A/N: Being an adult is lame.

chapter six;
psychology 101

When the weekend rolled around it brought along lots of cold rain and thunderstorms. After sleeping in for what felt like the first time in a long time, I padded down the stairs at around one in the afternoon with my floral comforter wrapped around me like a cloak. I made my way to the living room, which had been spruced up and re-painted during one of my mornings at community service, and collapsed on the large sectional sofa with a sigh of contentment. The pristine new flat-screen beckoned and I grabbed the remote and put on some cartoons while kicking back with my feet on the ottoman. I fucking love Saturdays.

"Mr. Axel, I'm sorry but I've got to run the vacuum cleaner in here," the cleaning lady announced before the first commercial break, making her presence known as she dragged the Hoover in from the other room. She was a nice Eastern European lady who came by every day to putz around since the Henley's had too much money to do it themselves, but at that particular moment she was the devil for taking away my comfy.

"Hold on, Ivana, I'm going," I groaned, fighting gravity as I stood up. "Don't you get days off?"

She thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, but I work to take care of my family so I don't mind."

Usually, she makes my bed, but I decided to go up and do it myself because guilt is a cruel mistress.

The house was unusually quiet and upon further inspection it seemed that nobody was home. And it was weird to have the house to myself because I wasn't quite sure what to do without a sense of direction. I should've been enjoying it, but it felt lonely. Ivana was humming to herself as she cleaned and I didn't want to bother her with questions, and there was no phone so I couldn't call anyone. I paced through the house, which was all put back together thanks to an insurance claim, and wondered where everyone was. Kairi and Roxas were probably with friends or whatever extroverted rich kids did in all their spare time, and Mr. Henley ran a private practice. Anastasia, on the other hand, didn't do much of anything these days. Her book was still popular and making money, so she didn't have to do anything. She occupied her time with baking and sewing and other stupid 'mom' things while people wept at excerpts of her drug-addled early life.

As I was aimlessly wandering, I wondered what my endgame was. When my community service was up, what would I do? Where would I go? Back to Cesterfield to live with Ansem? Back to the same old shit as if nothing happened? This house, with its beautiful furniture and decorations straight out of a Bloomingdale's catalog, it would never be my home. And the Henley's would never be my family. I inspected their family photographs, none of them candid and instead against blue backdrops with fake smiles, and I wondered what I'd look like standing next to them.

Out of place.

If I could sum up my existence in just a few words, those would be them. What the fuck was I doing here?

I heard the front door open and close and I turned to see a very wet Roxas dropping a duffle bag to the floor as he shook the moisture from his hair. He shrugged out of his nylon jacket and hung it on the coat rack, grumbling to himself about the feeling of wet socks.

"Hey," I called out to him, meeting him in the foyer. We were on better terms, but he was still a moody little shit.

"Hey," he said in the midst of pulling his drenched t-shirt off.

I motioned towards his duffle bag. "You play sports?"

"Yeah, lacrosse." He kicked off his muddy cleats next. "We got rained out during practice, hence why I'm home so soon. Generally practice goes a little longer." He picked up his bag, shirt, and shoes and began shuffling up the stairs.

"I didn't do anything today. Actually, I woke up not too long ago. I wasn't really sure what to do," I admitted as I followed behind him. "I'm kind of hungry."

"Answers to questions I didn't ask. Just go eat something, lord knows some nourishment would do you good," he said blandly, clearly uninterested in maintaining a conversation with me.

I stopped mid-step, thinking back to my conclusion that I'd never be a part of their family. "Sorry to bug you," I grumbled, descending back down the stairs.

Roxas sighed and glanced at me from over his shoulder. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I just had a rough practice. Let me take a rinse and get changed and I'll meet you in the kitchen for lunch. Okay?"

About twenty minutes later, we sat at the breakfast table eating sandwiches that Ivana had prepared for us at Roxas's request. And even though we maintained a small conversation, I could tell his mind was somewhere else and I wasn't quite sure yet where our boundaries lied so I didn't know if it'd be acceptable to pry. He picked up his triangle of chicken salad sandwich and nibbled the corner absently.

"So," I said, "What do you usually do on the weekends?"

"This," he deadpanned.

"Pout?"

He dropped his sandwich back onto the plate and put his head in his hands. "No," he said, his voice muffled. "Play a sport I despise with people I despise."

"Then don't play anymore?" I offered. It was hard to imagine how distressing lacrosse could be when you're an in-shape rich kid.

He lifted his head back up at me and gave me a look that let me know that my solution was not an option, going as far as curling his lips into a scowl at my impudence to even suggest it. His attitude overrode his anguish, though, and he finished his sandwich without another word. It wasn't until I grabbed his empty plate and mine to take to the sink that he spoke again after giving me a bewildered look. "You know you don't have to do that, right? You can just leave it and Ivana will take care of it. It's what she does," he said, reminding me yet again what an over-privileged little snot he his.

"I have no problem with rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher myself. But then again, I'm just a poor boy who's used to this kind of hard labor."

I wasn't looking at him, but I could practically feel his eyes rolling.

"So what's next on the agenda, your highness? Gonna brood some more?"

I turned to him half-expecting a sassy retort, but he just shrugged his shoulders. "Probably. But I'll only have a couple hours to brood. After that, I have homework and studying." He kept a straight face and I couldn't tell if he was joking her not. We held each other's gaze for a little too long, and his poker face dissolved into a small smile. "I'm kidding, I'm probably going to play video games. But I was serious about the couple of hours thing. I really do have schoolwork."

"You play video games?" I asked, genuinely taken aback. "But that constitutes as actual leisure and fun."

"I play them on the weekends in my free time, yes. I am a teenaged boy in the 21st century. I had an Xbox, but it was stolen..." He narrowed his eyes at me. "But it's alright, I got a replacement. Do you like first-person shooters?"

"I mean, yeah. But do you? They're not very," air quotes, "mentally simulating", end air quotes. "Wouldn't you prefer to do long division or read the almanac or something?"

"Do you want to play with me or are you going to be a jerk some more?"

I smirked. "Oh, I'll play. Just don't be too upset when I win."

First-person shooters are my jam. Riku and I played them all the time. There's not much thought, just quick reaction times and graphic expletives about the other player's mom. But since Roxas's mom is my birth mom, I didn't exactly feel comfortable saying I dragged my testicles across her face as per FPS ritualistic convention. Not that I would've had an opportunity to do so, as I was too busy having my shit stomped in. We were in Roxas's room, split-screening a one-on-one death match that I was losing quite terribly, and I was getting red in the face from frustration as Roxas calmly headshot my character for the umpteenth time.

"This is fuckin' ridiculous!" I slammed the controller down on the bed while the death screen taunted me. "How are you so good?"

"It's a really simple game. You're just being too predictable."

"I'm predictable?" I scoffed.

"Relax, Axel." He set his controller down and playfully nudged my arm. "It's just a game. We'll play more often and you'll get better. I'll help you."

I recoiled my arm and shot him a nasty look. "I don't need your help, dork."

"I can't tell if you're actually upset or not."

"Of course I'm not," I said in a tone that clearly revealed that I was. I knew I was being childish, but it wasn't fair for him to be better than me at something that I should've been better at.

"Well, as much as I'd love to humor your childish antics, I should get to work."

My previous indignation dissipated and was replaced with impending loneliness. "Oh… Should I go?"

"You don't have to, but I can't entertain you. So you'll just be sitting here staring at the wall."

"Can I keep playing the game?" I asked, giving him the best kicked puppy face I could muster.

He cracked a slight smile, showing mean inkling of those childish dimples that are like water in the desert. "Yeah, sure. Just keep the noise to the minimum."

I have him a salute. "No problem, your highness."

And so it became a routine. I'd come home and we'd play a few rounds together and then I'd play by myself while Roxas did other things, and it made my time a lot less lonesome, and I'm sure Roxas felt the same way. Sometimes, Kairi would come in and spectate, but Roxas like to shoo her away to keep up the sitcom older brother/ younger sister dynamic. Anastasia was pleased as punch that we were bonding, and would express it on her way to drop me off and pick me up from community service.

"I was worried," she said one morning. "Roxas isn't always the easiest to get along with."

"He's alright," I responded, staring at my cuticles as if they'd ease the tension. "Nice kid, just a little uptight."

"He's always been a stubborn little boy, I think he gets that from me. And I think you got it, too."

"The only thing I got from you is some genes and a complex."

The rest of the ride and the rides proceeding were mostly silent.

A couple weeks later, after getting home and showering away the sweat of manual labor, I made my way to Roxas's room for our game, only to find him dejectedly staring out his bay window deep in thought. I figured he'd been there for a while, since he still had his tie and loafers on. "Hey, ground control to Major Tom," I said, and he visibly startled.

"Oh, hey Axel," he greeted half-heartedly. "I'm not really up for playing, but feel free to play by yourself."

"You alright, man? You seem a little bummed."

He shrugged.

"It might make you feel better to tell someone instead of letting it ferment into teen angst. Trust me," I said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "Is this about the rancid fart I ripped yesterday? I told you I was sorry!"

My attempt at lighthearted humor was lost on him. "Axel," he said, "You've been with lots of girls, right?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess?" I answered unsurely, not wanting to seem cocky. "Nothing too serious though. Why?"

"I don't know… I just… Girls are confusing."

"Ah, so you're having girlfriend troubles."

"She told me she had sex with someone else while she was intoxicated about a month ago, but swears it was a momentary weakness and that it'll never happen again. But infidelity is infidelity."

"Shit, man. I'm sorry." I couldn't imagine why a girl would be unfaithful to Roxas, a guy who was the whole package in regards to looks, wealth, and extracurriculars, but Roxas was right, women are confusing. Hell, people in general are confusing.

"But that's not even the issue," he sighed. "The issue is I'm not as bothered by it as I probably should be. I'm apathetic towards it, towards her."

"It sounds like the relationship is over, then."

"No, it's not. It can't be. My parents love her, her parents love me. We're perfect for each other, everyone says so. And she's a nice girl, very pretty and intelligent, and she comes from a good family. She's just a bit of a wild card and we have conflicting interests, but I think we harmonize each other. Does that make sense?"

"Honestly, Rox, I think you're both hanging on to this for the wrong reasons. Like I've said before, you're young. Act like it."

"But your definition of acting young is to have sex with every girl with a pulse. I was raised to appreciate monogamy and to be wary of unwanted pregnancies. I mean, look at you." After the words left his mouth, his eyes widened in realization of what he just said.

"Excuse me?"

"W-what I mean is… I just… I don't…" For the first time since I met him, Roxas stumbled over his words and was drained of all articulacy.

I crossed my legs and perched my folded hands on my knee. "Go on," I scoffed, curling my lip up in derision.

"I just don't want to end up in a situation where suddenly I'm unknowingly a father because I slept with a girl with questionable morals. No kid deserves to have an awful life because of their parents' bad decisions."

I wanted to be mad, but he was right.

When I was young, before being passed through the system, my mother would take me with her whenever she was going to sell herself. I distinctly remember holding her hand as she led me through roach-infested motel lobbies and would sit me in a chair near the front desk and tell me, "Now you sit here and don't move, okay? Mommy will be back soon." And after an hour or so, she'd return with a fresh coat of sweat and shame. Usually the person working the desk would pretend I didn't exist, like the small kid sitting alone while his mom was off getting fucked was in no way unusual, and given the quality of these motels, it probably wasn't. But one time there was a receptionist who took an unusual interest in me. He was an older man with a greasy comb-over and a worn tweed jacket and a little while after my mother disappeared he came over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, hey there, kiddo!" He said, rubbing my shoulder a little rougher than he probably realized. "How's it going?"

"Okay," I said, giving him a polite smile.

"Just okay?"

"Uh-huh, I'm waiting for momma. She said we're going to get ice cream."

"And you really like ice cream, I take it?"

I nodded.

"Well, what if I told you that I have ice cream in the back there?" He pointed to a door behind the front desk that I can only assume housed a staff bathroom or maybe storage. "Would you like some?"

I thought for a moment and then shook my head. "No thanks, momma tells me not to take things from strangers."

"But I'm not a stranger," he challenged. "You come here with your mom sometimes and she told me to keep an eye on you to make sure you're not getting into any trouble."

"Really?"

"Mhmm."

"Do you talk to momma a lot? Are you one of her special friends?"

He smiled at my childhood innocence. "We're friends, yes, but we're not special friends. I was thinking maybe you and me can be special friends."

"And special friends give you ice cream?"

"Yes! Exactly! You get it!" He ruffled my shaggy hair. "So what do ya say, kiddo?"

"Hmmm, okay!" I hopped off the chair and let him steer me towards the door behind the front desk. He was sweating profusely and anxiously licked his lips more times than I could count at that age. He fumbled around with a master key ring, trying to find the key to his pedophilic paradise, but his nervous excitement caused him to keep losing his place, and he had to start over as he checked each key's engraved number. And as soon as he found the one he was looking for, we both heard the bell over the front entrance that went off each time it was opened.

"Axel?" My mother called out when she didn't immediately see me in the chair she left me in.

"Over here with my new special friend, momma!" I called back, causing the receptionist to enter panic mode and start blathering to her about how leaving kids unattended was against the rules.

She quickly came up and grabbed me by the wrist and tore me away from him. "You're disgusting," she growled. "He's just a baby."

"He's really nice," I tried to tell her, not understanding why she was so upset, but she ignored me.

"I should report you!" She yelled as we walked out of the door. "You deserve to be castrated!"

And I have to wonder, if my mother hadn't finished early, if her customer hadn't ejaculated so soon, just where would I be today? The fate of my younger self's psyche and dignity rested in her customer's penis, and if that isn't fucking wild, then I don't know what is.

"Hey Anastasia," I said the next morning at breakfast in between a bite of French toast.

There was a collective clanking of forks being dropped on plates as everyone stopped eating and looked at me, anticipating what I had to say to the woman who birthed me and pretended I didn't exist for twenty years. "Yes, Axel?" She said, trying not to look taken aback as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Do you remember the time I was almost molested at that motel when I was like four years old?"

Dead silence. I gathered that it was probably taboo to reminisce about the days when she wasn't the successful suburban matriarch she is today. She cleared her throat into her cloth napkin and looked at me with what I could only assume was shame.

"Axel," Mr. Henley spoke up when no one else did, "If you ever need to talk about it, I'll lend an ear."

My attempts of being a smart-ass backfired.

A bit later, as I was sitting at the bottom of the stairs putting on my sneakers, Kairi came over and sat next to me, straightening her pleated skirt so it wouldn't wrinkle. "Hey, Axel? Do you hate mom?"

There was a guilty pang in my chest unlike anything I'd ever felt before. "No…" I murmured.

"I mean, we all know what she was like before." She looked down at her patent leather Mary Janes. "Everyone in the country knows."

I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off.

"But everyone has things they're not proud of, right? She just doesn't hide it, she wears it on the outside because she overcame it. I just wish she told us about you sooner. You're so tall and cool." Kairi gave me a big smile, not looking unlike her brother. "I'm glad you're here. I think we all are. You were meant to be here with us."

It's so emasculating to be brought to near tears by a fourteen year old girl, yet there I was trying to blink back the liquid pooling in my tear ducts. "I'm pretty glad I'm here too, Kai," I said, patting her on the head. She graciously shoved my hand away, telling me not to mess up her hair. I slung my arm around her shoulders instead.

"Since you're such a cool older brother," she said, "I'll give you some ammunition towards Roxas."

"Oh?"

"He plays the clarinet. But he'll do it in the garage when no one's around because he's embarrassed. He's pretty bad at it."

"Ouch, remind me not to let you in on my insecurities," I joked. She laughed and stood up just as Roxas rounded the corner and raised his eyebrow at our exchange. "Have a good day at school, kids! Be good! Don't get pregnant!" I bid them as they flounced out the door with schoolbags in tow.

Anastasia stepped past me on the stairs and shot me a warm smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah."

We walked to the garage and got into her red BMW. As soon as we were settled in, she turned to me and said, "I want to help you, but I don't know how."

"I thought housing me and pretending like everything is normal was your way of helping?"

"You know what I mean. I want us to get along. I want you to look at me and not see who I was, but who I am today. I want you to be happy, Axel. You of all people deserve it."

"So you do remember that day at the motel?"

"Of course I do! That's when I truly realized how toxic it was for you to be with me. I didn't know how to be a mom and I held a lot of resentment, but I knew I wanted you to be safe and warm and not go to bed hungry because I couldn't afford food and drugs and often picked the latter. You deserved better, Axel. And I did the right thing by giving you up."

"That's a fucked up thing to do to your kid. And it's even more fucked up to maintain that it was the right thing to do. Look at me, Ana, does it look like the system treated me well?"

"What I did to you still haunts me to this day. But I knew if you stayed with me, we both probably would've wound up dead. I will always stand by the belief that giving you up was the best decision I ever made. And, honestly Axel, I think you turned out a lot better than you would have with me. Look at you, you're handsome and intelligent, even if you try to hide it, and you have a good heart. I can see it in your eyes."

"My father's eyes," I corrected. At the mention of the mystery man who blessed her with the miracle of life, she tightly gripped the steering wheel and a vein in her neck throbbed. I watched her curiously as she kept her eyes on the road with a faraway expression. But then it faded as quick as it came and she glanced at me placidly.

"You're wrong," she said, "You don't have his eyes."

My brows furrowed. "No?"

"Yours are beautiful and kind, and they're uniquely you. I've made the mistake of seeing his eyes in yours, but I'll never make that mistake again."

I wanted to ask about what she meant, but instead I kept my trap shut and reveled in the warmth of the moment until we pulled into the park parking lot.

"Axel," she said as I was getting out, "Forgive me for being forward, but I want you to do something for me."

"Yes?" I replied, suspicion evident in my body language. "Please don't tell me you're dying and you need a kidney or something."

"No, no, God forbid," she clamored, putting her hand to her chest as if the thought gave her agita. "No, what I want you to do is talk to James. As you know, he's a psychiatrist, and I really think he can help you. He really helped me in my time of need."

"Gross, Ana. I'm not going to bang your husband."

Not yet used to my crassness, she looked absolutely mortified. She opened her mouth to stammer out some sort of defense, but I laughed it off and told her I'd talk to Mr. Henley for her sake, even though I didn't believe in whatever psychological mumbo-jumbo they taught him in his ten years at med-school.

She unwound and gave a tight-lipped smile that exemplified her strong cheekbones. "Thank you. Have a nice day, alright?"

"Yeah, you too," I said, and I was about to close the car door when she murmured something I couldn't quite hear. "What was that?" I leaned in and asked her, and she looked at me with evident guilt.

"I said I love you, Axel."

"I love you, too, mom," I said, unsure if I meant it or not.

Since my younger formative years, there's always been a group of people I hated with unnecessary intensity. With their hidden condescension, wide-eyed pity, and fake empathetic smiles as they scribble things on their legal pad like, "highly attention seeking but otherwise withdrawn", "prone to violent outbursts", and "insecure". When you're a kid of the system, you're going to know your counselors and caseworkers better than your caregivers, and they never fail to remind you just how broken and abnormal you are. There's a myriad of psychological disorders that are par for the course when you're in the system; depression, abandoned child syndrome, oppositional defiance, social anxiety, sociopathic tendencies, the list goes on and on, and your counselors, despite being nothing more than barely-qualified social workers who maybe took AP Psych in high school, are tasked with preventing you from becoming a mass murder or a suicide statistic.

But at the end of the day, they don't care about your or your feelings or your happiness, they care about their paycheck. And the same goes for therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. They'll sit and listen to your problems, but only to diagnose, counsel, and/or treat you as quick as they can to get you out of the door. And as you got older, you start to wonder how much they say holds any validity. When I was in high school, they told me I was depressed, but I certainly didn't feel depressed until they tried to treat me for it. I became attention-seeking because they told me I already was. My violent outbursts didn't start until they told me I was prone to them.

"Maybe you just became acutely aware of these issues when they were brought to your attention," Mr. Henley said to me as I rambled on about my suspicions of his field. We were sitting in his office, which was a cozy room on the first floor of the house that I never bothered to peek into because I assumed it was another coat closet or bathroom. There was a big mahogany desk and a leather sofa and bookshelves that didn't hold a speck of dust. On the walls were his various credentials; degrees, licenses, awards. The room itself was small and dim and cold, but it felt safe.

"Or they fed me bullshit," I said, staring up at the stucco ceiling to avoid eye contact. "Like, I'm sure you make a killing with your practice, but how many unnecessary pills and treatments have you prescribed? How many people have you misdiagnosed? Your doctorate gives you a free pass to fuck with people's brain chemistry however you see fit."

"When you take the Hippocratic Oath upon becoming a physician, you're making a promise to not harm anyone, and most of us take that very seriously, Axel. It has always been my duty to help people. That's why I got into this field. Psychiatry and psychology are often mocked because mental illness is usually invisible and easily disregarded. I want to break the stigma and heal people. Any harm I've unintentionally caused is quickly rectified. I wouldn't be a practicing psychiatrist for twenty years if I didn't."

"Does the Hippocratic Oath cover sexual relations with patients?"

I expected my comment would upset him, but he just chuckled. "You're talking about An—" He cleared his throat. "Your mother." I wanted to know his thoughts on the situation, how he felt about learning she had a son and never mentioned it in any point during the years. Was he resentful? I wanted to ask him, but he wasn't the one on psych trial. "She wasn't my patient when we started dating. But I suppose many would find it unethical to form a relationship with even a past patient. But, enough about me and my career, I want to hear more about you."

"Why? Because Ana told you to listen to my sob story and fix all the damage she's done?"

From his chair on the other side of the desk, he leaned back and folded his hands, his interest piqued. I realized I fell into his trap. "If you want to tell me, I will listen. I've become very proficient at being unbiased. And everything you say to me will be confidential."

"Wouldn't you rather be at your fancy doctor office talking to patients you can make money off of?"

"Like I said, Axel, I went into this field with prospects that didn't involve money. You are someone who seems like they have a lot to say, and I will sit and listen until you don't want to talk anymore. You're a member of this family now, you're a priority."

"Do you do this to Roxas and Kairi, too?"

"Only if they want it," he said simply.

"And what if I don't want it?"

"Then you can get up and walk away, no one is forcing you to talk to me. I won't be upset, your mother won't be upset. This is entirely up to you."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, really. But no thanks. I've talked to enough shrinks over the years and it hasn't done me a bit of good."

"Alright, Axel. Just remember you can talk to me, alright?"

I stood from the leather sofa and was about to leave, but I turned around and saw Mr. Henley looking at me like a real person, not like charity case or someone to be pitied, but a complex human being. His blond hair was faded and lacking sheen, and his blue eyes, framed by crow's feet, exuded aged wisdom, but he shared so many similarities with Roxas. Once upon a time ago, he had probably been boyish and baby-faced, too. I wondered what Roxas's birth mother looked like, what features he inherited from her gene pool.

Mr. Henley had lost a wife, a fact I often forgot. Does he love Anastasia more than he had loved her? Does he ever look at Roxas and remember the love he once shared in order to create him? Does he still miss her?

Who psychoanalyzes the psychoanalyst?

"Something on your mind?"

"You've known about me, haven't you?" I asked him.

He didn't say anything, but his hesitant expression spoke the truth.

I walked out the door before any more words could be exchanged, making my way up to Roxas's room. It was late afternoon, and usually Roxas was home by then, but his bedroom was empty. I wasn't usually one for snooping without cause, but my thoughts were racing and I needed a distraction, so I began to poke around his belongings. Everything was neatly organized in drawers and on shelves and none of it was incriminating. Typical Roxas. I took to his closet, pushing around boxes of useless shit like old textbooks and shoes. I was hoping to find something interesting, like a pickled fetus or an inflatable sex doll or something, but Roxas was as boring as he seemed.

After failing to find a suitable distraction, I flopped onto his bed with an audible sigh.

Mr. Henley knew about me. He's probably known since the beginning. Why didn't he intervene? With all of his knowledge of brains and psychological consequence, why didn't he warn her of the damage her abandonment was inflicting? When they were living comfortably and starting their family, did no one remember there was a boy out there without one? I was just a little kid who was thrown to the wolves, and they both turned their backs on the carnage. But now that the wounds have scabbed over and scarred, they'll pretend like they've cared all along. Because that's how you fix selfish guilt without the effort of fixing the cause.

I must've dozed off, because the next time my eyes opened, the room was no longer illuminated by the sun and there was a warm quilt on top of me. I blinked to adjust my eyes and sat up, my back creaking with the symphony of a lifetime of bad posture. Basking in the faint glow of a computer screen, Roxas was hunched over at his desk, chewing his bottom lip raw, his eyes unblinking as his fingers moved across the keyboard with an obnoxious persistent click, clack, click. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he'd notice I was awake, but after a whole minute without even a glance in my direction, I let out a loud groan and startled him.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed, clutching his chest. He calmed and swiveled his chair so he was facing me. "You're awake."

"Uh, yeah." I pushed the quilt off of me and flung my legs over the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to fall asleep in your bed, dude. I'm really fuckin' sorry. You coulda kicked me awake or something."

"It's fine. You looked like you needed the sleep." I flushed at the gesture, mostly because I figured Roxas was incapable of consideration. "You missed dinner though," He added before turning back to his computer and resuming what he was doing, clearly not thinking as much into it as I was.

"You alright? You look more dead-eyed than usual."

"I'm just typing out a study guide for myself." He picked up a worn spiral notebook by his laptop and presented it to me. "I'm using my notes and the source material to create a fail-proof study system. Finals are coming up and I need to be prepared."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really need to do all that? You seem like a smart kid. I'm sure finals will be a cakewalk for you."

"Hardly. I need to ace every final if I want to maintain my 5.0 GPA. Colleges are going to be looking at me under a microscope. I've already been accepted into a few decent schools, but I need to get into an Ivy League. Do you know what that takes?" He ranted. "I've already been rejected by several, so I need to give it my all. I need this."

"Whoa, relax, breathe. Why do you need to go to a prissy Ivy League? You going to university at all is pretty impressive. Before you know it, you're going to be a soulless little man in a suit on Wall Street wishing you spent your high school years having fun."

He dig the heels of his hands into his sockets and dragged them down his face with a sounds I could only equate to a dying animal. "You don't understand. I have to be perfect."

"As cliché and gross at it feels to say it, Roxas; nobody's perfect."

"But I have to be. Model student, model son. I have to play sports and instruments and smile and keep my loafers scuff-free. I have to balance school with relationships and extra-curricular activities while making sure I remember to swallow the pills that keep me sane." As soon as he let those last words fall out, the look on his face was a giveaway that he not mean to share that tidbit of information."

"Pills?" I asked him.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, going back to his notes and study guide.

"Does your dad prescribe you pills?"

"Drop it, okay?" He spat. "It's legitimate. I need them."

"What do you take?"

"Why do you care?" He growled through gritted teeth. "What were you even doing in my room earlier? You have your own bed to sleep in."

"Well, I came to see if you were home so we can play video games but then I laid on your bed and I fell asleep. Your bed is hella comfy. I'm jealous."

"Of all the things to be jealous about…" He trailed off, his demeanor softening. "It's memory foam. It helps with my back."

"Oh man, your bed is going to remember my ass forever."

Roxas cracked a smile and got up from his computer chair. He stretched and plopped down on the bed next to me. "I'm sure you can talk to mom about getting a memory foam mattress for you bed. And probably a TV and a game console, too."

"Then I'll have absolutely no reason to come into your room. You'll miss me."

He turned his face to me and gave me a boyish half-grin. I held his gaze, looking into his tired eyes that looked particularly murky in the dim light. He had a crooked tooth that I hadn't noticed before which looked out of place among his mouthful of perfect other teeth. I wanted to ask him about it, but before I could, I noticed his face inching closer to mine. I briefly thought it was all in my head, but that thought was cut short by a pair of lips aggressively moving against mine in what I could only describe as desperation. I instinctively shoved him away, my body numb with shock.

He looked just as bewildered as I did.

"What—" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"I… I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry. I'm stressed out and exhausted."

My mouth, still insensate, was hung agape as I tried to process what happened. "Roxas…"

"Just go," he spat, like I did something wrong. "Get out of my room."

"Roxas, we should talk about this," I said softy, like I was trying to coax a kitten from under a bed. "You're gay, aren't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Axel. I have a girlfriend. I like girls.

"But you—"

"Go!"

I shuffled off the bed, my legs not working in tandem with my brain, which was a flurry of thoughts and emotions. I wanted to push the issue, but I didn't want Roxas to lose his head over it. I wanted to convey to him that it wasn't a big deal, that I wasn't going to hold anything against him because I was horny confused teenaged boy at one point in time, too. But I'm not so good with words and Roxas needed space to resolve his own issues, so I walked out the door and closed it behind me.