to Roxas suspiciously like the genesis of tears. Lord save him, if there was ever a time to find religion, it might be now. Then again, maybe an iota of patience would suffice in the Christ child's stead.
"Give it time." He stressed the final word, then allowed his tone to rise to what he hoped was an encouraging level. "He'll come around."
Olette nodded, a jerky motion that seemed an attempt to embolden herself. "Okay. I can do that. Thanks."
She turned as if to leave. Roxas only had the opportunity to release half a breath before she spun back around to face him. "I'm really sorry about your hand." She did look sorry, Roxas noted, although girls seemed preternaturally disposed to flipping the switch from one emotion to another at breakneck-expert pace, so he wasn't convinced this was saying much.
"Seifer only got a doctor note to stay home sick for two days, so he'll be back in school tomorrow," she added. "I just thought you might want a heads up in that regard."
She was gone into the sea of milling high school students before Roxas could even assess whether he wanted to formulate a response to the information she'd just presented.
Expression dropping into an unconscious scowl, Roxas turned back to his locker and began balancing an increasingly heavy pile of textbooks on one forearm. Around him, the crowded hall began thinning out as the five minute warning bell sounded. Shifting the weight of his textbooks to a more even distribution between both arms, Roxas reached up for his locker door and swung it shut.
A girl came into view in the space that his locker had just been blocking. Startled, Roxas' shoulders jerked upward before he could stifle the reaction. He swore under his breath.
"Sweet Jesus, you know how to sneak up on people. Consider a career in espionage after you graduate."
Offering him a small smile, the girl stepped forward, traversing the invisible boundary between her personal space and his own. Her long, dark skirt swished gently around pale, stick-thin ankles. Rising to the pads of her flat-sandaled feet to bypass the books in his arms, she planted a lingering kiss full on his mouth, which he returned with lukewarm enthusiasm. Her dark hair fell forward with the action, concealing her features and tickling the side of his face, and Roxas endured the momentary cognitive flicker of another girl entirely in the back of his mind, hair rippling in chain-response to a hint of sultry breeze. The image made his stomach drop and he was only half aware of the small ziplock bag slipped into his hand beneath the cover of textbooks as a direct consequence.
She took a step back, hands rising to her shoulder and adjusting the long fabric strap of an over-sized bag that looked like it'd been cobbled together with at least three separate fabric patterns. Knowing Xion, Roxas thought, the probability was high that she'd made it herself, despite having a mother with enough of a healthy-strong guilt complex to allow for a roomful of much nicer, store-bought carrying accessories.
"I've been tasked with inviting you to dinner tomorrow night, all cordial-like." Xion looked up, head tilting as she regarded him without pretense from beneath dark lashes.
Balling the ziplock bag even tighter into one hand, fingers traveling over the fistful of small capsules in its confines, Roxas silently considered the offer.
"We could study after if you'd like," she suggested. "Or… other stuff."
Roxas crouched down by his backpack and began loading it full with books, careful to tuck the baggy into a deep pocket within the bowels of its interior.
"Okay," he finally responded. "That should work."
After all, he was already on record about his affection for engaging in the nebulous concept of 'other stuff'. Might as well keep himself consistent, he figured.
Once packed, he zipped up his bag and stood. Without a word, he began walking, Xion trailing closely by his side. He felt their shoulders brush and wondered if it'd been a purposeful action on her part. Probably, he wagered, considering that it was followed by the delicate fingers of her hand trailing down his covered arm and tracing an outline of his splint, then finally curling around it. He felt the heat of swollen pulsing across the tendons on the back of his hand, a direct response to the light pressure she'd applied, but said nothing. In a world like the one where he'd grown up, comfortable silence was a commodity in enduringly short supply. Like an addict, he'd seek it out in whatever form he could find it, and he shamelessly acknowledged that Xion was just his latest narcotic of choice since she'd arrived as a transfer student junior year. As far as he could tell, she was more than willing to play the part and keep his habit fed as long as he had the appetite for it.
Hand-in-hand, they made a path down the corridor on their way to class, each outwardly silent to counter the voices of ghosts that followed them both. Although their thoughts likely differed, Roxas couldn't help but feel they were one and the same where it ultimately mattered, which was unfortunate. It spelled self-destruction far too accurately for the both of them as inevitable consequence. At this point, even Roxas vaguely realized it was only a matter of time.