In order to escape the grounds, Roxas had to take certain evasive measures. He was home from Princeton on holiday, and under no circumstances was he to leave the grounds, probably under penalty of revoking his tuition. Unless, of course, politics came up. Dropping off the surnames of a few prominent statesmen's sons, Roxas was excused from dinner at six under the guise of hot-tubbing. It was cold, his mother said, fingering her Chanel studs. But surely, she said, smiling, he wouldn't need warm clothes if he was hot-tubbing? Roxas, dressed for an Arctic expedition, forced a grin and returned to his room, pulling on a polo, cargoes, and flip-flops. It was like she knew where he really wanted to go.
Promising his mother that he wouldn't spend the night unless Dalton asked him, wouldn't accept invites from Breckenridge, Roxas was off, thanking unnamed deities for his driver. As long as Roxas gave him a clean hundred, his driver wouldn't ask and wouldn't tell. It was all good until he was walking on South, scouting dark corners dressed like he got off on the wrong flight. Hands shoved into his shorts, Roxas navigated the slush and kept his eyes open for a figurative light in the dark.
"Trying to kill yourself?" The arm was around his shoulder, rubbing at his numb arm, before he could speak.
"A-Axel," he said, instantly relieved. He'd begun thinking it was too cold out, too late, and even if they'd planned on this day, Roxas hadn't been able to confirm it with him.
"You lost your mind or something?" Axel asked, and he sounded a little angry, shouldering Roxas into a thrift store that smelled like stale chips. As it turned out, the shop had exactly one coat: a pink, fluffy thing evidently for girls, size youth large. It fit Roxas perfectly. Handing over a hundred dollar bill, Axel only laughed a little bit as the employee went into the safe in order to hand Roxas back $96.01 in change.
"I'm taking that out of your fee," Roxas said, mouth obscured by a mound of faux fur.
"Sure, sure," Axel said, shrugging. He looked good in a scarf, Roxas noted. "Fine me for saving you from hypothermia. I see how it is."
"Good," Roxas said, eyeing Axel's warm looking hands. "I saw a taco place over there," Roxas said, pointing. They walked in companionable silence, Roxas' hands aching in the poorly lined pockets of his new coat. All he could think of was kissing Axel on the mouth. Preferably someplace with a fireplace, though he'd have to break one of his latest rules, the No More Than $200 a Night rule. Seeing Axel with relative frequency earned him a lecture on frivolous spending, one he was promised would be given to him by his father the next time he went over his suggested monthly expenses.
All of a sudden Axel's hand was in his pocket, wrapping around his ice cube fingers. Roxas didn't dare look over at the other boy. He was just cold. Axel was just doing his job. "Here," Axel said, pulling Roxas in front of him, slipping his arms over Roxas' shoulders and sliding his hands into Roxas' coat pockets. "Better?"
Roxas, nose stinging with cold, nodded.