Hot Topic's morning security feed speeds across the screen, and Axel feels both disappointed and relieved that it's about as eventful as a commercial for laundry detergent. He begins to suspect Vanitas had been bull shitting him after all, and allows his eyes to wander, his idle, tapping fingers to flip his phone over as a notification from Demyx pops up.

Axel hasn't spoken to him since their argument the other day, but Demyx is not one to hold a grudge forever, especially when something important crops up.

Axel taps the notification and a video plays—Demyx, dressed in athletic shorts, filming from erratic angles and dancing through the bubbles where the ocean meets the sand. Xigbar's German Shepherd, Delilah, frolics at his side, splashing bits of water at the lens as Demyx's giggles intersperse with the dog's delighted yips.

"Hey there, Delilah," Axel croons through a grin, thumb skimming the side of the screen. He can almost smell the saltwater and damp fur as something by The Beach Boys desecrates his phone speaker, grainy, as it's likely—absolutely—playing from Demyx's.

Chasing the incoming tide, Delilah slips through Demyx's bare legs, her braided leather leash tangling around Demyx's ankles as she prances. This unceremoniously knocks him down into the warm bed of sand. Demyx shrieks and laughs as her enormous paws and nose dampen the chest of his cutoff Life is Good tank top.

Definitely more important than our argument about Saïx.

The video ends abruptly as Demyx fumbles his device, and Axel raises his head, cackling, and almost misses it all.

On the computer screen, Roxas hovers over Vanitas who is sprawled on the ground, arms clutching his gut, a mite melodramatically, in Axel's opinion—like a dying actor.

Wait. Roxas hovers over what?

Axel hits pause and rewind so fast the mouse falls off the table and the keyboard clatters.

The fuck?

Axel has been told he has a temper. That temper has been described as many things. Fiery. Explosive. Volcanic.

It's not a quick temper by any means, though he has a reputation for that, too. He tends to let things roll off his shoulders like rain water on bare skin, to deal with them with clever remarks and keep his face artfully unphased.

But seeing Vanitas corner Roxas behind the register, unheard poison rising up from his sneer, Axel feels an unprecedented surge of cold in the pit of his stomach.

Anger, yes, but more than that…

Like, when Vanitas winds his arm back to take a swing, Axel hates himself for not being there, for not making Xigbar drive a little faster, because he wants nothing more than to step between Roxas and that swing. Axel wants to take the force into his own rib cage and give Vanitas a light shove. Over the counter. Onto his face.

Axel watches Vanitas wind up on Roxas and watches Roxas notice, his dark-lashed baby blues widening, and all Axel wants to be seeing is Vanitas with blood dripping from his nose and pooling on his upper lip, and all Axel feels is cold.

So, I'm pretty much a fucking psychopath now, I guess.

The cold turns frigid as Roxas catches Vanitas' punch with all the effort of a child batting down a snowball.

Axel's jaw dips low a moment after Vanitas' does and then—holy shit— the dumbass does it again, and Roxas catches it just as easy, no surprise, no amusement, just vague irritation on his face. He could almost be channel surfing, almost be bored.

Meanwhile, Axel's stomach seems to have dropped out, leaving just that cold feeling crystalizing.

Axel's knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the desk. The chill in his torso numbs his legs. He tastes blood in the back of his throat.

Axel can only watch with his jaw half hanging open, as Roxas shoves Vanitas backwards. He hears a snarl rise up in his own throat, his fingernails digging into the underside of the desk, as Vanitas tries to take Roxas to the floor and then—

"Fucking hell."

A hard, well placed jab and Roxas puts Vanitas on the ground, and straightens, unruffled, innocent looking as ever, like some kind of avenging angel.

Well. If avenging angels wore khakis. Who the fuck takes somebody out wearing hipster glasses and khakis, though? Really?

Mildly hysteric laughter clogs Axel's throat and then pours out until he's got his head hanging back over the desk chair and tears at the corners of his eyes. All the tension in his body ebbs away and he unclenches the desk, spinning away from the screen where the guys are, miraculously, making nice.

Axel's pretty sure this security footage is simultaneously the single most badass, most ridiculous, and most sexy thing he has ever seen.

And suddenly Roxas makes sense. It's like Axel had been missing a piece of his window, had been looking at it upside down, and now he gets it.

Roxas—small, unassuming Roxas with his Renaissance-angel blonde hair and innocent, ocean blue eyes—Roxas, whose entire essence seems to say 'pick me up and cuddle me'—could probably kill a man while blindfolded using just a stick.

And Vanitas had found out first hand.

Welp.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

What Axel wouldn't give to know what that conversation had been about.

Of course, Axel continues to ponder, if Saïx were to see it they'd both be completely screwed.

Oh. Shit.

Remembering what he's doing here, Axel heaves a sigh, bites away his smile and keys number 7 in his speed dial. It's only once the phone's ringing that he realizes he doesn't have a clue what to say.

"Is somebody dead?" Saïx asks upon picking up, in his signature, unamused deadpan. Axel can almost picture him hiding out in a nondescript, gray side hallway not far from Hot Topic's conference room, standing next to an exotic, plastic plant in a tastefully hideous vase.

Axel knows better than to expect a greeting, especially not today, but he's almost thrown into another fit of laughter by Saïx's unexpected remark. "That's a better guess than you think it is."

Saïx grunts, words fast and clipped with irritation, "Because in five minutes Xemnas is giving one of his endless, grandiose speeches, and unless somebody is literally dead, I'm going to need you to handle it."

And therein lies the problem. Axel tosses up an open palm out of habit, "How do you want me t—"

"However you see fit," Saïx interrupts.

Axel chuckles, for real this time. "Oh, you are going to regret that."

"Darling," Saïx says painstakingly slowly, like he'd like to choke him, and is practicing enormous self-restraint, "we've been at this a long time. I trust you. Take care of it."

Possibilities flicker through Axel's head, none of which Saïx would particularly appreciate, but… "Okay." Axel shrugs, though, of course, Saïx can't see it. "Consider it taken care of."

Saïx sighs in relief, probably. "Thank you."

Axel glances to Roxas on the frozen security screen again, shaking Vanitas' hand with about as much trust as one might give a hooded stranger in a dark alley. "Don't thank me just yet."

"I'll be sure to purchase a six-foot shovel on my way home."

Axel can hear Saïx's eye roll.

"Bye."

Saïx has hung up before Axel can reply.

"However I see fit," Axel mumbles, and then he finds himself grinning.

Author's Note: Please consider faving or leaving a review. It's very motivating and it encourages other people to read my work. Also if you have any questions or comments: I'd love to answer them!