"If we deny love
that is given to us,
if we refuse to give love because we
fear the pain of loss,
then our lives will be empty, our
loss greater."
-- Tanis HalfElven from the
Dragonlance saga
------
Axel x Roxas
The Sacred Somebody
------
The human personality is much like a box of assorted chocolates. You never know what flavor you got until that first bite.
Roxas was about to find out Axel's flavor by what sort of pizza he was ordering. For one thing, Roxas had pizza only twice in his life – once for helping a mother shepherd her children across the street and twice because a kindly old man bought it for him when he was loitering around the place. Kind of pathetic considering the average teenager eats about one fourth of his weight in pizza a year.
This was bound to be interesting.
Their short midget-y red-haired waiter went off into a chatter when they first walked into the door.
"Heeeyyyyy, AXEL! Oh my 'effing god! I don't believe it!" The shorty was gawking at Axel for an awfully long time. He scurried over and hugged Axel as old friends do. Pulling away, he looked Axel up and down, stroking his scraggy goatee and smirking. "You're back! You're finally back!"
Axel shrugged. "Nah, not for long."
"But why? Axie, baby, you just came to the city for pizza? Yeah right."
"Actually…" Axel returned the smirk. "Yeah."
The short man had the look of shock as if he had been slapped. "No no no. This is business, ya? You come home to tie up loose ends and wipe off your slate with the Boss?" The stranger seemed happy at the curious statement. "Right? Right?"
Axel didn't look pleased. "Listen, Joe, buddy," He touched the man's shoulder in a friendly manner. "I only came home to enjoy the pleasures it has to offer, one of those being Joe's Pizza Palace and Diner's Super Supreme."
The shorty redhead tore his shoulder away from Axel and viciously gestured to Roxas. "And what is with the kid, huh? What is he, some palooka you adopted or…or bastard son?"
Axel glanced at Roxas who seemed offended and confused. "Hell no he's not my son. He's my good friend…right, Roxas?" He offered a smile to help ease the pain of the moment for both of them.
Joe frowned, eyeing them suspiciously. Roxas grew uncomfortable under Joe's inspection.
Joe seemed annoyed at Roxas' silence.
"Hey, blondie, you got somethin' to say?"
Roxas cleaned up his act, switching confusion for indignation. "Yeah. Cram a breadstick in that cavity factory you call a mouth and shut the fu—"
"Alright alright, Roxas. Roxas, calm down. Calm down. Stay cool. Put out the fire, yo," Axel fanned Roxas with a motion of his hand. "We came here to have pizza, not an insult fest with old…coworkers, if I may."
Joe crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. "Whatever, Axe. Come on, I'll take you to your seats," He profusely snatched two menus off the podium at the front of the restaurant and ushered them through the dim and empty dining space to a booth by the window.
Axel offered Roxas to sit down first before sitting across from him.
Joe immediately went back to business. He took out a notepad and pen from the front pouch on his apron and whistled. "'Kay so, what for drinks?"
Axel smiled mysteriously. "You know me, Joe."
"Big, tall and frosty?"
"Name it."
"Right, so that's an ice-cold glass o' milk and what for the little lady?" Joe sneered at Roxas hatefully.
Man! What's with people giving me that look today! Sheesh! thought Roxas.
Roxas' face twisted with anger and he acidly replied, "I'm a guy, you retard. Give me a glass of Coke, short, ugly and stupid."
"Uh-huh, water with lemon for princess. Alright, back in a few for your order," Joe hurried off with the notepad without another word towards the kitchen. As soon as he was out of earshot, Roxas let his opinion be known.
"Fucker," His upper lip pouted and twitched in distaste, his eyebrows furrowing. He crossed his arms and laid them on the table.
"Relax, hombre, he's like that to everybody," Axel nonchalantly browsed through the menu, not finding anything he liked.
"So what's his problem then?"
"Joe and I used to be pals in…my former occupation, we'll say. He's the owner of this diner-slash-pizzeria and he's kinda bitter about my leaving the team," Axel tried to calm Roxas down with a consoling smile, but the boy was still sour. "Look, don't let him get to you. I'll bet fifty you can kick his ass without breaking a sweat."
"Joe's his name, eh?" Roxas' eyes narrowed to hard granite slits; Axel thought about Demyx for a brief second. "He's got himself more than he can handle messing with me."
Roxas and Demyx: Long lost brothers, Axel thought playfully.
"Yeah, yeah, Roxas. Don't let the heat melt your common sense," said Axel, "You still need brain cells to shoot ninja at the arcade."
"Sure, whatever," Roxas muttered, rather cold with his words. He picked up the menu and started skimming over his options.
Axel patted Roxas' wrist. "Cheer up pal. Later I hold, you punch."
Roxas smiled at the thought. "Promise?"
"Yep. Cross my fingers and hope to die…"
"Just don't stick a needle in your eye," Roxas finished, receiving a chuckle from Axel. He forgot all about the accusations of him being a woman.
Roxas was hoping the owner would have been more courteous to his customer but apparently grudges were more important than credit, cash, debit, and check. The way Joe glared at him reminded him of that one lady, Larxene. Both of them regarded him as nothing more than Axel's well-fed tick, bad trash, pond sludge, a thorn in their side. The hateful glimmer that told Roxas to not get in the middle of whatever's going on between them and Axel. It was like getting caught in the crossfire of a war – He was bound to get shot.
Roxas frowned slightly. "What's our budget?"
"Ah-wuh?" Axel was busy entertaining himself by twirling the salt and pepper shakers across the table without spilling. Unfortunately his finger slipped and the container of salt rolled across the table over to Roxas, tapping him on his elbow.
"How much am I allowed to spend?" Roxas rephrased, watching grains of salt sprinkle the table.
Axel hastily picked up the salt shaker. He innocently swept the salt off to the floor.
"Order whatever you want. Joe gives me an extra discount every time," Axel replaced the condiments to their proper places on either side of the napkin holder. "I'm getting pizza. You can have some of mine, or order your own, or get something other than pizza. Enjoy yourself, Roxas."
"But I can't decide."
"Then I suggest the Chili Cheese fries. Two types of extra, extra cheese all melted on top and through an order of small, medium, or large fries; Topped with Joe Specialty Chili that's made from his grandmother's homemade recipe. For an extra fifty-cents you can add other things like pepperoni, black olives, onions, and so on. It's big enough to stuff one person and feeds up to three people at once," Axel spouted quickly, ending with a smile. "If you don't eat it all, you can get a doggie bag and take it with us back home."
Roxas loved chilidogs and the fries sounded not much different. He nodded, his lips pursed. He was clearly impressed. "Sounds good to me."
Joe wasn't very hopping with customers that day. The diner had been fairly dead since they opened at eleven. He let a bunch of his workers off the clock a few hours earlier than usual. But even if he was the only one running the ovens that day, it shouldn't have taken him as long as it did to get Axel's and Roxas' drinks.
It's because Joe was caught up in a cell-phone conversation.
"The Con Man is back from the Dark, and he brought his amoretto with him."
There was chatter from the other end of the line.
"Do as necessary…" A voice drawled in a whisper. "Make sure there's nothing left of his tab. We want him home, now don't we?"
An order. From the top.
Joe knew why Boss wanted Axel back. Back in the day, Axel was skilled with his tongue; He could talk himself out of any situation in a matter of seconds by faking emotions and really working up the conversation. He was an excellent manipulator by nature when it came to negotiations of all sorts, from discussing release terms of prisoners to swapping badinage with rival gangs.
Axel was a nifty little fox through out. His actions and reputation alone were his resume to anyone looking to buy his services. Unlike his fellow gangsters, Axel played it more like a mercenary, a kind of jack of all trades. One would acquire his cell-phone number from an underground source and call him for gigs.
Missions depended on Axel's style. He could pop a safe in seconds and pick any lock with a needle, hairpin, or his own pocketknife. Axel was incredible when it came to the tales on how he evaded the cops by jumping off buildings down to the city streets without breaking his grace like a stunt man on the set of a movie. Some tales told of how Axel hopped roofs to lose the police chasing them, and then dodge-rolled off the side into a window two stories down. With not so much as a scratch Axel escaped and disappeared, like he was never even there.
Axel had many names on the streets. "Mad Dog," "Ace," "Ghost," "Axe," "Razer" and "the Con" were only a few slightly unofficial names. None of them reflected his true abilities. His highlights especially, Joe remembered, were stealth missions on enemy territory.
Only once had Joe and Axel been assigned to the same gig and he would never forget it. Axel was beyond belief. Joe's memory vividly depicted Axel, dressed in black with a dark purple trenchcoat (Axel said to "kill them with their colors"), stalking around with silent steps around the lit windows, .45 poised in his hands. Him and Joe had been sent out retrieve the Boss' little sister, Tristie, whose (ex) boyfriend ended up being the leader of the rival gang's male mistress.
"Joe, you got my back?" Axel whispered. Chills shot through Joe's spinal column.
"Yeah, I got ya," Joe got out his own semi-automatic and cocked it for good luck.
Axel smirked. He kissed the trigger of his gun. "It's showtime, baby,"
When Joe turned to ask a question about their entry point and plan, Axel was already gone. Joe's heart choked him. He was alone. Now he had to do the rest of the mission by himself.
"Lazy bastard…"
Joe cursed low and then went on his way to the front door of the warehouse. Suprisingly no one was guarding it, but Joe was not worried about that. He was more afraid about what was on the otherside.
He breathed deeply. "Dear sweet Mary and Jesus…"
He fortified himself and then kicked the door's locks with all of his might (a practice copied from Axel). The door exploded open with spectacular effects, links of chain spraying the air and clinking to the ground. Joe rushed forward, his gun in front of him like a dangerous shield. His heart pumped viciously as the adrenaline spilled into his blood stream.
"Alright, ya grubby bastards, hands off the girl and no one's paying medical charges!" Joe shouted, trying to sound heroic despite the facts the tallied up against it.
Six men in purple and black suits, surrounding a gagged and bound teen they had tied to a support beam, all turned hell-burning eyes at Joe. Their heartless gazes ripped the lining out of Joe's stomach with sudden terror, the acid eating him inside. Joe forgot to breathe for little more than a second and he suddenly felt the urgency of needing to move, to escape. He had to do something, fast. But what? What to do, what to do…. He started panting with the moment.
All of the men whipped out their guns from their belts. Very soon Joe was staring down the business ends of six .45 pistols. All of the men cocked their pistols at once.
"You move, you die," One of the men spoke in a hallowed, dead voice.
Joe panicked. He no longer had any control of the situation. He began to sweat and spout gibberish. His aim shook wildly as his eyesight blurred with tears. His stomach churned and lurched. He had to move. Do something. Pull the trigger. Scream. Something! He could not just lay down for these people. There was a mission, a person to save… However, that alone was not the bulletproof vest he required at that moment.
He was going to die. He felt the terror rushing through his veins.
"Ahhh, Mr. Steele. Pleasantly dropping by for a visit?" A man in a black and purple pin-strip suit stepped out from behind two of the biggest henchmen. Joe knew that distinct sheen on the man's long waist length black hair, a soulless flicker twinkling in his crimson-hazel eyes. With a cold smile he got out his handgun and cocked it, pointing it at Joe.
"Let Tristie go!" Joe tried to get his "hero" voice back. The one time in a lifetime to play the hero, and he was scared witless. Life just was not very nice that way.
The black-haired man looked unshaken, eyes like cold iron. "Oh? You are the one Boss sent to save his precious little sister? Joey Steele?" He asked mockingly, looking around. "You're not a ghost, Joey."
Did he mean Axel? How the hell...! Does he know?
"I'm not but you'll be, Franklin Donnatelli!" Joe aimed afresh at Donnatelli's heart, wishing he carried more than one pistol and had more than two arms at the time.
Donnatelli chuckled heartlessly. "I think not. If anyone's dying it's you and Ms. Tristie over here," His lackeys moved to show the Boss' younger sister. Joe could tell she had been through a lot. She had bruises and was bleeding out the side of her mouth. Her clothes were torn in plenty of places to show that there had been a struggle. He saw that her tear-stained face with watering blue eyes and disheveled red hair proved that she had been through too much for a young girl her age.
Donnatelli grinned as he walked slowly towards Tristie. He seized her face by her chin brutally, his sharp unrefined fingernails cutting into her skin. "This bothersome little flower has caused me enough pain and suffering than I can endure. She stole my boyfriend—dear sweet Lucian—costing me my only pleasurable company. Lucian betrayed me and gave her all of my secrets, which she then told her older brother...and here we are today," He pursed his lips slightly and he turned Tristie's face to his. "You see my good man, the enormity of her sins can never be repaid… Except…" He pointed the gun up and at Tristie's bottom jaw.
Tristie shrieked in her gag, eyes quivering of pure hysterical terror.
"By her blood!" Donnatelli laughed maniacally. His eyes showed hell, his pupils shrunken and lightless with the fringes of insanity. He tilted his head towards Tristie, instilling fear in Joe when their eyes met. "Say 'bye-bye',"
Joe gasped helplessly, paralyzed with terror. What to do, what to do…. Gotta do something, something, anything. He dropped his aim slightly for a second, at a loss for action.
Something something anything. Gotta move. Move… Move. Move! Action of some sort!
Hysterical with distress, Joe wildly looked around for anything. A moment, an opening, a weakness. Something. There had to be a way to win with an advantage. The despair was too thick. Joe could not breathe. He could not think.
Trapped—cornered—he could not win.
"BYE-BYE!" A shout rang loud and clear from nowhere. It happened all too fast; Gunshots from overhead… Breaking glass… The darkness of night.
All of the lights had been shot out.
Joe's heart pounded in his throat. His breaths came in shallow pants as he dropped his aim. His stomach knotted up as he felt light-headed. There was no light; no way he could see his foes. He wasn't even sure where he was standing. He didn't know left from right in the darkness.
He lost his way.
Where was the door? Where was Donnatelli and his men? He had to find out, but where to start.
What to do, what to do… Joe was awaiting the unknown, but so far none of it had been his choice. He felt fragile. Losing his senses, his mind… His hope… He was able to do nothing except stand there, waiting to die. There was nothing but an invisible struggle against nothing. He felt the presence of everything yet he was doing nothing… He saw nothing… He had nothing.
But the darkness had him, and he feared everything.
It all happened too fast: there were a few guns fired in confusion, stabs of light cutting through the dark, accompanied by the sound of bullet shells tinkling on the floor. Grunts and moans. The sound of blows landing on flesh. Bodies hitting the floor. A few desperate gasps from victims, and then silence…
Silence of the grave.
Lightning flashed outside as a rainstorm took place.
Thunder and the pit-patter of rain reminded Joe that there was still life in the world. Not everything—every body—was dead. Yet.
All of his fears came crashing down on him at once. His insecurities him broke against him like waves across the craggy shore.
The reality had begun to sink in deep.
Donnatelli killed Tristie—he was next.
The mission was over…
They had failed…
A bolt of lightning lit up the sky and the dark, empty warehouse was filled with light. Blood on the floor gleamed a morbid ruby in the brief light, glowing as if still wanting to flow in the veins of the departed. Spent ammunition were golden pearls lining the tiles, decorating around the bodies of Donnatelli's men that lay cowed and defeated in pools of blood. New blood… Their blood.
Darkness returned, all the fear and despair with it.
Joe watched steadfastly as the lightning flashed again. His heart throbbed against his ribcage painfully, stinging with every beat. His lungs felt weak as he hyperventilated with the disbelief of the fates of the men before him. Joe prayed for light. It was the only thing that could save him from the trauma, from his insanity.
God was listening that night – lightning struck the sky, but what Joe saw only deepened his hell.
A looming, huge bulk of black, a phantom, hovered near the bodies of the fallen. It was humanoid but an otherworldly aura reeked from it. It stood rigidly in the middle of the room. It jerked, as if beckoning to Joe.
It was Death himself.
Joe was about to die.
Death moved around, as if turning to face Joe.
Darkness descended before Joe saw its' face.
Was it a blessing, to be surrounded by the darkness of the unknown at that very second? Hopelessly surrounded by the unseen? Enshrouded by terror, swallowed by urgency? Cursed by the ability of nothing?
Joe damned his plight. What else was there?
Lightning filled the sky within seconds.
Joe gasped breathlessly, his throat constricting with the sickness in his belly. Fear tore his courage asunder. His resolve melted away from him as he collapsed to his knees, beside him his gun clattering to the floor.
The living shadow was gone.
He was alone...
For now.
Life's true self brought havoc to Joe's mind. The truth was this: Fear impairs everything—love, trust, hope, as well as the ability to control one's fate. In the nothingness of those horrific moments, which sucked away his soul with every half-second plodding by, Joe knew only fear.
Nothingness was too much to bear. Nightmares were the reality of that day.
Joseph Arnold Steele held his breath and said frantic prayers in his scrambled mind. God, oh God, please! I beg of you! I don't wanna die!
Sharp tears pierced his eyelids as they squeezed out the corners of his eye. He felt the weight of the world on his back, the gravity of consequence pulling him under. He was sinking, hell-bound. Joe hadn't the mercy of God from His cruel sense of humor. As much of a victim as anybody.
Now, it was too late. There would be no absolution.
Joe hung his head and braced his palms on the floor. The awaiting unknown had him his its grasp. There was no escape.
Amid the thunder and between the rainfall's melody, new sounds erupted from the dark. A large snap, like a breaking twig or bending a plastic pole, crackled. From the same direction came tumbling liquid and its gentle sloshing as though being shaken up.
That ain't the sound of God.
Joe wearily lifted his head. His once dark-fearing eyes, bulging in disbelief, saw a bar of soft red light glowing in front and slightly above him.
He swore he was about to suffer heart failure.
"Sorry it took me so long pal. I was 'bout half way when I noticed I had no flashlight,"
God's answer was Axel. Around his neck he wore an activated red Glo-Stick like an amulet. In his arms he cradled the unconscious Tristie, carrying her as the hero of a romance novel. The lightning flashed at the right second, as though on cue, and Axel reminded Joe of statues of the solemn gods, with his flame-red spiky hair and crystal blue-green eyes glittering mischievously in the light of the storm.
"I remembered our supply bag we dropped by the dumpster. Thankfully still had a couple of Glo-Sticks leftover from the fourth of July,"
Joe's jaw practically came unhinged, his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. He stammered wildly, "Y-you…you did all that? By yourself…?"
"Did what?"
Joe found Axel's bluntness almighty. "THAT!"
He waved his arm around in front of him, trying to showcase all of the scene of the crime to his partner that seemingly had no part in the mission, and yet came through in the end by doing everything.
Axel casually looked over his shoulder.
"Oh. Yeah, I did that. Not by myself though. You get credit, too."
"B-but I… All—all I did was—was a-a-and then with the—and you…and you," Joe's shock was wearing off but his stammering was not helping with getting his point across. "H-how did you…do all that?" Joe could see just fine with the red glow stick that Franklin Donnatelli was bleeding on the floor.
Axel snickered knowingly. He shrugged like it was nothing. "If I told you, you'd be dead."
"No questions asked," Joe said, Axel detecting traces of hysteria. Joe picked himself off the ground, grabbing his gun out of relief. "I'd end like Donnatelli over here," He chuckled lightly.
"Actually he and his buddies are all just knocked out," Axel started walking towards the exit once Joe seemed ready. "Pretty easy stuff. I've fought bigger crowds."
"How can you talk like that? You're like some retarded dare devil with a death wish,"
"And what if I am?"
Joe thoughtfully considered the question, playful though it may be. "Point taken."
Joe remembered the impression Axel left on his heart that night, the memory so beautifully engraved. "If I told you, you'd be dead." For some reason, Joe believed him.
After the famous Donnatelli Warehouse Drop-in gig, Axel and Joe received offers and praise from just about everybody in the underground. Although they never went on another job together because they always had other things, Axel made it fairly easy to become friends with him. They were buddies for a long time, until Axel left the gang for his own reasons.
That day that Axel walked into his restaurant, after what felt like years, Joe still believed in the impression on his heart – "If I told you, you'd be dead."—and that they were still friends.
Joe swallowed nervously in his reply. "Unfortunately sir, it might be harder to bring back Ace," He was afraid of that. Joe himself wanted Axel back so badly it was insane but he wasn't about to force him.
"Why…is that?"
"You see, it's like this: he's walking around today with this kid, Roxas, and he won't even swap stories of the glory days."
"I see… we'll have to take care of his sweet spot," The man's words lingered like the hisses of a python. "Inform the Shadows."
"Sir yes sir, I'm on it," said Joe, hanging up his phone. For a second Joe regretted ever placing the call.
Axel didn't like the sight of Joe talking on the cellphone while pouring their drinks after fifteen minutes. Joe wasn't known for social activity and Axel was pretty sure he didn't have a lot of connections outside the gang's family members.
Axel had to be on his tippy-toes. Something stunk bad in the air.
Roxas looked at what Axel was staring at. All he saw was Joe coming back towards them with their drinks.
"Here you go," Joe floated to their table and set a glass of milk in front of Axel and Coke and water (with a dish of lemon wedges) in front of Roxas.
"So Joey-Joe," Axel said casually. "Who was on the phone?"
"Huh? Oh. My wife, y'know, Sylvia. Just called to tell me baby Samantha's teething and that she wanted me to kick up a pacifier and a bottle of whiskey on my way home," He got out his notepad again. "Ready to order?"
"Yup," Axel gathered up the menus and gave them to Joe, who stuck them under his armpit. "Give me a large Super Supreme. Extra extra red jalapenos. Instead of the usual sauce give me ultra-spicy Bar-Be-Que, sprinkled through with Blair's 6am Reserve. Make sure to cover it in a blizzard of shredded Capsicum chile peppers and dip the anchovies in garlic butter," Axel smirked smugly at Joe furiously scribbling on his notepad. "You got all that?"
"Yeah, it's what you got every freakin' time, Ace. And every freakin' time I can't help but think you're gonna lose your sense of taste with all that spice," After a few more pen jerks he pointed at Roxas. "And what for you, Sheila?"
"Roxas! My name is Roxas," he snapped. "I just want a medium order of Chili Cheese fries with extra-extra cheddar, sausage, and onions, PLEASE!"
"Got it, Row-sass," Joe scurried off.
"And don't forget the extra bottles of hot sauce!" Axel called back to him. Joe gave a thumbs up.
Trying to make himself forget Joe, Roxas began to be interested in the mysterious ways of Italian cuisine. "What's… the Super Supreme?"
"Man, are you slow," Axel said as he slouched in his cushion. "It's a pizza with everything on it."
"Oh, now I feel stupid."
Axel suddenly felt a stab of something inside him – Remorse? Guilt? He knew his response was a tad insensitive.
"Don't."
He felt slightly better.
Roxas moved the purple curtain to look outside the window. It was raining softly now and his reflection was distorted through the rainfall. "What else did you put on that?"
Axel smiled, leaning to see the weather forecast. "Glad you asked. I ordered extra extra red jalapenos."
Roxas quirked an eyebrow but never facing Axel. "What's the difference?"
"Red jalapenos are hotter than the green ones," Axel explained simply, gazing into his reflection and then into Roxas', noticing how he was radiantly shimmering when sad even in the window's glass. Just like when Axel first saw him.
That expression alone made Axel want to give Roxas a hug but it was probably too early for that. He continued, "I think you've tasted Bar-Be-Que sauce before, but I wouldn't expect you to know what Blair's 6am Reserve is.
"Blair's 6am Reserve is one of the hottest hot sauces in existence. It reached up to sixteen million Scoville units—that what measures the 'heat' of hot sauces, and the hottest sauces are made from capsaicin extract. That makes 'em too hot for more than a drop or two in your food but I can handle the load," said Axel, as-a-matter-of-fact-ly.
Roxas looked at Axel emptily. "Dude, I asked what was on your pizza, not the whole history of hot sauce!"
Axel grinned. He reached over and ruffled Roxas' hair playfully. "You learned something new, right?"
"Unfortunately yes," Roxas rewarded him with an award-winning smile, still not facing him which drove Axel nuts. "That was proof you've got too much time on your hands."
Axel, smiling, put his hands behind his head. "You got that right."
"That's what libraries are for. I guess you don't abuse your privileges."
"That's what libraries are for. I guess you don't abuse your privileges."
"Yup," agreed Axel. He itched his nose with his thumb. "You really need to check it out sometime," Axel liked the thought of that. Roxas was just what he needed to distract him long enough so that he could concentrate – however that worked. Without his distractions distracting him, Axel got nothing done. He needed something else going on. His CD player on his ears playing guitar-grinding punk rock, texting Demyx with his cell-phone about watermelons and drumming his pencil on the table were his regular methods but they had not been working.
It was time for change, and change was good. Very good.
Axel could barely wait.
"Maybe someday…" said Roxas. He yawned. "Someday…" He pressed his forehead on the cool glass. The vibrations from the rain hitting the window made Roxas think of the calming sound of a heartbeat all babies fell asleep to in their mother's womb. The coolness of the glass made Roxas forget about the summer, about Joe, about the Organization. But not about Axel.
Roxas was comfortable around him. Axel had a very cozy energy to him that Roxas found rather…appealing. Roxas felt relaxed around Axel, this being about the third time that day he felt like sleeping. Yes…sleep sounded good right about then. The comfort creature inside Roxas clawed him on the inside.
Roxas enjoyed feeling pleasantly drowsy. Axel was the only person he knew that ever made him feel that way…so close to the surrender of slumber. All members of the Organization had a certain "air" to them that Roxas was sensitive to. The Superior made Roxas feel like he was stinging from frostbite at every word, every glance, every touch. He didn't care to be around the man but considering he was Number One he was forced to.
Roxas saw just about everybody else, having only met a small group of them in person. There was Xigbar, Number Two, who made Roxas feel oddly at ease in a playful and unpredictable sense. A little unexpected, since Xigbar was the second in command. Why was he nice to the lowest of low? Roxas was glad he was.
He still had Three, Four, Five, Six, and Ten to meet. Saïx made Roxas feel breathless and lost, which was seriously disconcerting when Roxas had a conversation with the enigmatic man. Saïx came off as a bit psychotic and so he avoided Saïx whenever possible.
Number Nine was the simple feeling of friendship and companionship. Demyx had not a crookedly bad bone in his body, and it showed when he was being outgoing to new people. Roxas thought Demyx was too nice for his own good but that's a trait anybody can—and should—admire.
Now Larxene, Number Twelve, made Roxas uneasy and nervous. It gave him stomach cramps just thinking about how much he had heard about the Savage Nymph, the only female in the whole Organization, being an arrogant sadist in nature, abrasive and uncaring for others while torturing them with mind games. Roxas, being Number Thirteen, was actually supposed to be Larxene's roommate but Marluxia, Number Twelve, decided to switch.
Roxas was so freaking happy he could cry.
Marluxia didn't seem to be too bad of a guy. He set boundaries and rules, and him and Roxas stayed on peaceful terms since their meeting. They never really talked much, but Roxas detected no sense of friendship, hostility, or even invitation for social interaction. Marluxia seemed neutral on everything so his aura really had no punch.
Axel, on the other had, was different. From their first meeting Roxas knew Axel wasn't like everybody else, whom Roxas hadn't met but already assumed them being cold and hateful. Number Eight was warm and comforting like a hearth fire that Roxas could curl up in front of and just sleep. Roxas was drawn to Axel, a moth to a candle's flame. He felt caught up in the spiral of Axel's exuberant energy, wrapped around in a blanket of fire soul that he never wanted to let go. He would cling to the warmth he could not bear to lose, and fall into an endless slumber in the glowing aura of the Flurry of Dancing Flames.
Breathing softly, Roxas closed his eyes.
--
;I own nothing
certain character, the words and situations I control.
This
chapter feels shorter than the others. Sorry if it is.
I
love all my reviewers and I will respond to everybody very
soon.
Suggested reading: The Everything Creative Writing Book by
Carol Whitely.
…QUINTON FLYNN! (God, I love that man!)
TBC