The silver glow can't make Roxas' white skin any paler, but the moon-like heart hangs twice reflected in sapphire eyes as he stands, forehead pressed against the pane. What is the point of having a heart, whispered, muffled against frosted glass, grateful that Axel was too deep asleep and too far away to answer.
Axel stares at the light reflected on the ceiling, glowing off the blonde hair. Hearts are meant for loving, he wants to say. Hearts are meant for swelling with affection and burning with desire, for explaining the want and the need and the nowyespleasenow. He doesn't. He doesn't know how.