Lyrics from "Play with Fire" by: Sam Tinnesz


"Caption:" Demyx announces, reading his handiwork from the screen of his phone with the zeal of someone reading a marquee on Broadway blazing with bulbs. "Up-and-coming rockstar, Roxas, rocking his new #TheOrganization swag a-nobody-named-roxas

...

#ManCrushThursday #RockBand #Music #Keys #Singer #EmoKid #SkaterBoi #SeeYouLaterBoy #[KissyFaceEmoji]"

Roxas blanches. He's not sure which of the hashtags to take issue with first. Possibly the Avril Lavigne lyrics which Sora had sung to him a thousand times too many when they were in junior high.

Vanitas has no such reservations. "Man Crush Thursday is not a thing," he objects unhelpfully, straightening a particularly disorganized box of Snickers bars below the counter. He's crouched close enough to be involved with the conversation, far enough away that he can stay out of what he wants to and look busy while doing it.

"I'm a trendsetter, Vani," Demyx insists, artfully plumping his elaborate hairstyle.

"Is that what that is…" Vanitas mutters, his trail off a sign he's remembering his recent decision to try to behave himself.

"Excuse me?" Demyx sounds affronted but the corner of his lip curls up, reassuring Roxas that the David Bowie look-a-like standing before him doesn't give a shit about Vanitas' good opinion, or, quite possibly, anyone's at all.

Vanitas pretends he is too far away to catch this last bit and attempts to look busy with the Twizzlers, so Demyx angles his phone at Roxas again.

"Demyx." Roxas warns, managing to shift his Organization swag into one arm and, with the other, reaching out to lower Demyx's phone. He's afraid of what fresh horrors another five minutes on Instagram will bring. "I don't think I should be getting my picture posted while I'm at work. From what I've seen of Saïx so far, he will fire me and then roast marshmallows over my corpse."

Already, Roxas can hear the beginnings of the sharp lecture that will no doubt proceed his slow demise.

"That's what you're worried about getting fired over?" Vanitas mutters, gesturing at Roxas critically with one of the Snickers bars. "Really?"

Not a word, Roxas is about to bite back, but the sound freezes up in his throat, as Demyx laughs easily and slips his phone out of Roxas' grip and into an over-large athletic short pocket.

"Relax, boys. Saïx is living that social media free life. It's like…" Demyx swishes his hand around as if to illustrate that he has no idea what he's talking about, "a positive mental health thing."

"I'd like to live a Demyx-free life," Vanitas tells a box of Sour Patch Kids, as he removes it from the Skittles carton. "As a positive mental health thing."

Roxas unconsciously reflects that Vanitas is not unlike a Sour Patch Kid. First, he's sour, then he's uncomfortably sticky, gooey, and difficult to get off the bottom of your shoe.

Roxas glances to Demyx for a reaction and is, again, a little impressed to find none at all. Roxas thinks he might have to take a page out of his book.

Instead, Demyx's eyebrows have darted up, one pierced and glinting, and then he's scrambling to search through the Organization swag bag that Roxas had wrongfully assumed had been fully emptied into his arms.

"Oh fuck," Demyx grumbles good naturedly, "Saïx! The stickers!" Finding nothing in the bag, Demyx reaches out and plucks a few of the stickers from Roxas' hand. "I'm going to need some of these back—for Saïx. He's a huge The Organization fan, you know…"

Roxas doubts this, judging by Saïx's reaction to Demyx's on-the-clock recruitment process, but he already knows better than to express such doubts to Demyx.

As Demyx shuffles through the designs, he tilts his hand to Vanitas, crouching down to retrieve a pair of Bendy and the Ink Machine socks somebody had dropped at check out. "Vani, you want a sticker?"

"What am I, a kid at the dentist's office?" Vanitas gripes without looking up from his work. "Leave me out of this."

"And Saïx is out today, right?" Demyx frets, glancing around the store as if the man might be lurking in the shadows of an anime display. Satisfied, he nods to himself. "Guess I'll have to stick them into his mailbox or run them over to—"

"Axel?" Vanitas interrupts, casually straightening from his crouch, and tossing the socks over his shoulder, where they land surprisingly neatly on the checkout counter. He turns to face a mildly surprised Demyx head on.

The store may be close to 80 degrees, but Roxas feels like he's just stepped under an AC vent roaring full blast.

Vanitas had threatened to get the next employee to come in to confirm that Axel and Saïx are far more than just friendly. And Demyx and Axel seem close, so if he says they are, no jokes, then there can be no doubting it...

But there's no fucking way…

"Well, yeah," Demyx's smile is nervous, twitchy, like it had been when he'd last seen Saïx in person. He flutters the stickers in the air, and one floats to the ground. "I mean, shit, he's definitely the more approachable of the two."

"Hey, Demyx…" Vanitas sidles up to his side, movements languid, seamlessly smooth, predatory, and voice even more so, as he wraps an arm around the man's back and gives it a friendly squeeze. "You and Axel have been friends for a long time, right?"

Demyx smiles broader even as his brow furrows, glancing down to Vanitas' eyes. "Um," he clears his throat. "Yeah? Yeah, man, he was one of the first people to join The Organization." He pats Vanitas on the back. "We wouldn't be a band without him."

Vanitas nods and removes his arm. "You're just now finding out Saïx is a fan? He's been with Axel that whole time, hasn't he?"

No way I could be this wrong about them…

Roxas bites his bottom lip and watches Demyx carefully.

Because that would mean I was a total dick to Axel.

And he was so nice to me back, that I didn't even realize it.

"Well," Demyx relaxes into the gossip and tilts his head, wading through the memories, the flop of his hair while he does it reminding Roxas of a droopy-eared dog, "give or take a few little hiccups. But who hasn't got those, am I right?" His smile fades as he glances to Vanitas only to find him locking eyes with Roxas. Demyx's easy tone falters. "Why?"

Hiccups? Roxas' chest aches like he's been carrying something simultaneously too heavy and too hot.

Vanitas' smile is confident, more than a little vindictive.

"You're… you're joking." Roxas' breath catches, replaying the way he'd insulted Saïx earlier over in his head, and then trying to picture Axel and Saïx together. Polar opposites, but he has to admit, they'd look gorgeous side by side… Tall, muscular, intimidating, hair like fire and ice... And they had been on that dumb orientation video together and… and Axel had kept telling Roxas 'I help Saïx run his life.' "You and Axel were just joking. Axel and Saïx aren't really… together… are they?"

"Why?" Demyx's good humor drops off entirely now. "Was Axel messing with you?" He rolls his eyes toward the heavens like he's pleading for Axel's soul, his hair flopping again. His voice takes on an edge both hard and pleading, "He can be kind of a dick that way. He just doesn't even think—"

"No." Roxas shakes his head quickly, and Demyx's frustration drops off at once, if a bit warily. Out of the corner of his eye, Roxas can see Vanitas' eyes flitting between the two of them, brown, but he remembers them earlier, flashing gold in the light. This unnerves him all the more as he tries to replay Axel's words in his head. "No, no, Axel said…"

'He is smart... successful... built like a fucking tank…' Axel's green eyes had flicked playfully, scanning his face, trying to decide if Roxas believed him.

"But… they're so…" Roxas shakes his head again, feeling his mouth dip open, and hang there. 'Different' doesn't feel like a strong enough word.

'Well, they say opposites attract…'

Axel's taunting smile is beginning to take on a new meaning in Roxas' head, and something in his stomach starts to constrict.

"Hey." Demyx shakes his head, irritation slipping off, as he shrugs. "Don't look at me, man. I don't get it either."

Roxas stares intently at Demyx for a minute and then cracks a smile. He grew up with Sora, after all, ever the practical joker. And he had heard them joking about Saïx before. He knows it. "You're all screwing with me, right?"

If it's true, and Axel tells Saïx what I said about him, I can kiss this job good bye.

Demyx glances at Vanitas who shrugs a shoulder himself, and insists, "I already tried to tell him."

Demyx's brow furrows, and he hesitates, head shaking just slightly. He puts on a soft, almost of a smile. "See for yourself, buddy." Demyx taps at his phone for a few more seconds and then hands it to Roxas.

Roxas has trouble making his fingers wrap around the thing. He hopes Demyx can't see his arm shaking. His examination of the phone screen is anticlimactic, however. The Instagram search screen is up and Demyx has filled it in, but not yet hit 'enter.'

"flurryofdancingflames?" Roxas reads, confused. "Is this Axel's username?"

Demyx forgets his irritation, whether real or feigned, upon hearing this, and claps Roxas on the shoulder. "Yeah, see how his handle is so much awesomer than yours because I came up with it?" At Roxas' continued confusion, Demyx clarifies, "Originally his account was just to post videos of his fire-dancing."

Vanitas laughs, but it's not a friendly thing. "Now who's fucking with Roxas?"

"I'm serious! He took most of them down, but I bet I can find at least a couple—" Demyx takes back the phone before Roxas has got up the nerve to press the search button, and in a few seconds, he has a still pulled up. The background is ink black, but Axel's impossibly lanky silhouette is as unmistakable as the dark gold and amber glint of his hair, even tied off in a knot. His back arches, catlike as he swirls rings, frozen in the frame above his body, the yellow light gleaming off every inch of him not covered with fabric or tattoo. And to top it off, he's grinning like a sinner straight at the cameraman, and now in this moment, straight at Roxas.

Roxas' throat feels dry and his heartbeat starts to pick up at a steady pace. "Oh," says Roxas. Fuck.

"Impressive, right? Here." Demyx taps the screen and a ghostly white arrow appears over the fire dancer. He taps it again and the video begins to play.


Roxas unconsciously draws the screen closer as Demyx's finger taps at the volume.

At first there is only a quick, hypnotic synth beat, the screen filled with empty black as if someone has forgotten to take the lens off the camera. Roxas is reminded of a clouded, starless void of sky.

The music keeps its quick, insistent pace and a phantom voice takes command of it:

Insane, inside, the danger gets me high.

Shifting the phone and focusing on making shapes from shadows, Roxas gradually makes out Axel's outline, accentuated by a pure white ribbed tank top, which offers the foggiest glimmer of color and movement.

Can't help myself. Got secrets I can't tell.

Facing away from the camera, he rises slowly from a crouch, and rolls his shoulders. Painstakingly slowly, he stretches one lean, muscled arm and then another.

I love the smell of gasoline.

Axel cocks his head as if he can smell it as he slides rings the size of dinner plates down an arm and into one bare hand.

I light the match to taste the heat.

Roxas can hear a faint scratch and hiss as Axel somehow manages to instantly strike a match in the pitch dark. Roxas can see the glint of it over Axel's shoulder before Axel puts the flame to the rings and they ignite, immediately eaten up by orange and yellow tongues of flame which illuminate intricately designed red and black metal and outline Axel's skin against the night in shades of gold, twined with black tattoos like his shadow's clinging to him, half stitched on like Peter Pan.

I've always liked to play with fire.

The music blares louder as Axel gives one ring a slow rotation in his left hand and one in his right and then picks up the pace, spinning them in sync. Axel turns to face the camera and in the strange orange light his euphoric grin seems unseemly. Axel opens his mouth and with a sharp sensation in his own throat, Roxas realizes who's been singing.

Play with fire.

I've always liked to play with fire.

Axel begins slicing patterns in the air. Strong arms strike out against invisible foes which leave beautiful echoes of sparks in their midst, as he vanquishes them.

I ride the edge.

My speed goes in the red.

Axel's smooth, precise, arcing choreography, with the spiked, blazing hoops remind Roxas of the ancient chakram he'd seen in Master Eraqus' display case back at the dojo he'd worked in near Twilight U. After years of martial arts, Roxas can't help but admire the discipline and strength reflected in the speed and exactness of every movement.

Hot blood, these veins...

Axel shifts from tracing shapes with sparks in the air to outlining his own silhouette, drawing one sharp, glinting, spinning chakram, up the length of his arm, too close to his skin to be safe. He pauses just below his own neck, and for a moment urges the chakram to spin faster. His grin glints in the light, impossibly brighter, so that Roxas feels like he's witnessing something forbidden, his own skin feeling like it's burning with Axel's exertion. He's sure Axel would be hot as an ember to the touch.

My pleasure is their pain.

Abruptly, casually, Axel flips a chakram into the air, arching backward, and it arcs dangerously above him, until he catches it, just as effortlessly in his other hand, which has only just released the other chakram.

I love to watch the castles burn.

Both rings caught, Axel sends them up again, both arcing gorgeously in the darkness.

These golden ashes turn to dirt.

Just when it appears Axel's about to catch the rings, the distant smack of a door sends his eyes darting sideways. Axel steps back and watches the burning chakram bury themselves in the dirt just in front of him, fizzling out beside flower blossoms of exotic violet and deep blue.

"What the fuck do you think that you're doing?" a voice that can only be Saïx's demands from off camera.

A bright white light flickers on from the upper left, a porch maybe, and Axel can be seen much more clearly, his black sweatpants and tank top charred in places and studded with faint pink cuts, his skin and hair more sweaty than sexy and glossy with firelight.

Axel sheepishly kicks one of the chakram, so that a still burning prong is buried in the dirt and fizzles out.

"Hey, baby."

Saïx slips into the camera view, wearing a soft-looking, slate gray bathrobe and seemingly not much else. His hair is tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck. The scar across his nose stands out in the new, unwelcome, overbright light Axel's blinking away. There's a glass of water in Saïx's hand and, with a wince, he dumps some of it on the smoldering metal and dirt.

"You're going to catch fire and kill yourself and my hibiscus blossoms."

Axel grins at Saïx's glare, his words a little light and breathless, "Not if my dashing boyfriend comes to my rescue."

Saïx's lip twitches, and then he's dumping the rest of his glass of water over Axel's face. "Consider yourself rescued."

Axel's lashes flutter and he sputters first in surprise and then laughter, before flinging himself at Saïx, wrapping damp arms around his neck and attempting to kiss his cheeks while he pulls away, mouth full of objections. Their staggering steps draw closer to the camera, and Saïx arches his brows at it, before reaching toward it, and then the video cuts off.