This isn't how it was supposed to go, Axel thinks, sourly, lugging bags to the airport, scowling, face a rictus of misery and upset, and Roxas right beside him, for the moment, just for now – they were supposed to get months together, months of being the couple, being all over each other, trying to keep hands and mouths off each other in rehearsals, not this, not what's happening. And even when it did happen, when their jobs meant they were going to have to be apart, they weren't going to be like this, it was never supposed to be like this. He wants to hold Roxas' hand, but they're both laden with bags, and he's still not sure if that's fucking okay – and only a sadist would do this two nights after they've finally touched, finally consummated something which, if Roxas is to be believed, has been going on for five long years. Leon, the bastard, walks on ahead, hand in hand with Cloud, talking airily about something, making clear gesticulations, and Axel could quite happily snap his neck about now, four in the morning and desperate for some rest, some sleep, curling around Rox and kissing the back of his neck in those silent moments at night, when the blond is sleeping and Axel lies awake, wondering how he came to be so lucky. It isn't supposed to be like this, and after a lot of desks and eager people smiling plastic, fake smiles, Leon stops at the gate, smiling.
"Well, say your goodbyes and we'll say ours." He turns to Cloud and the two exchange a tender kiss, but Axel's already turning to kiss Roxas desperately, pulling him as close as he can be, and there's a little half-smile on Roxas' face, despite it all, and damn it if Axel doesn't want to wipe that away, show him just how much he wants them to stay together, no matter what.
Roxas pulls away, Leon takes his arm, and they walk through the gate together. Axel watches until they're out of sight.
When he'd thought about someone leaving, it was supposed to be him, that's what gets Axel the most – it wasn't supposed to be Leon taking Rox off to see a production in Russia, an old friend of his directing, so two free tickets for Leon and the pupil, and a chance to go and speak to someone renowned as a genius. Axel always thought it would be him leaving, off with a company, tour, two hundred starving, hunger-crazed dancers struggling across the country to theatres and opera houses across the planet, and he was prepared for that, in a year or so, prepared to leave Rox behind, kissing him goodbye and walking away, ready to dance his heart out a thousand miles away. It would be hard, sure, hard for both of them, and he hadn't been sure that Rox would cope with the distance between them. Now, returning to an empty room and a single bed which somehow feels too big for one, a pillow which smells like Rox, and a heart which is heavy with dread, he wonders if he perhaps gave himself too much credit, thinking that he would cope just fine. It's been an hour, and he already feels like the most important part of him is missing, like he's lost a leg and not just someone who's buried deep into his soul and sits there, lodged, as if he never wants to be anywhere else. He slides, fully dressed, between the covers and curls into a ball, the pillow in his arms and the corner pressed against his face, like if he can convince his senses that Roxas is here, he will be, and he won't have just said goodbye to his lover for a week. Seven interminable days of empty bed, empty heart, empty life. He always knew that Roxas would have trouble being without him, but never stopped to think if he would have trouble being without Roxas. He lies in the dark and pretends it doesn't bother him to hear only his own breathing.
There's a knock at the door, but Axel doesn't move, doesn't even open his eyes. He's slept badly, tossing and turning all night, reaching out in the darkness for someone who isn't there, who can't even fucking text him, because his cell won't do European reception, and there is no point answering the door, because it won't be Roxas. Larxene shoulders her way in anyway, because – damn it – he'd once given her a key and she uses it for nefarious purposes now, and plonks herself down on the bed next to him, sitting still and stroking his hair.
"My poor boy," she says, as he simply lies there and lets her, instead of protesting or enjoying it, "My poor, poor boy. You miss him that much already?"
He can't even be bothered to bat at her with a hand, can't be bothered to roll over, can't be bothered to retort that it should be obvious that he does, that it's not something to be mocked or even discussed. He misses Roxas, end of. Before Roxas, he would have been dancing, drinking, flirting easily, and now, alone, all he wants to do is lie still and count the hours passing until Roxas comes home. He thinks that maybe this is what it means to give your heart someone – but then, before Roxas, Axel didn't even know he had a heart to give. He rolls over when Larxene huffs at him, pulling the pillow with him, and she takes one look at his face and gives in, leaning down to kiss his temple before heading back to the door.
"Do me a favour," she says, turning when she gets there, "I know he's the soul of your dancing, that he's the reason you stay here, the reason you breathe, the reason your feet move like they have wings – but why not go and spend some time with the person who was all of that for you before you knew him?"
She's gone before he can ask her what she means.
It's Naminé, of course it is, and he hates himself for forgetting, when he finally remembers. It's only been a day, but the pillow doesn't smell like Roxas anymore, and Axel is sinking deeper, faster. He's debating leaving Rox a dozen messages when there's a smart tap at his door and it opens, without waiting for him to say enter. He's prepared to shout at some other dancer, some teacher wanting to know why he's not in their class – not for a tiny blonde to wrap herself around him. For a second, it's almost Roxas, and he relaxes, anyway.
"You heartbroken?" she asks, curling into his arms and fitting their bodies together, her head resting against his chest.
"Like I had no fucking idea I could be." Axel admits, holding her close – she's less fragile than she was, but still smaller, more elegant than her brother, but he doesn't care, not right now, because he's remembered all of this before, remembered how much he loves her, how close they were before the fall, and how she thinks he could be the greatest there is. She holds him tighter in response, and he feels thin hands splay out over the ribs in his back.
"I missed you." she says, softly, not a hint of blame, and he's sure he colours, sure he must, because he's such a dick, "I miss how we were. I know I can't compare – "
He silences her with a look, and she smiles, just a little.
"You're… he's…" Axel says, struggling to find the words, struggling not to sound like a besotted teenager, "I love him."
She looks down, just for a second, and he doesn't pause, just keeps on talking.
"I love him, but you're… you're iballet/i." It's said with such conviction, such strength, and he knows he's right, knows it's true. Rox might be everything he's never dared to dream of, might be arms around him at night and a hand in his, but Naminé is, and always will be, ballet. His first love. She understands.
They dance together for the first time in over a year, soft, careful steps, no lifts, not too much extension, just a delicate ipas de deux/i, the music trailing through them like wind through leaves, and she's in his arms again, soft shoes – not pointe, not yet, and he could have brought his and they could have swapped – pat-patting on the floor as she steps and turns, and how had he forgotten this. Somehow he had forgotten the most important thing about dance, the most important thing about being in love with dance – her. When he danced, he danced for Roxas, danced for his lover to see, to show off his physical perfection whilst he still had it, but here, now, dancing with her, he remembers what he had before, when dance was simply dance, when it flowed from him like water, when his soul was dance, rather than his soul being Roxas. For now, he pushes those thoughts out of his head and steps with her, lifting her a few inches off the ground and spinning her, just a little, before setting her back down to the ground, coming off her toes and onto flat feet for a moment before the music changes to a chase, and she skips away, a puckish smile on her face. He gives chase – what else can he do, he is a slave to the music – scampering after, feet messy, arms untidy. And the world doesn't end, like people were always saying it would, if he got into bad habits, he just dances his way to where she is, but she is never there when he gets there. She's fast, he'll give her that; fast and light on her feet, clearly getting everything back, and he isn't thinking that, because she is swift, brushing past him so he steps onto his back foot, and there she is. She presses forwards into his space, driving him back, and now he is the chased one, the hunted, her pursuing his long-limbed frame, and he doesn't have to slow for her, not at all, needs to keep leaping from place to place. She moves like quicksilver, and he like wildfire, the two of them blazing and shining, hair flying in the air, feet moving at a speed impossible for the untutored, both of them reaching, striving for more, striving to meet the other's beauty and succeeding. They are perfect, dancing as if they are on air, cushioned by clouds – an angel and a demon, perhaps, pursuing each other over the landscape of the stars, feet splashing through nebulae, touching down on individual stars. He smiles the entire time, and when the music stops, he is kneeling, smiling, and she bends until their foreheads touch. It feels like coming home.
When he slides into bed, he is tired, but limber, warm and smiling faintly. The room is dark and safe, home, just where he wants to be. He rolls over.
"Hey, Rox, you'll never guess what I did today." There's no answer, and Axel pulls the pillow into his arms, but doesn't curl back up now, relaxed and heavy-limbed from dance, from exertion, from happiness. He smiles in the dark, and thinks, for a second, that he almost hears Roxas laughing, hears a few words, and he ponders that his heart doesn't feel quite so heavy now. Sure, Rox will be away for six more days, but Naminé doesn't have classes to teach for three of those, and Larxene wants to reschedule his pointe classes, so he can work on that, improve whilst his boyfriend is away. Six more days.
"Goodnight, Rox." He says quietly, into the darkness, then rolls over, and goes to sleep, still smiling.