urg sorry it's been awhile, this is messing with my head and i can't get it to sit right...i'm pretty satisfied with this part so i'm gonna throw it out there before i go crazy.

so here you go...the last dream.

again: i own nothing.

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I lie in bed and wonder how long I can stay awake, making myself deliberately uncomfortable 'cause I know what's coming and I don't want to see. My body is twisted up sideways and my head is on my propped-up hand, and my unwashed hair feels oily and coarse between the fingers. The sheet is up to my waist, and Roxas is sitting at my feet, smiling a little smile at me again, like the effort I'm making is cute, like I'm a little kid hiding from monsters by pulling the sheet above my head.

"Sleep," he says, and makes the command sound almost gentle.

I press my lips hard together. "No."

"Sleep," he says, and his blue eyes bore into mine.

I sleep.

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Sora is back in the kitchen like he never left, and it's eerie how comfortable he looks there, like he's been living in the yellow house all his life; he holds a chipped mug in one hand and Roxas in the other. Past-Roxas is leaning into his shoulder like he's sleepy, but his eyes are open.

The clock on the wall reads half past midnight.

Sora takes another sip from his cup and yawns, and for a moment I'm disarmed by the motion; it's cute and innocent, and he puts the mug down on the counter and wraps his arms around Roxas' waist, and Roxas tries to lean into him, but they're the same height so where Roxas would come up to my chin, Sora's forehead messily kisses the back of his hair.

"I like it here," Sora says, musingly, and his fingers splay across Roxas' stomach. "It's really comfortable. Big, too. Don't you ever get lonely in here, all alone?"

"Not really. I like the quiet, and when I get lonely you come over." Roxas smiles but because he's back-to-front with Sora, it looks for a second like he's smiling right at me.

"Well…" Sora says, "What if I was over here more often?"

Roxas laughs, and the silence eats up the sound. "More? You're over here every night, practically. And don't you work during the day?'

"You're really new at this, aren't you?" Sora sounds older than he is. "Look, dork—I'm trying to ask if we can live together."

Time stops.

Roxas freezes, and for a second something hard and familiar settles over his eyes. He blinks and it's gone, and he gives a short awkward laugh and pulls gently away from Sora, so he's facing him. "What? I mean, we've only been going out for a month and a half…you only started…staying over…two weeks ago."

"But really like you, Roxas. Don't you really like me? Don't you want to be with me?"

Roxas casts a nervous glance around and I can see what he's looking at; the corners and curves of the yellow house, the bright wallpapers and the creaking wood floors and a silence and a space he owns.

When he looks back at Sora, his expression is hard to read. "Course I care about you. You're my first real boyfriend. But…I'm only eighteen…"

"All the better," Sora says smoothly. "You need someone else to take care of you, help you get around…"

Roxas laughs nervously. "I can take care of myself."

A quick flash and there's something in Sora's eyes, but it doesn't quite disappear when he blinks, stays there like something lurking in the shadows. "Are you saying no?"

"Well…I…"

'I love you. Don't you love me?"

And there are seconds that pass and I want to run to them and I don't know, drag Roxas away into the corners and closets of this place and hide him deep. But the selfish part of me is thinking of all the steel buried within Roxas and how he needed to be cut deeply, very deeply, in order to reach it.

So I stand, hands on the counter, eyes locked and ready.

Roxas stands there and he looks so solid in the faded light of the kitchen; the reflections of his skin and the depth of his eyes and the soft questioning curve of his lips when he stands there, silent.

"Don't you love me?" Sora asks, and his voice is as small and meek as a five-year olds, but his body is black in the shadows, and for a second his eyes flash- not blue, but lightning yellow.

And then he jumps.

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I have been in bar-fights and dorm-fights and fist-fights but I never realized how loud the sound of a nose breaking is, how sharply you can hear the short snap of bones. Roxas does not have a chance. Sora has turned into something unrecognizable and inhuman, and though I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, I do not cry. I don't cry. Not even for this.

But I do look away.

The house falls still and silent again within minutes. There is something dark and crumpled on the floor that I don't look at—it is neither the old, beautiful Roxas, nor mine, and therefore I don't associate my feelings of anger and grief at it, but at Sora, who is standing in the corner of the counter, breathing heavily. I take a step closer to him, invisible, and I can see his bright sun-colored eyes spinning like tops in their sockets.

It is a long time before he becomes himself again.

It starts slowly, just something in his expression, and then he's moved a hand in front of his face, studying the blood there. He breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they're back to their cornflower blue.

Methodically, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a cell phone, quickly dials in a number learned by heart. I move closer to hear.

There are three rings, and then a hard voice. "Hello?"

Sora breathes. "Riku."

The voice on the line changes swiftly and sharply. "Sora! Where have you been? We've been looking for you for like, two months! Where the hell have you run off too, Kai's been in tears constantly, you do realize you punched her before you ran off? And.."

Sora lets out of tiny sob, and Riku shuts up instantly. When I look in his eyes they are as wide and innocent as a child's. "Riku. I….it….I didn't mean to…."

There is a rush of static from the other line, then a quiet, defeated, "Shit, Sora."

"I'm sorry," Sora says, crying a little, but I notice that he isn't even looking at the crumpled body on the floor.

The other man's voice is low and careful. "Alright. Wash up, carefully, then get in your car and drive to the diner at the edge of town. I'll meet you there, okay? You'll be okay. We'll fix this."

Sora nods, "Thanks, Ri. Thanks so much."

He shuts off the cell phone with a quiet click and looks around the kitchen, sighing and running a finger though his hair. Then he leaves through the kitchen door, and closes it behind him.

The house is silent in his wake.

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"Technically, it wasn't all his fault."

I open my eyes slowly to see my Roxas, pearly and glowing the moonlight. How he will always look to me, from now on.

Slowly, his words filter though my head. "What?"

"I said, technically, it wasn't all his fault."

'Strangling you." My voice is flat. "Suppose his hands have minds of their own, do they?"

He pauses for a moment. "Sora…Sora is complicated. He had a disorder, a disease- went through some kind of ordeal when he was a kid, messed him up bad. Normal on the outside, but…" Roxas shrugs, for all like he's talking about the weather. "He still has a child's tendencies, a child's morals- he craves love, and affection, and control. When he doesn't get them…" Roxas shrugs, dispassionate.

I study him and he's studying me. "So, you forgive him?"

"No," Roxas says quietly, pleasantly. "I want that son of a bitch dead."

"I thought you said— "

"Oh, I'm sure it's not his fault. I'm sure some shrink would say it's just a problem that can be dealt with drugs or a nurse or supervision or whatever. But he took my fucking life. And I want it back."

"Roxas, you know…you can't…"

"No," he says, and then he does something he's never done before; moves closer to me on the bed. "No, I don't want that."

He knows I have a weakness for his eyes. He uses them now, commanding me, begging me.

"No," I say, and then louder, "No!"

He sighs angrily. 'I haven't even asked you yet!"

"Yeah, but it's kind of clear where you're going, isn't it? I don't want to go kill someone for you, Roxas!"

"Funny," he says sharply. "I had the impression you would help me."

"This isn't helping you," I say, wonderingly. "This isn't what you want."

He glares at me, and all the rage and frustration of our first meeting is burning hot in his eyes. "You don't know what I want."

He's gone in a flash of angry light.

I sit up for another moment in the silence, then lean back onto the hard pillow and creaky mattress.

I love him, this much I am willing to admit. But how far can I go for someone who's already dead?

I think of the expression he wore before he disappeared, hopeless and furious. I even think that maybe, this is the last time I will ever see my ghost.

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I am wrong. Very wrong.

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I don't know when I fall asleep. Late. Later than it was after Roxas had dreamed himself dead on the kitchen floor. You'd think I wouldn't be able to fall asleep after something like that, but my capacity for exhaustion surprises even me.

It's hard to tell that it's a dream. It's the same room, the same bed; maybe different lighting, a little softer, a little more gold. Unlike before, I can see myself, feel myself, and here I am. I pinch myself. It hurts. I don't wake up.

This is a dream, and I'm waiting for Roxas. And he doesn't disappoint.

He appears suddenly on the edge of the bed. His skin glows and turns bright in the places where the light from the window is hitting it.

He smiles at me. Softly, like he means it.

"I thought there were no more dreams," I say, because I don't know what else I'm supposed to do.

"I lied," he says, and before I can blink he's swooped down, towards me, and I'm captivated by the long line of his legs and the catch of his breath and the heat from his skin and then his lips.

His lips, which are pressing very firmly against mine.

It is a dirty trick, and he knows it. He also knows that I couldn't stop if I wanted to.

And I don't. Want. To.

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My arms reach up to latch heavily around his waist, and I drag him down onto me, all warm squirming limbs and the hot press of his lips, which are still resolutely plunging into my own. He arches up like a cat and I can feel the taut muscles of his stomach press against mine, his ribs each sharp separate burns.

It scares me how much I want this.

I've had boys before; small little gay guys and dumb closet-jocks and mostly people drunk off their asses, hardly able to get out of their jeans without tripping and knocking over something. Roxas is none of these things; Roxas is dominant, pushing his hands against my cheekbones, grinding down as he pries open my mouth, and the friction, the grate of his teeth against mine, is enough to make me gasp. His hair is a halo of blond above our heads.

His hands slip lower, cupping my neck, flitting across my pulse, over the shoulders and down my body to grab my slim waist and push me; down, hard, so our bodies mesh together in a way that calls to mind keys and locks.

I'm shirtless but still wearing my pants; he's clothed in what he always is, jeans and a t-shirt. When he sits back and settles very near to a very sensitive part of my anatomy, it distracts me so much that I almost don't notice he's reaching for the drawstring in a very predatory way.

Well, I couldn't have that.

I grab the Roxas by the waist and flip us, so that I'm on top, with my hands pushing him down into the mattress and the comforter pooling around us. The lights from the window are soft and golden, and I wonder if it's something he's calculated, the effect of it. Roxas is staring up at me, completely calm, the sun in his cornflower eyes, thin mouth pretty and open. There is a smile in his eyes; the yellow slabs of sunlight makes his skin glow in heartbreaking ways. Past Roxas, beautiful Roxas, the Roxas I could never have; but mixed in with something frantic and feral, heavy as a burnt-out star.

"Hey," I say breathlessly.

He cracks a sad little smile. "Hi," he says back, and then I've swooped in and we're kissing again, and my fingers over his skin, and I can't get over the warmth of his body, the scorch of if where it touches mine.

Roxas bites the corner of my lip and and thumbs at my nipple, and when I gasp he rolls us again, so he's sitting prettily on top, as lazy and self-satisfied as a cat.

"Now, where were we?" he says, and his hands are at my pants again.

This time, I don't stop him.

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And when Roxas arches up, throwing his back, the light flares and illuminates him in a frame of white, and I have a flash of him lying dead on the kitchen floor, night-eyes, and his neck a bruised purple collar. But only for a second, because his hands are leaving scorch marks on my shoulders and his mouth is on mine again, hungry, alive.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the shell of my ear, his breath shaky and warm. "I'm so sorry."

I reach for him, but he's already gone.

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fucking ffnet...fucking dividers...grumblegrumble

man, i wish i could sort out this ending. it might be awhile, guys, but it'll happen..hopefully. lemme know whatcha think --points at button below--

thanks!