I wanna shout, drink, scream, I wanna die! - Ye ye ye It's Hadouken! Who i don't own either ... maybe ..

Axel's perched on your bed, Curled in the stiff white of the bed sheets, His childish retreat, some make shift tent on the road of life. He's not willing to stray just yet. He whispers, His mouth moving rapidly, Lips forming words too fast for you to catch. A warning streak of red among the pale of your room. This boy screams danger, but he feels like home. Funny how you connect the dots. His knuckles are straining white, bone stretching through his skin, the sheets torn and crinkled, barbed wires protecting him from the outside world.

Axel's accustomed to holding death in the palm of his hand, Serving it as he sees fit, Only seeking permission from his silver superior. But death has turned on him; He's starved its hunger, neglecting the execution of Demyx. Now it's snarling and snapping, chewing at the edges of his mind, and he feels it growing closer.

You don't interrupt the ugly relapse he's fallen into. His panic is almost pretty. It convinces you that maybe there are stories worse than your own. Although, the parallels apparent in both your tales are screamingly obvious, makes you wonder whether or not Axel has dwelled on your similarities. Wonder if there's room in that mind of his, the dirty black scribble of his bleak future taking up the majority of his thoughts.

The room is heavy silence, making you sweat, but it's just another fact you doubt he's noticed. And maybe this boy's life hasn't been as fun as you'd imagine. He's claimed mistakes, Patented his own fuck-up's. Is this the quivering result of every mishap? In a life full of inconvenience, You can't help but wonder if this is the first time Axel's found himself face to face with his own job title. The Grim Reaper of the streets.

He manufactured you a story, a jumble of words, hardly adequate to describe the struggling relationship between himself and his brother. A man's attempt at emotions. And he frames his confession with s pretty smile, a convenient distraction. This boy's as lost as you are. He doesn't mention parents, Instead, a brother that's abandoned him for a better life, working against everything he stands to protect. His eyes scanning the ceiling now, His knuckles clicking and cracking, The bones sliding and grinding beneath his skin as he twists the fingers, to deep in thought to hear his own sickening sound effects.

"I could ask Vincent. You could stay here," You gesture around you, Offering a pathetic smile, "It's not much, but you can stay until you figure out a plan. Xigbar won't look for you here".

And you say it with such confidence, you almost believe yourself, So many holes in your spur of the moment plan. The first hurdle being Vincent, A man hardly willing to share his home with his own son, Why would he bother opening his door to strangers, Particularly those who make their living dealing death like playing cards.

Perhaps Xigbar's already tracked you down, waiting for the opportune moment to break in, cover the walls in something else belonging to someone you value. Axel's brains, a spray of pinkish red to add to your collection of Namine photos.

You don't dwell on the thoughts. Instead you briefly consider Axel's older brother, working out some way of contacting the slacker, begging him to come back, Even to take his brother. Plead with him to offer Axel something safe, Show him shelter, and Show him a smile. You're willing to say goodbye to Axel if it means his safety. And right now, Axel's all you've got, Demyx A.W.O.L.

His voice is quite, Barely reaches your ears, A tiny whisper into your sheets. An acknowledgement.

"Roxas".

And that's all you need to hear, His effort at thank you.

It's enough to convince you downstairs, to face the storm among the bottles. You place your hand on the brass handle of the door before glancing once more over your shoulder, Axel still seated, His back you, Sad eyes trained on the window, Watching, Awaiting his own deliverance. His shoulders sag from the weight of the world, the weight of a life, but not his. He's resigned to handing over his life, the reluctance wearing off eventually. The life on his shoulders is Demyx.

The one who got away.

He gave that boy life, And Demyx wouldn't consider lingering a little longer than necessary, No consideration for his saviour.

The handle creaks before you realised you've opened it.

There's a heavy fog in the air, the stink of cigarette smoke. The smell of alcohol. This is your home.

Home is where the hurt is Roxas.

There's stains painted on the walls, each mark another screenshot from your life. From your position on the landing you can see the crusting brown stain, streaking the wall and the saddle boards. Instinctively you raise a trembling hand to touch the back of your head, Feeling among the blonde tangles for the scar. Your father had found you jamming forks, hair pins into the lock of your brother's bedroom door, desperately trying to break into Cloud's world, all those years before you stole the keys.

He'd been so angry; you had watched his mouth, convincing yourself that not a word of what he had said was English. He'd wrapped coiling fingers around your shoulder, Shook you until you were dizzy, While you begged for him to stop. He didn't know what he'd been doing. You didn't know what was happening. Each step you fell against on your way to the end leaving an ugly, permanent poppy bruise across your ribs. Your own painful zebra print. You don't know how long he' left you lying there, Limbs twisted like a contortionist, Bleeding down his wall. The psychiatrists and social workers would later tell you what you had already known.

You and your father broke the prejudice of father-son relationships.

You hated each other.

You curl your fists at the memories. Axel's footsteps sound upstairs, high pitched squeals escaping from the old floorboards. Your father lingers somewhere down here. This is his territory, the alcohol and the cigarette smoke. The family photos and the old school reports. Dishes clink in the kitchen, cupboard doors bang and crash, the harsh whispers of curses, a string of promises in your head.

You swallow your pride, you swallow your fear.

Right now, this request, it may safe Axel's life, but you willingly place your life on the line for the red-haired ruffian, and not once does the question blur across your solid thoughts. Why? This is the unfailing faith you never place in yourself. And sometimes you're scared of the world.

Peeking reluctantly around the splintered kitchen doorframe, the paint fluttering to the floor in dirty white flakes. Vincent is frantic, red eyes darting about the kitchen, surveying his surroundings as if each object he touches is new to him. Broken dishes and smashed glass litter the tiles by his feet, his prints left in blood across the checker board tiles. He doesn't seem to notice, pale hands reaching out but grasping air, the cupboard door hanging open, their contents rain down. His muttering still reaches your ears, despite his best efforts at disguising his uneasiness.

You've seen this situation before, Granted, it's not the colourful image taken from kids storybooks, but it's these pictures you grew up with. You learn to recognise and to relate. The sweat on his brow is enough evidence.

Vincent's drank himself out of house and home, Once more. And the row of empty bottles, neat and precise, different colours and shades, lined by the windows are enough of a reminder.

You suck the breath through your teeth, Sharp and cutting, and you take your steps into the light. He sees you, but he sees right through you. You never had much guts in the first place.

He nods, Subtle, Barely noticeable, an indication that he's listening, but only for a heartbeat.

"Vincent. I need to ask a favour?" You sound considerably strong, instead forcing all the restrictive energy into your joints.

Your lips may be loose, but your limbs are locked.

He doesn't glance at you, those blood red wounds in his face still darting about the room from his offensive position in the centre, among his familiar debris. His hands are curled into claws, and he's still searching for the alcohol to save his life.

"I have this friend-"

And this is where the road becomes littered with potholes, speed bumps and bodies.

How do you explain Axel's situation to someone who's sworn utter isolation from the street life. Your father took his stand and made his decision soon after Cloud's death, choosing to not even venture outdoors. And now you ask him if he would willingly invite one of those linked with your brother's death into his decaying home. You smirk, the thoughts too ridiculous. But Axel's expression and the regret in his eyes is enough to drag you back to reality.

The weight of his heart enough to drag you back to earth.

Your father's stopped his nervous movement; he's listening, but not looking. And you can't fuck this up. Axel's to important to you to abandon to his faith on the streets.

"-He's in trouble Vincent, Please. He just needs somewhere to stay. Just for a few days". And you say it all with one breathe, Reluctant to let him interfere, Not willing to hear him send your friend to the slaughter.

He sucks in a breath, Looks at you with a renewed anger in his eyes. There's your father, staring back at you. He doesn't need alcohol to fuel his fire, not now. Your eyes dart cautiously to his fists, the pressure of the bone against skin, the nails embedded in his palms. You measure his rage by his body, not his words. He's stuck in that monotone world.

"You're not bringing street trash into this house." It's final. No room for argument, but for some reason, you just can't keep your lips pursed.

"Dad, I just-" but of course by then it's to late. The word 'dad' has already slipped from your tongue, and it scratches at the insides of his head with a visible pain. You flinch and he fumes.

"Don't play god with me, Roxas. Taking some slut into my house and doing whatever it is you do with a street person. Think about what your family want for once".

He's back to his fruitless searching, No longer interested in anything you have to say, Any words of reassurance buried somewhere inside you.

"I think he knows what happened to Cloud" you blurt, just as amber coloured bottle shatters on the tiles. You're momentarily mesmerised, not even Vincent's warped fingers coiled around your throat are enough to faze you. This is just familiar. Something you miss. This is human contact, and regardless of the circumstances, you've longed for this.

He's hissing in your ear, breath ghosting along your jaw line, He sprays spit across your cheek as he hounds you for answers.

"Don't you dare? Don't you dare bring that up again in this house? He's dead, you leave him in peace. You need to learn how to respect, Roxas." He spits your name like bleach in his mouth.

This is what you need.

You can't find the words to save you from your speechless panic; your fathers' vice grip on your neck is enough to keep you silent.

"I don't care what this kids little tale is. This is no shelter Roxas. Not for murderers."

He releases you. Steps across to somewhere he can't see those painful pools of blue staring back at him. Your limbs slowly relax themselves, your shoulders sagging in defeat. Every part of you feels weary and tired, you've lost your battle with your father, and Axel's been forced to face the streets and certain death all by himself.

You sigh, Disappointment making it heavy and sad; And Vincent glares at you from across the room, across the broken glass battlefield and the bodies of empty bottles. His brow knotted in focus, His lips turned ugly in disbelief. There's a fire in his eyes of a different sort to Axel.

This is the man trying to do something constructive with his self-destruction.

"Don't you dare use your brother's misfortunes as an excuse to bring your fairy friends in to this house? And just when I thought I couldn't be more disappointed in you, you bring home some manslut and tell me it's for Cloud's good. Go to your room, and don't come out 'til you change."

And he's said it, finally managed to verbalize years of tension and disgrace.

You're the son he didn't want, the lingering mistake with your mothers hair and your mothers eyes, just another reminder to him of someone else he lost. But for some reason, this doesn't hurt, this is clarification. This is a weight off your shoulders. Now there's no guilt regarding your own hate for him. He's condemning you to your room, ordering you to change yourself, But what he hadn't managed to spit out in his lack of self-control, 'Don't come out 'til you change into Cloud'.

In his eyes, Cloud has always been the justice-loving strong boy, but parents never manage to see their kids for what they are.

Your were the weaker brother, A little more feminine with your looks, and that had haunted you your entire childhood. Even now, He assumes your preferences lie in the same gender. That idea makes your strop dead in our trail of thought.

He thinks you've hired Axel, to work out some of the kinks life creates. Your full sure Axel's never sold himself for skin vision, there's something to fiery beneath his smile. He has no potential to be anybody's bitch. Your feelings for Axel stray far from love and understanding, Lust sounds more and more like an accurate description.

Or sadism. You want to see Axel on his knees for more than one purpose; you want to see him feel something emotionally. You want to see him human, not the cold smartass you've come to know.

You don't bother defending yourself against your father's accusations of homosexuality; instead you stand their, your mouth flapping and your mind running wild behind distant blue eyes. You're confident there's nothing relevant to love between you and Axel, But you've finally come to acknowledge that those days you spend wandering the streets and lingering by Demyx' old hangout could mean something. Despite everything you came to know about him, the black and white, as well as the alarming grey patches, you still wanted to taste him.

No, you'll admit you don't want Axel, At least not the way you want Demyx.

It's not love, but at least you could learn to lie.

You turn to leave, to abandon your father to his broken dish desert, Leave him with that hateful panic burning away in his eyes. You have all intentions of letting Axel stay.

You climb the stairs, Difficult with your world-weary body, navigate your way past old blood stains, Fond memories and stand on the landing, Eyeing Cloud's bedroom door with a new sense of curiosity. But the voice leaking out from beneath your own door makes you stop in your tracks. You press your ear to the cold splintering wood and hold your breath.

Axel's voice is clear; Axel's voice is distraught, As if he's already seen what awaits him.

"Its Axel ... Could you put me on to my brother? ... It's just ..."

His voice dies in his throat. Axel said he hadn't contacted his brother in years. Now you see the impact your words have on him. Your conversation by the rows of stone markers, Speaking of how much you missed Cloud, And how much Axel had lost in his lifetime, His brother's abandonment. And how sad the thought that this is his effort at making amends before he faces his final judgement. This is him tying up his life story in one rushed epilogue, before he's unable to write anymore.

"Reno ... I'm in trouble"

It's all he needs to say for you to hear the resignation in his voice. There's silence in your room, and silence on the other end. Axel's breathing is harsh and uneven, this is his final sprint, and He needn't keep it up for long. You hear the buzzing, the strange bursts of sound as 'Reno' answers, although picking out words becomes too difficult, and Axel's odd, choked breaths masking the voice on the other end of the receiver.

"I just called to tell you I miss you sometimes".

There's a loud bang, a clatter, a tinkling sound as whatever Axel's thrown, Shatters on your floorboards. You're reluctant to knock, but it's your home, it's your alcoholic father dodging the bills and locking the doors to government officials.

Axel takes a deep breath on the other side as your knock finally interrupts his inner monologue, He stands among the white of your room, Looking every bit as 'street trash' as your father labelled him.

You had never noticed how little of a human being was left in Axel. He's gaunt, hunched slightly, dark red hair contracting with pasty pale skin. Those glazed green eyes rimmed with reds and blacks, His mouth a grim line. The holes in his clothing revealing nothing but dirty, blotchy skin and protruding bones.

"I was just dealing with business" he mutters, a weak attempt at an excuse, unenthusiastic and transparent. His eyes don't once wander, for fear of meeting your own. His acidic gaze is fixed on the city through your window. Its twilight now, the pinkish hues, Fading purples and oranges cast eerie shadows across his angular face. There's the faint sound of laughing, parties and ambulances.

The soundtrack for the city.

You sit on the opposite side of the bed, your back to him, Unsure of how to deal with this 'new' axel, the boy grasping at more emotions than just hate. You can't decide whether his dampened demeanour is for display purposes only, or whether he genuinely regrets all he's lost. Out here, Reminiscing is a luxury to expensive for most, but he sits among the crisp white, among the colourful rays, and steals shamelessly, locked in his memories for the moment. His smile grim, his eyes vacant, barely focused. Through the window, He can look into the future; He can see the world from here. All you can see is the past, the scribbled and scratched photographs of a relationship that lost its momentum soon after it began. All that Naminé left behind.

" .. Your brother? Right?'"You opt to break the suffocating silence.

There's a shift of weight, a shuffling of clothing, but no vocal response. You assume he had nodded his confirmation. There's a rhythmic crunching sound, a raw crack of bones, as predictable as your heartbeat. His knuckles are warped from the pressure, the joints decaying from his constant nervous fiddling, his subconscious wringing of knuckles, this is your indicator. Nothing in his face would ever betray feelings of nervousness. It's all in his hands.

"What did he say?" you ask airily, Attempting to make this conversation as light as possible, Not willing to wander into the darker corners of Axel's mind, Or to discover more of the dysfunctional relationship he shares with his brother. He takes his time answering, pauses, and then takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the words that never come. You'd just witnessed the most emotional thing you'd ever hear him say, a confession to his childhood hero, and you have no idea how to treat him, or how to react to his obvious uneasiness.

"It was his answering machine, at the office. At least I tried - I guess".

You choke back an angry sigh. You have no right to display such emotions, when Axel still lags behind on the emotional battleground. He's still struggling with what to feel, not how to feel it.

Standing to pace your room, to occupy your feet, you glance once more at this surprisingly complicated human being cut open before you. The twilight in his eyes looks like flames, he's entranced, eyes strangely wide, unwilling to blink for fear of losing the scene he's captured.

"What did your father say?" he asks eventually, those eyes still don't break contact with the sky, something he'll never touch. For some, the skies the limit, But Axel would tell you years from now, the sky were never even a possibility for him. He blames his lack of purpose on his early teens, His involvement in gang activity.

"Not much good comes of kids with guns, Blondie, unless they plan on using the gun on themselves".

To the sound of heartbeats and cracking knuckles, you attempt to concoct some form of lie to satisfy the momentarily weakened Axel. Nothing springs to mind.

"He said it was fine" you mumble, presuming Axel's too absorbed in his own private land to hear the reluctance in your voice. But his wits are as sharp as his comments. He glances up, Questioning eyes, the twilight throwing a strange glossy light across the venomous green. For a moment his eyes are milky white, and without that permanently burning green, it's hard to decipher what's raging in his mind.

"I can hear Yah'know. You heard me after all." He shrugs and returns back to watching the world waltz by. Sure these people have their own problems, and usually his fondness for collecting their twisted life tales outweighs his safety, but right now, He can't focus on much else.

So once again he reads you. You sigh your defeat, and from the corner of your eyes you see the smirk creep across his lips. He may be teasing death, pulling its hair, but he's still willing to have a jab at you.

"Don't mind him. Just stay. He's still sore... about … You'know …" And you trail off, Pleading with him to understand, you refuse to let him drag out the past in a place like this. You don't wish to discuss Cloud's death in any more detail than a passing mention. Not with his memories and feelings traped in the room next door. You're positive Axel's picked up on your telepathic warnings, but he figures he's already losing balance on a very thin line; Why not push him a little further.

"About what?" he offers his best sympathetic smile, But that in itself is pathetic, There's that teasing grin stretching his face again

You grumble to yourself, a promise of pain for Axel, and a silent prayer that Xigbar doesn't get him before you do.

And it's only then do you pick up on Axel's sly manoeuvres. He's using you as a distraction, taunting you, So that should you rise to the fight, He won't have to think about his impending confrontation with the lumbering Xigbar. You tag along, After all, Axel's confident he's not going to see the weekend, Which means your little play-act won't have to last for very long.

"Dad knows Cloud's death wasn't an accident-" And before you ever get to explain your analysis of your fathers outlook, Axel interrupts with a new expression on his face, A childish curiosity, Ripping his eyes from the outdoor scene to rest on the stormy skies in your eyes.

"Really?" he purrs, His knuckles are twisted and red, but he's no longer tugging at the joints. All his nerves vanished, this talk of death is his territory, and He knows it well.

"He may not have been happy Axel, but he was comfortable. Cloud had no reason for 'accidents'" you respond, Sounding already exhausted with the topic. But Axel's filing away the words, He's never really dived into this conversation with you, it was always just bubbling beneath his lips. He's seen Cloud's death from the street point of view, now he's looking to see it from yours. He nods, mouth open slightly, as if he's swallowing the words directly from your throat.

You hesitate, posing your own question for him, Preparing for his verbal block, that ignorant arrogance, an unwillingness to discuss his own little story.

"Xemnas told me a story, about recruiting my brother. You knew him. What was he like? I only ever got a chance to see Vincent's Cloud. Not Cloud's Cloud. I never really met my real brother. It's kinda sad I guess."

Axel seems a little stunned by your effortless admittance. Those green globes just blink rapidly, As if it'll help him order up your words in some way he'd like to hear them. This is him stalling for time until he gets a chance to give you an answer to a question you never asked. He doesn't bother; this is a critical breaking point between you, an honest conversation where Axel speaks his plain English, Not the usual flowery metaphors, His fanciful mindfuck.

"He was a good guy. Quite, and even though you weren't out there with us, He was still protective of you Roxas. He hated the others talking about you. He'd always had a big heart, You'know? Just never knew how to show it off." He smiles, Satisfied with both his summary, and the warm, gentle small you're wearing.

"Did he ever …? … You'know? Do what you do? …" You ask, Quite and low, dreading the idea that your brother may have died with someone else's blood on his conscience. He reads you correctly this time, and you may not have any visible nervous ticks, but once again he's not looking at you, He's looking through you.

"He never killed anyone, if that's what you're askin'. Definitely a lover, Pretty good fighter too, But death was something he preferred to step away from, Well, until it hit him full force." He offers a weak laugh, which quickly transforms into a pathetic cough upon seeing your face.

"I've been thinking ... " you begin, And Axel bristles once more, and you see how much he was trying to avoid this conversation. These deep conversations, sharing of thoughts an feelings, to him this was commitment. And that was something he avoided like the plague. Even death was a more welcome visit.

"About timelines, those kinda things," you continue, decidedly ignoring his reactions, Aware that should you read to far into them, you know you'll stop your investigation.

"If you knew Cloud back then, you knew Demyx too, Right?" The words hang in the air. Axel sucks a deep breath through his teeth, Turns once more to rest his gaze on the city that destroyed him.

"He was nothing like what you've been exposed to. That kid coulda smiled through war. Well... At least I thought he could. And look at'em now" he mutters absentmindedly, And you're beginning to wonder if maybe the rest of this conversation is taking place inside his own mind, He talks as if you he and Demyx has been friends for a lifetime. He's wearing a smile that tells you that maybe once upon a time those two laughed together, and now, they're stuck in some repetitive game of cat and mouse, the cat only chasing the mouse to keep up some sort of stereotype. Axel's lost his passion for chasing Demyx to the ends of the earth, and had you not known that before, the serene expression on his face is enough evidence of that.

Axel granted Demyx his life, and now, He was prepared to put his own on the line. And maybe Axel's got more emotions stored in him, something deeper than the hate and the frustrations burning in his eyes. Something more than the determination carved into his hands.

Your father had assumed your interests lay in Axel, but dwelling on the idea, your thoughts link from one to another. There's no love between you, and the friendship you struggle to maintain is at a bare minimum.

You're not in love with Axel.

But Demyx is another chapter.

"He's a little different now, But I'm sure you'd gathered that" Axel mumbles from across the bedspread, only an arms length from you, But the distance seems like forever, It hardly seems worth it anymore. You watch the flickering remains of his phone, twinkling away on the floor like some fallen star. And maybe his silence is your hint, your opportunity to leave, to try and save someone, and for once, you're not out to save yourself.

It's for Demyx, And Axel.

And right now your mind is reeling. Your conversation with the dampened fire felt like a turning point, like the title of a chapter, Big bold lettering. But you can't figure why.

"Axel, I'm just gonna run out for a while. Just stay here, don't leave the room," you warn him, But he doesn't need to hear it. Rustling through folded papers, Diary entries and phone numbers stacked in your drawer, you fling it on the quilt behind him, a dull thudding noise finally grabbing his attention. Inquisitive hands lift the phone; He twirls it, and Runs his fingers of the keypad slowly, like he's never seen one before. He turns those lost eyes to you and everything negative he could ever feel is displayed right there, an ugly painting across his face. Too many harsh lines and angles.

He's no longer making an effort to hide who he is, He figures death's on its way.

You nod to the phone he caresses, "Just keep trying Axel. I'm sure he misses you ... I know I would".

The worlds coming down around your ankles Roxas, And all you want to do before it all fades to black, Is to tell someone 'I love you' and know it's not a lie.

"Xigbar," the silver haired man purrs, Reading over yellowed newspaper scraps spread like butter across his desktop. Xigbar only grunts in response, glaring out the window, As if life was to blame for his current situation. It's not life's fault, its Axel's. But these orders are strict, And Xemnas' patience are as thin as his smile lately.

"It seems the past has come back to haunt us," he feigns amusement, Holding up a page delicately between trembling fingers. He's doing his best to contain his frustration, While Saix, Lingering behind, Fails miserably.

"Of course, Haunting would imply the past is dead .. " he grumbles as an afterthought, Thrusting the frayed article into Xigbar's hands, Nodding at it gently, Urging the sharpshooter to refresh his memory a little before his new assignment stirs up some painful memories. A memory they all share. Xigbar, Xemnas, Saix, Axel, Demyx, Cloud.

Xigbar sighs his annoyance, Glancing wearily once more up towards his superior before shaking out the page and running his functional eye over the blurred writing.

He's muttering the words under his breath, Personal but still audible, until he skims over something he doesn't like. The words pause as does the breath and the heartbeat. He casts that suspicious glance once more up towards Xemnas, His good eye wandering to Saix as an afterthought. Whatever's running through Xemnas' mind at that moment, Will be magnified tenfold in the ridiculously perceptive Saix.

Saix looks brittle, one solid structure under his skin, No individual bones.

The sight alone is enough to freeze Xigbar's blood in his veins.

"The article" he mumbles, waving it in the air for emphasis, As if his two companions really need a reminder of the unpleasant little story they've been included in, "This is from the day after Cloud died".

Xemnas says nothing, Just nods slowly, His eyes closed, Deep contemplation or utter exhaustion. Saix is up on his feet now, and Xigbar is a little more weary of where the wandering berserker steps. He's pacing behind Xemnas. And Xigbar briefly commends their amazingly subconscious synchronization.

Xemnas struggling mentally, While Saix acts out his feelings.

Ridiculous, But admirable, considering those two could hardly form a fact about the other.

Strange how people form a union without really knowing what they're stepping into.

"Look at the picture," Saix snarls; not bothering to turn those angry amber eyes on Xigbar, Positive the full effect of his anger is in his words, not his eyes.

In the picture, Cloud stands among his makeshift family, in his arm he holds his world, the girl from the club. Aerith. Lingering over him, the feral figure of Saix. And there's a jealous there, A vicious circle. Aerith the only innocence among their old lives.

"What am I supposed to see?" he mutters, Growing tired of Xemnas little mind game, But before he even has a chance to take a breath, Saix is there, Reaching over the desk, Claws and rage, Ready to bury them in the assassins throat. How quickly his patience evaporated.

"DEMYX! You idiot, Demyx is there, and he's still fuckin' here. Axel never fuckin' wasted him, He hid him".

Xigbar swallows past the thick paste forming in his mouth. His eyes wide in shock, a twist of terror in his eyes.

Saix is rabid.

"And what can I do about it?" he asks lowly, Whispering to avoid frustrating the berserker any further. Saix withdraws from the desk, returning to his pacing, the insanity is bleeding from his pores, and all the time, Xigbar's focus is on the fact that he's still got a higher body count than Saix.

"I want you to go after Demyx. We've got secrets, and I intend to keep them secrets. If he ever opens his mouth, He'll put this gang in jeopardy". Xemnas seems a little more relaxed, His breathing returning back to normal, As if Saix little outburst was a relief to his tension.

"Axel's my new play thing. He'll live to see tomorrow. But not much else after that".

I met this boy. He tasted like something from my childhood, and i hated him for it, but i still didn't let him go. I've a habit of loving people for making me hate them. I thought i'd let that rub off in some of the characters.

Sorry this is bollux, And sorry for the swearing, But i'm really sore in the face area. If i could pull my teeth out i would. Mum says i've nostalgia or something? Isn't that just missing something from the past? Or maybe it was neuralgia ... I've been drunk for 48 hours now. So sorry for the shit end of this one. I probably gave it away to. Anyway, CHEERS FOR REEEEEEADING!