Chapter 5: Etiology

In truth, Axel's life wasn't awful.

Sure, his mom was dead, his dad was nonexistent, and his old diabetic gran was all he had in the world. Sure, he didn't have many friends because he was openly queer, unnecessarily abrasive, and had a reputation of getting into fights just for the sake of getting into fights. Sure, he wasn't conventionally attractive or talented or even likable. Sure, he didn't have much money and still slept on the too-small twin-size bed he'd had since childhood that his legs hung off of. But, all in all, life wasn't awful in that it could've been much, much worse.

He was tall, well-endowed, and lived close to an In-N-Out Burger. He was ridiculously good at racing games. He had great hair and skin that incited envy in his female peers. He was healthy, alive, and his dear old gran loved him despite all his faults and misgivings.

He did have things to appreciate about his life, even if he didn't. He was too hellbent on being angry at the world to stop and smell the roses, but what seventeen-year-old isn't?

Axel was just existing and perfectly content on just existing until the day he died with the anger still stirred inside him and sloshing up the sides of his esophagus like acid reflux. He had no big plans for the future, no goals or prospects. He was just going to exist if for nothing else than to spite god and the kids who jeered 'faggot' and 'homo' at him in the halls.

But when he met Ventus, everything changed. His perspective shifted entirely. Someone much better than him both inside and out actually liked him. Him, of all people. Someone who looked like he was freshly plucked from a Hollister ad wanted to spend time with him, sit next to him in the cafeteria, walk close to him in the halls even if it meant being called slurs, too. Someone who could've easily been with anyone else in the world chose to be with him, instead.

Suddenly, he wasn't so angry anymore. He wasn't lonely. He had someone to get In-N-Out with after school, someone to play Need for Speed: Carbon with on his shitty CRT TV, someone to talk to about both everything and nothing at all.

So, when Axel got the 'we need to talk' text from Ventus, just a couple months into their unofficial relationship, his heart sunk and he assumed the worst. But the worst to him at the time was Ven realizing how much better he can do and breaking things off, not Ven telling him that he has a degenerative genetic disorder that will most likely leave him with a swiss-cheese brain before he's thirty.

"Holy fuck," was all Axel could say in response.

Ventus stared at the horizon, at the big red sun and swirl of pink and orange clouds thick like sherbet. "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he said, his voice uncharacteristically morose, "I try really hard to hide it. I didn't want you to treat me like an invalid. My mom and brother do that enough."

They were at what they established early-on as their regular meeting spot, because the roof of the old train station was a short walk away and gave a great view of the California sunsets.

"You seem perfectly fine, though," Axel insisted, "We've spent so much time together and I've never once noticed your fucked-up brain. Are you making this up so you don't have to hang out with me over summer break? What's this disorder called, anyway?"

"Juvenile Huntington's disease," he said. "It's progressive. Right now, it's mild, my symptoms are manageable. But I can tell they're getting worse. I have seizures. Delirium. Some mornings I wake up and can't move because my muscles are so stiff and my limbs won't cooperate." He sighed and ran a hand through his blond gelled spikes, slumping forward to look down at the empty street below. "I wish I was making this up. It wasn't fun being told at fourteen that there's a possibility I'll need a feeding tube and a wheelchair by adulthood."

"It's the 21st century, modern medicine and science and shit is amazing," Axel said, "Doctors can turn dicks into vaginas. Scientists can grow human ears on mice and clone sheep. My gran even has a cool little computer attached to her stomach that gives her insulin when she needs it. There's gotta be something they can do for you."

Ventus shook his head. "It's not a sickness, Ax. It's not like a tumor where they can just blast me with radiation until it goes away. It's a defective gene. Fucked up DNA. The symptoms can be addressed to make things a bit easier but the outcome will always be the same. I'm going to die."

Feeling like he'd just been punched in the chest, Axel muttered, "Jesus Christ, Ven."

"Please don't treat me any different," the boy pleaded. "You don't realize how nice it is to be treated like a normal person again. I'm only telling you now because we've been spending so much time together and it'll only get worse from here. I don't want you to see me as some sort of retard because I have involuntary spasms or forget how to swallow or fall down or something."

"Is that stuff that will definitely happen?"

"Probably. I don't know. I try not to think about it or ask too many questions. I just want to enjoy my life while I still can." He picked his head and turned to look at Axel. "Look, I know we've only known each other for a few months and this is a bunch of heavy shit you never asked for or anticipated, so I'd understand completely if you wanted to stop hanging out." His voice dropped, "And stop, you know, kissing and stuff."

Axel captured Ven's chin between his thumb and forefinger and leaned close enough to feel his warm breath. "Now why would I want to stop hanging out and kissing you, huh? I like you. And I'll still like you even if you fall down or drool on yourself sometimes. As long as you promise to not give up, I won't give up." Before he could respond, Axel pressed their lips together and made the decision right then and there that he would never give up on him, no matter what. Ven made him happy for the first time in a long time, Ven gave him purpose, filled the void in his heart. Like with everything else in life, he'd figure it out as he went, take the punches as they're thrown.

When they pulled apart, Ventus smiled so big that his eyes scrunched. "I'm really glad I met you, Axel. You always know the right things to do and say to make me feel better. You really are my best friend," he said.

"Best friend?" Axel feigned offense. "I kiss you on the mouth, promise to be there for you no matter what, and you call me your best friend?"

With a snort, Ventus said, "Fine. Is 'boyfriend' better?"

Axel gave a small smile, shoving down the disappointment of the inevitability of losing him and the uncertainty of when. Maybe a break-up text would've been easier. He wrapped his arm around Ven's waist and pulled him flush against him. "Yeah, 'boyfriend' is perfect."

Hand-in-hand, they continued watching the sunset, now with both of them knowing they were numbered.

Tuesday morning, Roxas decides to share again. He figures maybe participating in the meetings will earn him enough good boy points to buy back some of his freedom, so he raises his hand high until the meeting leader nods at him to go. Axel gives him a surprised look as he stands up and says, "My addiction was a result of me trying to distract myself from my problems, but now I'm distracting myself from my addiction. I'm distracting myself from distracting myself. Weird how that works. Life is just one distraction after another."

After the meeting is adjourned, Axel says, "Damn bro, that was deep. You should write a book or something."

"Shut up," Roxas playfully bumps him with his shoulder, "I'm trying to get out of going to these meetings every day. I want my life back."

"Okay, but you're a drug addict, so you should probably go to meetings every day. At least for a little while, ya'know?"

They walk outside together and wait by the curb for Roxas's mom. "I'm not a real drug addict. It wasn't about the drugs, Axel," he huffs. "For being a psych major, you sure are dense."

"Roxas, you regularly injected an illicit substance into your veins to the point where it nearly killed you. Whether it was about the drugs or not, you're a drug addict." Axel puts his arm on Roxas's head like an armrest. "It's whatever, there are worse things you can be in life. For example, you could be a slimy politician. Or a vegan. Or a child moles—" He stops himself but Roxas already knows what he was going to say. "Ah, fuck, sorry. Wasn't thinking."

Roxas just shrugs it off, because there's not much else he can do. "You're right, at least I'm not a child molester."

Axel presses his thin lips into a line and takes his arm off his head.

A few minutes after, Roxas's mom pulls up in her Kia and rolls down the passenger window to say hi to Axel, like she usually does. He gives her a polite wave and bids Roxas farewell as he gets into the car.

"I'm glad you made a friend," his mom gushes once they're en route home. "I was getting worried about you spending so much time alone. Axel seems very nice. You should invite him over one day."

"Invite him over? What is this, grade school?" Roxas snarks, "You want us to have a playdate? A sleepover?"

"I meant for dinner," she says, ignoring his sarcasm. She's too used to it at this point for it to bother her. "Hayner, Pence, and Olette came for dinner all the time. I'm just extending that invitation to your new friend."

Roxas crosses his arms and leans against the passenger door. She's trying, she's really trying. But, for whatever reason, it just pisses him off.

"Are you coming to Naminé's art exhibition with us on Saturday?" She asks as they pull into the driveway. "I'm not going to make you go, but it would really mean a lot to her if you did. Plus, it would be nice for you to get out of the house and do something, get some fresh air, a change of scenery." They get out of the car and walk up to the front door. "You can wear the sweater your aunt got you last Christmas. I haven't seen you in it yet."

"I'm not going," he firmly states as they walk inside the house, offering no explanation or excuse. He kicks off his shoes and brushes past her.

His mom opens her mouth like she wants to argue but closes it and only opens it again to defeatedly say, "Okay, Roxas."

Before he has to confront the disappointment on his mother's face, he immediately goes up to his bedroom, closes the door, and collapses into his heap of sheets and blankets that smell like stale sweat. He pulls the comforter over his head to block out the morning sun coming in through the slits in his window blinds and lets out a heavy exhale.

He told Axel he wants his life back, but he's barely putting in the effort to get it. He doesn't even know what life he wants back, because the last time life was good was when he still watched Saturday morning cartoons and was just starting to grow armpit hair. He wants his life back, yes, but not from his parents or from drugs or from the treatment center or from his old friends. He wants his life back from Seifer.

From under the blanket, he texts Axel, 'Are you mad at the world?'

Almost instantly, he replies, 'No. But you are.'

Roxas thumbs back, 'I don't know how to not be mad.'

It takes a few minutes this time, but Roxas knows Axel's driving to Kingdom for his morning classes, so he has to be patient between responses. 'Only one cure for that, Rox,' he finally types. Roxas sends a question mark back and watches the little bubble in the corner of the screen as he waits for the answer to all his problems with bated breath.

'You just have to find something that makes you happy.'

"An art show?" Axel incredulously asks, "You're asking me to be your plus one to a fucking art show? Xion, I don't give a shit about fine art. It's all pretentious bullshit."

"Please, Axel?" She makes her blue eyes wide as can be, bats her dark eyelashes that are coated in multiple layers of mascara, and juts out her bottom lip as far as it'll go. She blinks slowly, looking up at him like a kicked puppy. "I really don't want to go alone..."

"So don't go at all?" He offers with a shrug.

They're standing around the quad after their morning classes, in front of the heavily-vandalized statue of the school's founder at its center that is currently sporting some Sharpie dicks and initialed proclamations of love that haven't yet been scrubbed off by the maintenance crew. Usually by this time, he and Xion have gone their separate ways and he would be on his way home to change into his work polo for an afternoon full of forced smiles and 'welcome to Chili's', but Xion requested this meeting via text and Axel half-expected something important.

"I can't not go," she whines, "It's my roommate's senior exhibition thing and she really wants me to go. She's really sweet and talented and she deserves this, it would be shitty of me to be a no-show. Plus she's got this, like, crackhead twin brother or something so I kinda feel bad. Wait, no, not crack. Meth, maybe?" She scratches her head. "I don't remember. Point is, she's a really nice girl."

"Can't you take your boyfriend instead?"

"I would but he's a business major and I don't want to take him around art majors, he'll be mean to them."

He raises an eyebrow. "And I won't be?"

"No, you're a nice guy. And you're gay, gaudy, and a bit unstable so you'll fit right in with the other art majors," she adds with a playful smirk.

Axel half-seriously glares.

She pathetically groans and tugs the hem of his nylon jacket. "C'mon, Ax, aren't we friends?"

Technically, yes, they are friends. But it's a casual, shallow friendship that only exists within the confines of the college campus during school hours. Axel doesn't have the energy for anything beyond jokes and sharing caffeinated beverages with one another. Xion is cool and all but he lacks the capacity in his heart or mind for anyone other than Ven, or people that remind him of Ven.

He briefly smiles at the thought of him. Whether the 'him' is Ventus or Roxas, he doesn't know. They blend together with feathered edges.

He gently grabs her thin wrist and detaches her hand from his clothes. "Yes, I'm your friend, Xion, but I don't care about some patronizing art event they host to make the art majors feel better about being art majors at a community college. Ask one of your other weirdo friends to go with you, I'm sure you have plenty."

"I asked you because I want to go with you," she huffs. "I like hanging out with you, Axel. You're funny and chill to be around so I figured we could make a dull night fun together. But it's fine, thanks anyway." She adjusts the strap of her shoulder bag before turning around to disappear into the crowd of students around them.

Axel instantly feels like a selfish piece of shit. His sins are starting to compound so he has to start choosing them wisely.

He sighs and grabs the top of her arm before she gets swept away. "When is it?"

Dejection forgotten, her face lights up and she says, "This upcoming Saturday."

"Alright. It's a date."

Thursday evening, Roxas voluntarily comes down for dinner. It's a rare occurrence so his family gawks at him like he's got two heads as he sits down at his usual place at the dining room table. His mom instantly gets up to fetch him some dining ware, since she had stopped automatically setting his place at the table a while ago.

"Heya, sport," his dad greets with a warm smile, trying his best to appear nonchalant. "Hungry? It's pork chop night. You love pork chops."

His mom returns and sets a plate and a fork and knife in front of him. "Want something to drink, Rox?"

He nods a vague acknowledgment at his father and shakes his head at his mom so she sits back down at the head of the table.

Naminé, who is over for dinner, greets him and asks him how he's feeling, but only gets a low grunt in response.

After the initial shock wears off, they settle back into their food and resume their conversation. They're talking about Naminé's art thing on Saturday night, firming up plans, which is convenient because Roxas's whole purpose of joining them was to say he'd attend.

He had been back and forth on it the past few days; mulling on it, weighing the pros and cons. Pro: he would earn more good boy points. Con: he would have to actually put forth effort. Ultimately, he decided that it won't be too bad to just suck it up and go. It will make his family happy and all he has to do is dress up and look at some paintings for a couple hours while everyone gushes over how perfect and talented Naminé is, and maybe at the end of the night while his parents are still riding on the highs of having such a wonderful daughter, they will be more receptive to the idea of loosening his leash so that he doesn't have to attend dumb daily meetings or piss in a cup every week for his outpatient program or be cut off from his bank account.

"You're seriously coming? Like, really?" Naminé asks like it's a dream or a joke and Ashton Kutcher is about to come out from behind the china cabinet and tell her she's been Punk'd.

"Yeah," Roxas says, stabbing a singular pea with the end prong of his fork. "It's something to do. A change of scenery."

As if he's a child who requires constant companionship, his mom asks him, "Do you want to see if Axel wants to come?"

Naminé tilts her head to the side. "Who's Axel?"

"No one," Roxas grumbles at the exact same time his mom says, "Roxas's friend from his meetings."

"Oh, well then yeah, he's more than welcome to come. The more the merrier." She smiles graciously. "Some of my friends are coming, too. It will be fun."

Roxas eats the pea and starts hunting around his plate for the next victim. "I'm not inviting Axel," he says.

But after dinner, when he goes back to his room, he texts Axel, 'You busy Sat night?'

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of bringing Axel along excites him. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, he really does like spending time with Axel. When they're together, talking shit and cracking off-color jokes, life feels easier. Roxas doesn't even dread going to his meetings anymore because he knows Axel will be waiting for him outside while smoking a cigarette, smirking at him when he gets out his mom's car, whispering snarky comments into his ear about the other attendees that make him stifle laughter while some tweaker is pouring their heart out.

And Roxas knows Axel likes him. Why else would he go to the lengths he has? Why else would he show up to his meetings every day, text him every night, pay off his debt to Larxene, and display genuine concern for his wellbeing? Roxas doesn't know why Axel likes him, but instead of questioning it, he just enjoys the attention; the benign touches, the subtle glances in his direction, the smirks and smiles. Axel makes him feel special.

The corners of his lips curl upwards, but then Axel writes back, 'Unfortunately. Promised to go to this stupid thing with a friend.'

Roxas's mood takes an immediate nosedive and crashes headfirst into the earth. He feels a hollowness in his chest like someone just took a metal ice cream scooper to it. His cheeks go pink as he rereads the message over and over trying to process the words. Searing hot anger washes over him; not because Axel is busy, but rather because he is busy with someone else.

Over the past few weeks, Axel has weaved this narrative that he is all alone in the world, just like Roxas is. They're supposed to be on even-footing, just two lonely souls, but evidently, they're not. Axel isn't alone. Axel has friends he hangs out with on the weekends.

Friends that aren't him.

Deep down, Roxas knows it's irrational to be upset about not being Axel's only friend. Of course Axel has other friends, why wouldn't he? He's a twenty-five-year-old who goes to school and has a job. He's loud and funny and charming. He isn't broken like he is, incapable of forming connections like he is.

Axel is, for all intents and purposes, normal. Roxas is the only fucked-up one here and he knows he's dumb for thinking otherwise.

His phone, still in hand, beeps.

'Let's do something Sunday', Axel says. But Roxas doesn't respond, he just stares blankly at the screen, at the blue and grey bubbles and the little picture of Axel sticking his tongue out that he insisted Roxas use as his contact photo. He knows he shouldn't be angry, but he is.

He's not special. Not to Axel, not to his parents. Not even to Seifer.

Roxas doesn't even notice Naminé's light knocking or her letting herself in when he doesn't respond. She walks over to the edge of his bed and sits next to him, and it's only when the bed dips beside him that he realizes she's there. "Hey, you okay?" She asks him, noting his forlorn expression and unresponsiveness as he stares blankly ahead at the wall.

"Yeah," he says unconvincingly, "Dandy."

Naminé's forehead creases. "You sure? You can talk to me, you know."

Roxas stands up and lets out a yell while whipping his phone across the room as hard as he can. He stomps over to where it lands, picks it up, and throws it again, this time hitting the wall with a loud thud that could inevitably be heard from downstairs. He starts grabbing whatever's around him so he can throw it; an old shoe, a novel he never finished, a baseball trophy from middle school, a dirty glass that shatters upon impact, all the while screaming his lungs raw.

Naminé flinches and watches him with wide eyes. "Roxas..." She tries, but he's not listening.

After his brief rampage is through, he whips around to face her with nothing but animosity in his eyes. "What do you want, Naminé? What more could you possibly fucking want, huh?" His voice cracks and his chest hurts. There's glass on the carpet and more dents in the plaster.

"I just..." Her small, wavering voice gets caught in her throat. She swallows and tries again. "I just wanted to say thank you. For deciding to come."

Everything compounds; the guilt, the loneliness, the anger, the jealousy. His head is full of nothing but a bisque of negative feelings. He wishes now more than ever that he stayed dead the night he overdosed, if nothing else than to spare those around him. He looks at his sister who's looking up at him with fear in her eyes, and he knows she doesn't fear for her own safety; she fears for his.

As hard as he tries, he can't stop the long-overdue tears that begin to pool in his eyelids. As he blinks them out, Naminé stands up and wraps her arms tightly around him, letting him silently cry into her shoulder without another word. Because she knows she has to love him enough for the both of them.

The following evening, Roxas is looking at himself in the mirror that's hung on the back of his bedroom door. Following his mom's advice, he's wearing the navy ribbed sweater his aunt got for him that's been sitting untouched in his closet for close to a year. It's supposed to be fitted, but it hangs loosely on his too-thin frame. He usually doesn't care how he looks, but after Thursday night's mental breakdown he feels like he owes it to Naminé to not show up to her exhibition looking and smelling like a vagrant.

Tonight, he lacks more hate than usual, mostly because he just feels defeated. His edges are worn down, he's exhausted. Plus, he got his mom to let him skip his Friday meeting (by citing he had a bad tummy-ache) so he's going to be on his best behavior in hopes she realizes he doesn't need to go every day.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, watching his reflection do the same. The rings around his eyes are nearly as dark as his sweater and he feels vulnerable without a hood to hide under. Realizing there isn't much else he can do to make himself look better, he grabs his (now slightly cracked) phone off his desk and stuffs it in his pocket before meeting up with his family downstairs.

His mom, dad, and Naminé are all convened in the living room waiting for him. They're all dressed up, but Naminé looks especially formal with her braided and pinned-up coiffure that mom probably helped her with. Roxas isn't quite sure of the significance of tonight's exhibition but he knows it's important to her, so he'll play along.

"You look very handsome, Rox," his mom beams.

He looks down at his ratty canvas sneakers. "If you say so," he grumbles.

They pile into his dad's car and begin the twenty-minute drive to Kingdom Community campus. During the ride, Roxas watches out the window while his family engages in casual conversations like close-knit families are supposed to. They make jokes, sing along to songs on the radio. Roxas silently pulls out his phone knowing he won't have any messages.

As they get closer to the campus, Naminé turns to him and giddily says, "I can't wait to introduce you to my friends."

He rolls his eyes and snarks, "Yeah, I'm sure you've told them great things about me."

They arrive and park in one of the parking lots. It's wet and cold outside so Roxas pulls his hands into his sweater sleeves as they walk through the quad towards the Arts building. There are a few other people scattered about but since it's after hours, the campus is quiet.

Naminé looks down at her expensive digital watch that their parents got her for her birthday this year (Roxas got one too but sold it for smack money). She taps the screen a few times and announces, "Perfect, I have about twenty minutes to set up. Mom, dad, you guys can go into the lobby. Roxas, you can come with me into the gallery and help me set up."

It isn't a question but Roxas isn't in the mood to argue. "Whatever," he says as they split away from their parents. He follows at her heels down the main corridor, eyeing the art hung on the walls that range from various levels of skill.

"Here, right through this door."

The student gallery is exactly what it sounds like. It's a spacious, well-lit room with rows of walls and pedestals where artwork can be displayed. Other students are already there setting up their exhibits, and as they walk by, Naminé greets them by name and graciously shares congratulations and compliments with them. The two of them continue walking until they reach a section of wall that has Naminé's full name on a plaque and several covered canvases leaning against it waiting to be hung up.

"So, what is all this for?" Roxas asks her as she bends down to grab one of the canvases.

"At the end of every semester, they choose a handful of seniors to display their work in the gallery and participate in the art show. Impress the right people and opportunities open up." She pulls the cloth off and presents a painting to Roxas. "What do you think?"

It's a multicolored landscape with flowers and trees. "It's nice," he blandly comments.

"It's not my favorite but I wanted to get a variety of subjects and styles." She hangs it on one of the pegs on the wall and adjusts it until it's perfectly even. "Get the next one, please."

Roxas grabs the next canvas and she directs him to hang it above the landscape. This painting is a watercolor of their old beagle. He's lounging on the kitchen linoleum, tongue out. The colors are bright and happy. "Snoopy is such a lazy old man," he says.

Naminé chuckles. "Yeah, he is."

They continue hanging up paintings until there's only one left. When Roxas picks it up, he stares into it like he's staring into a mirror. It's a painting of him. "Why—" He starts before she cuts him off.

"Do you like it?" She asks. "Be honest."

The Roxas in the painting is sitting at a window. It's not a window they have in their house, just a non-descript window that looks out into a night sky that's devoid of any celestial bodies. Unlike all her other pieces, the colors in this one are somber, gloomy. Painting Roxas doesn't look sad or angry, he looks empty. Like a husk. A shell of what he used to be, like the cicada exuviae he and Naminé would find on tree bark during the summer.

Clearly feeling insecure about his lack of response, Naminé takes the canvas from his hands.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I should've asked first." She turns the canvas around and leans it back against the wall so only the wooden frame is visible.

Like most everything else Naminé creates, the painting is beautiful, poignant, and from the heart. It shows how she sees Roxas; and it's not as some pathetic fuck up like he expected, but rather as someone who has lost himself.

Roxas doesn't say anything to her. He just picks the painting of himself back up and hangs it with the rest of them, hoping that maybe his misfortunes in life can at least get Naminé admitted into a prestigious art school or jumpstart her career or something. It's the least he can do.

"I think we're a bit too early," Xion says as she and Axel walk side-by-side into the Arts building lobby where only a few other people are gathered. A girl with dyed blue hair standing at a podium by the door welcomes them. "Hey, Aqua," she greets back, "When does this stupid thing start?"

As Xion chats away with the girl, Axel glances around the lobby, having never stepped foot in the Arts building before. Since it's a state-funded community college, the buildings are pretty uniform and standard, but the Arts building has the distinction of containing a gallery that can be peered into from a plexiglass wall in the lobby. He meanders over and peers inside, seeing the art students in the midst of setting up their work. In the furthest visible corner, there is a small blonde girl and a small blonde boy with their backs turned, and seeing the boy's messy hair makes him immediately think of Roxas, who he hasn't heard from since Thursday. He didn't even show up for yesterday morning's meeting.

Turning away from the gallery, he pulls out his cellphone. No messages. He's texted Roxas a few times since, but got nothing back. He angrily pockets his phone.

Xion rejoins him, oblivious to his irritation. "Yo, we got a few minutes to kill," she says.

"Great, because I need a fucking cigarette."

"Fine," she concedes, "Go ahead, I'll wait here."

Axel speed walks back towards the entrance, pulling a cigarette from the disfigured carton in his pocket and placing it between his lips. Before he lights it, he takes out his phone again and makes the executive decision to try to call Roxas, just to make sure he's okay. Alive. He can handle Roxas being pissy and reclusive, but he can't handle Roxas face-down in a ditch after a relapse binge, or after being murdered for unpaid debt.

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and swallows thickly, bringing his phone to his ear. It doesn't even ring once before the robotic voice tells him that the person he is trying to reach is unavailable. With furrowed brows, he redials and gets the same result. He waits a minute and tries again.

"What the fuck? That little piece of shit blocked me," Axel growls out loud to himself.

He smokes his cigarette, stomps it out, and goes back inside silently fuming. He doesn't know what he did to earn himself a spot on Roxas's blocked number list, they'd been getting along so well. They'd been making progress. He chews the inside of his bottom lip until he removes a layer of skin.

Xion finds him before he finds her and immediately grabs his arm to steer him towards the gallery doors where people are starting to slowly file in. It's not a big turn-out by any means, most of others appear to be parents or friends of the students coming to show support. Axel tries to push the thoughts of Roxas from his mind so he can make it through the night without punching some pretentious art kid for the fuck of it.

They walk through the gallery, feigning brief interest at the various pieces. All the artists are standing at their exhibits offering information about their art. Axel can't help but stop and look at a particularly phallic sculpture.

"Is that supposed to be a cock?" He asks the kid responsible. He starts to ramble on about color theory and abstract expressionism so Axel just walks away.

"Oh, there's Naminé," Xion says, pointing out the blonde girl Axel saw setting up earlier. She has the largest crowd surrounding her, and Axel can see why. Her paintings are gorgeous, traditional, easy to look at and take in. As they walk closer, Axel eyes her pieces. A field of flowers, a dog, some portraits, a beach scene, and...

Ventus?

No, not Ventus. Too pale. Too thin. He's made this mistake before. It's Roxas. It has to be.

Why is the universe so intent on not letting him escape these blond-haired, blue-eyed boys? Does he even want to escape them?

He fixates on the painting, on the boy blankly peering out a window. And he only looks away when Xion tugs him and says, "That's Naminé, my roommate. The person we're here to see. Let's go say hi."

They walk up behind the small crowd in front of the exhibit and he gets a good look at the girl, at Naminé, and she looks nearly identical to Roxas. She has the same eyes, the same pouty lips, the same small stature. She's explaining her brush technique and among the people in front is none other than Roxas's mom and, presumably, Roxas's dad. And, of course, between them is none other than Roxas himself.

"Holy shit," Axel says. Before Xion can question him, he pushes his way towards the front, leaving her behind. Naminé is still talking when he roughly grabs Roxas's shoulder, making the boy whip around and face him. Roxas looks up at him with wide eyes but before he can say anything, Axel pulls him away and off to the side of the crowd by his upper arm. "Why the fuck did you scare me like that?" He asks, his voice low as to not draw attention and cause a scene.

"Let go of me," Roxas hisses through gritted teeth.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

Roxas tries feebly to get Axel to let him go. "Let go or I'll scream," he threatens. Axel releases him from his grip and Roxas rubs his upper arm. "Why the fuck are you here? Leave me alone."

"Why did you block my number?"

"Because you're...you..." Roxas struggles to get the words out or even find the words to begin with. "You just..."

"What?"

Roxas scowls. "I thought you had plans tonight."

Axel blinks a few times and gestures around them. "Yeah, this. For once, this is a genuine coincidence."

He bitterly asks, "Where's your friend?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"No," he replies defensively.

"Ah, you wanted to invite me," It's not a question, "That's why you asked if I was busy."

"Get your head out your own ass."

Axel can't help but to smugly grin at him. "You're jealous."

"What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"You had me worried about you all because you got mad I had other plans. If you had any semblance of communication skills, we could've established we had the same fucking plans and there wouldn't have been an issue." Axel shakes his head in disdain. "Instead you avoid me and make me think something happened to you. Why didn't you tell me your sister goes here? Or that you guys are fucking twins?"

"Because it's none of your business," Roxas says, turning away from him to rejoin the crowd.

Axel doesn't stop him. He's too busy reveling in the fact that, despite how indifferent he tries to seem, Roxas really does like him.

Roxas goes back between his mother and father, who look at him questioningly but don't say anything. Naminé finishes her short presentation, eliciting polite applause. The crowd disperses to look at other artwork and a short black-haired girl walks up and gives Naminé a big hug, telling her how amazing her exhibit is.

Naminé is modest and courteous about it and directs the girl over to Roxas and his parents. His parents are apparently already acquainted with the girl because they greet her by name and exchange pleasantries. She then turns to Roxas and holds out her hand, "Hi, I'm Xion. You must be Roxas. It's so good to meet to real you after seeing the painting of you sitting in our living room for the past couple months."

Roxas tentatively shakes her hand. "Hey," is all he says. His mind is still reeling over the fact Axel is there.

And like some sort of divine punishment, Xion turns and beckons someone over to them, and of course the person who walks over is Axel. "This is my friend, Axel," she says to them, "I dragged him along since Riku wouldn't come with me."

"Axel!" Roxas's mom exclaims. "What a coincidence!"

"Hey," he says, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "Guess I get to meet the whole family today."

Naminé comments, "What a small world. It's nice to meet you, Axel."

Xion looks up at Axel. "You know them already?"

"He and Roxas are friends," Naminé answers for him.

"Well, shit," Xion says. "I didn't know Ax had friends."

Axel flicks the back of her head and she laughs. Roxas glares at them, resentful of their playful, teasing friendship.

Xion then asks, "So where did you meet Roxas? Even I haven't met Roxas and I've lived with Naminé for two years."

"Narcotics Anonymous meetings," Roxas says simply. "Did you know Axel is an addict, Xion?"

Axel looks at him, but it's not with anger or malice. It's amusement.

"Hey, let's go look at some more art," his dad suggests to change the subject.

"I'm going to find a bathroom," Roxas says. He doesn't wait for an acknowledgement before beelining for the gallery exit. Out in the lobby, he realizes he's been followed. He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is. "What do you want, Axel? Want to shake my dick off for me after I take a piss?"

Axel falls in stride beside him. "No, but if you're offering..."

Roxas stops. "I don't want to be friends with you," he firmly states.

Axel stops in front of him. "Why not?"

"Because you're a liar."

"I am?"

"You told me this sad story about your dead mom and dead granny and how you live all by yourself in your soulless apartment that no one goes into. You told me how you're just a lonely soul who eats fucking corn flakes and butter pasta. You made it sound like you're all alone in the world, but you're not. You have friends. You have Xion. You don't need to hang around some pathetic fuck-up."

"Exactly," Axel says simply, "I don't need to. But I want to. What's this really about, Roxas?"

"I... I don't know," he huffs.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you to figure it out. And when you do, you can unblock my number and let me know." He pulls a cigarette out from the front pocket of his jeans and heads for the exit.

"Wait," Roxas pitifully calls out to him. He stops and turns around. "Can I bum one?"

Axel holds out the cigarette to him and he takes it, following him out into the quad. They sit on a bench dedicated to some alumni who donated money fifteen years ago and he involuntarily shivers in the cold night air. Axel takes out another cig for himself and procures a lighter from his jacket pocket, beckoning Roxas in close so he can light both cigarettes at once. Roxas takes a long drag and exhales slowly.

"I didn't know you smoked," Axel comments.

"Yeah. Stopped when parents took all my money." He taps some ash off and takes another drag.

They sit in silence as they smoke. Another breeze rolls through and Roxas shivers again. Axel holds his cigarette between his lips as he unzips his jacket and peels it off of himself so he can drape it over Roxas's shoulders.

"Uh, thanks," he says.

"No prob. You look nice, by the way," Axel says. "I haven't seen you in anything but your ratty ass black hoodie. Blue looks really good on you, brings out your eyes."

Roxas clears his throat. "That's really gay," he says, but it's lighthearted. He looks down at his shoes. "Why are you so persistent, Axel?"

"I know this is going to sound fucking insane, but hear me out: I like you."

"Why? And don't say something retarded about me looking like a boy-band member or some boyfriend you had ten years ago."

"Dunno," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. He flicks his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk. "You ever just meet someone and feel a connection?"

Roxas flushes. "Yeah, I guess."

"Tell you what, you unblock my number and stop skipping meetings, and I'll consider whatever debt between us forgiven, okay?"

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Nope." He pops his lips on the 'p'.

"You're too nice to me," Roxas says, tilting his head back to look up at the dark, starless sky. "I'm an asshole to you."

"I get the feeling you're an asshole to everyone."

Roxas gives a noncommittal grunt.

"I know a way you can make it up to me," Axel impishly declares, "To make things even between us. A way to have all your sins forgiven."

He sits up straight. "Okay, and what could that possibly be?"

"Kiss me."

Roxas's heartbeat thumps in his ears. He thinks maybe he misheard. "W-what?"

"Kiss me," he repeats. "Come on, you've done worse for less. I won't even kiss back if you don't want me to."

"I...But...I can't..." Roxas stammers.

"What's the big deal? Sucking cock is fine but a single kiss isn't?"

Roxas doesn't answer. He can't. He doesn't want to admit to Axel that he's twenty-two and has never kissed anyone before. He doesn't want to explain that sucking dick as a bribe is a learned behavior. He doesn't want him to know that his only experience comes from what his cousin did to him. He tenses up and Axel notices.

"Hey, hey, relax. I'm fucking with you, relax."

But part of Roxas wants to kiss Axel. In the murk, Roxas looks at him; at his high cheekbones and pointed nose. At his shaved eyebrows and narrow chin. At his thin lips that hold a neutral expression as Axel looks at him back, trying to discern what he's thinking.

"C'mon, it's cold. Let's go back inside," Axel says, but before he can get up from the bench, Roxas leans forward and inelegantly mashes their lips together. Axel's lips are warm and soft and that warmth spreads to Roxas's own lips and radiates throughout his face and ears and down his spine. The sensation is overwhelming and Roxas pulls away before he combusts.

Axel remains still with his lips still slightly parted.

"There," Roxas says, dramatically wiping his mouth on his sweater sleeve and hoping his heartbeat couldn't be heard. "We're even."

"Roxas," Axel says softly, "I'm not trying to be mean or funny anything; but, uh, was that your first kiss?"

Instead of answering, Roxas gets up and darts back towards the Arts building with Axel's jacket still draped over his shoulders.

"There you are," Xion exclaims.

Axel hasn't moved from the bench and has instead opted to chain smoke the night away. "Yo," he says, giving her a nod. "Ready to go?"

"Number one: you left me, asshole." Xion crosses her arms. "Number two: are you fucking the little crackhead?"

He raises a brow. "Little crackhead? Are you talking about Roxas?"

"No, I'm talking about the other little crackhead who just left with his family wearing your jacket." She plops down next to him on the bench, where Roxas sat before. "As my friend, you're legally obligated to tell me if you're fucking my roommate's twin brother."

"No, I'm not fucking Roxas."

She slaps his shoulder. "And I didn't know you were some druggie. That would explain why you can stay awake during developmental psychology lectures at 8:30am, though."

"I don't do drugs," he says, "Aside from a recreational bump once in a blue moon or a Vicodin or something when I have a headache. I go to meetings to be supportive of my friend, much how you came here tonight to be supportive of yours. Anyway, c'mon, I'm tired. I worked a six-hour shift earlier and it was busy so they had me help bussing tables and running food."

"He is cute," Xion admits. "The whole brooding sad boy look. He looks like he listens to Linkin Park."

"He probably does. Can we go now?"

After Axel drops Xion off at her place, he heads home with the intentions of immediately crawling into bed. Up in his apartment, he peels off his jeans and shirt and faceplants his pillows. He rolls over and looks at the framed photograph of him and Ventus that he keeps on his nightstand. "Are you mad at me?" He asks the blonde.

He, of course, doesn't answer.

"He looks so much like you," he says with a sigh.

He hadn't really expected Roxas to kiss him. He figured Roxas would make a face and playfully call him a queer or something and they'd laugh it off and go back to how things were. Furthermore, he hadn't considered the possibility that Roxas had never even kissed anyone before and that he could be the first. And it's clear that he was the first, based on Roxas's hesitation, body language and blatant inexperience. It was objectively a bad kiss—Axel had a better kiss at the 6th grade formal with a girl who had orthodontic headgear and butterfly clips that he only kissed as a dare—and yet, the kiss with Roxas made him momentarily forget every bad thing in his life. He forgot about his mom wrapped up in a rug and his gran's amputated toes. He forgot about the crushing loneliness of his well-decorated apartment and the sight of Ventus hanging in their walk-in closet.

He just thought about Roxas. Roxas's lips. How nice Roxas looked in his blue sweater. How relieved he was that Roxas was okay. How good it made him feel that Roxas liked him.

Now his chest aches. He's overwhelmed with guilt. He feels guilty about moving on and guilty about not moving on. He feels guilty about lying, guilty about his motives. He feels guilty about taking Roxas's first kiss. He feels guilty that he didn't think about Ventus during said kiss. He feels guilty that he wants to kiss Roxas again, that he wants to touch Roxas, that he wants Roxas in the most carnal sense of the word.

His phone chimes from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He quickly jumps out of bed to retrieve it.

'Last friendly warning, Casanova,' the text reads. He deletes the message, like he's deleted the others, and gets back into bed. He has more important things to worry about than vaguely threatening texts from Larxene. After everything that's happened to him, he doesn't fear anything.