HOLY JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER THIS BITCH IS LONG. Longest chapter thus far. But I've come to terms with Roxas' wordiness, and I deal with it. I just hope you guys can. Anyway, this was finished roughly ten minutes ago, if that. I'm pretty sure there aren't any typos, but if there are, point them out and I'll eventually come back to fix them. I'm lazy.
I must thank theisraelproject107 profusely for her help with a particular sentence that was giving me entirely too much trouble -- I LOVE YOU LAUREN! YOU'RE A FREAKING LIFESAVER! (For some reason it won't let me put the periods in your username so it has to be like that .. =\) Oh, and love to kurosora1984 for her general input, because it's very important to me what she thinks.
And because decorinne informed me that I must put the word EPIC in my author's note somewhere -- well, there it is. :D I'm told it makes anything better, and I just might need that added boost. For the most part, I'm happy with the way this came out, but I think there's room for improvement .. we'll see what you guys think. I pretty much have the rest of the fic planned, so we'll see how long it takes me to get it all out. That being said, enjoy!
Tell me, exactly, why you agreed to go with him tonight.
The little voice in the back of his mind was the embodiment of irritation, grumbling uncertainties that he wasn't completely positive weren't some of his own. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, scowling at the black button-down he'd chosen to wear. How do people dress when they go to clubs? Should he go with something a little more … colorful?
Okay, seriously. Stop ignoring me.
I'm not ignoring you. I'm conveniently not paying attention.
Same thing!
Roxas sighed, tapping the side of his head impatiently. You really need to just chill out … take a nap or something.
You're telling your consciousness to take a nap?
Just the annoying part.
Oh, ouch.
He sighed again, reaching for the nearly-empty bottle of hair gel and made an attempt to make the mess on top of his head do something he wanted it to for a change. It was one thing to have an argument with one's conscious mind – he was thankful for once that that was the only thing he had to deal with, having been able to bypass Zexion and Demyx completely that afternoon. Thursdays were the musician's designated practice days, and since he claimed to need an audience for critique purposes, Zexion himself was pulled away from whatever incendiary array of assignments he had lined up for himself and forced to sit in a crowded basement for hours on end. He never complained, but no one really expected him to. Where Demyx was concerned, he never had a negative word to say.
Having dodged any questions he may have drawn about where he was going, who he was going with, and just exactly why he finally decided to stop being a social wallflower all of a sudden almost wasn't worth the barrage of concentrated obnoxious his mind was streaming at him; he may have decided to go without fully thinking the situation through, but really, what could it hurt? When was the last time he'd gone out with anyone other than himself?
Oh, right. Demyx's birthday a couple of months ago – he'd gone merely for the purpose of not hurting the blond's feelings, and ended up watching as he danced on top of a table with a lampshade over his head. The kid really couldn't hold his liquor to save his life, but it made for amusement every once in a while. It was better than cable.
Are you sure you're ready for this?
He frowned at his reflection. What's to be ready for? It's not like I'm … running for President or anything.
Maybe not, but you know you don't fair well with large groups of people. Isn't that why you keep going to that dive of a bar? It's never crowded.
That was … maybe a quarter-truth? Part of him really wasn't sure why he kept going back, aside from being intrigued by a certain arrogant redhead's presence, and the fact they served top-shelf vodka for a lot cheaper than everywhere else. He had to be the only college junior he knew of besides Zexion that didn't feed into actual college life – the binge drinking, partying until all hours of the morning, and fucking anything that stood still long enough – but was it really so bad that he preferred isolation as opposed to the alternative? So he'd been told that it wasn't healthy to be alone all the time, but he couldn't think of one instance in which he felt his quality of life had improved due to the presence of anyone else. Except …
You're deviating from the initial problem, here. People. Lots of them. Breathing and sweating all over each other.
So that was another thing. Forgetting for a moment that Axel had been the only person to invade his personal space and manage to maintain the use of his limbs, a very large contributing factor to his preferring isolation was the idea that human beings in general were disgusting creatures. Sweat, saliva, any other … bodily fluids … it was positively revolting.
So tell me again why you're forgetting your aversion to … pretty much everything?
A short, high-pitched laugh found its way out of his mouth. I honestly have no idea.
You've got to be kidding.
It really was strange, the sudden lapse in his neuroses. Kind of like in that movie As Good as It Gets, where just being around Helen Hunt made Jack Nicholson's severe OCD tone down the slightest bit. Or at least made him want to get better control of it. At least he wasn't that bad.
He exited the bathroom, taking a few short steps down the hallway toward the kitchen. It was quiet, and he was suddenly restless. What time was it? How long did he have before he had to meet Axel at the shop? Reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of white tea, he caught sight of the clock on the far wall – just after seven. He had about an hour before he had to leave. What the hell am I going to do until then? I can't sit still to save my life.
You still have a couple of diazepam left.
I haven't had to take one of those in ages.
That's what they're there for, Roxas. When you need them.
Who said I needed one?
He'd managed to keep his anxiety under control pretty well since coming to college. When he was in high school, he'd had to take two a day just to get through his classes – but he blamed that on overcrowded public schools, and the fact that just about anyone would have found that particular situation a little unsettling. It wasn't his fault.
Go kill some monsters. That always seems to take the edge off.
Striding over to the couch and plopping down onto the cushion, he reached for the power button on his PS2 and waited for the load screen. He'd logged about a hundred and seventy hours on his current Final Fantasy XII file, and there really wasn't much left for him to do before he was forced to finish the game; somehow, though, it never ceased to amuse to him to run around the Henne Mines killing bats. It was relaxing, in a way. Far better than feeling the need to dope himself up just for a moment's peace.
If only I hadn't finished off those cloves last night.
You do realize that an addictive personality plus smoking equals trouble, don't you?
… I don't have an addictive personality.
Weren't you just saying to yourself last week how much you hated smokers? How does it come about that after succumbing to peer pressure, your whole outlook has changed?
That was so not peer pressure.
I think he's a bad influence on you.
You said last week that you liked him. Make up your mind.
Says the neurotic little boy who's having conversations with himself on why he's suddenly rethinking his entire way of life.
"Oh, I am not," he said aloud. He paused, turning his head as though to make sure no one heard him even though the apartment was empty. Scowling at the controller sitting idly in his lap, he shoved everything into a corner of his mind and focused on the television screen.
He had bats to annihilate, after all.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
It was cooler out than he'd expected. If there was just one thing about New York that he didn't utterly despise, it was the fact that it started getting cold pretty early. Here it was, the middle of October, and he could already see the faint white puff of his breath as he came to a stop just outside Axel's shop. He took in a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly, as though taking a moment to appreciate the crisp serenity of the early evening air. That obnoxious little voice in the back of his mind was blessedly silent, for once, and he was rather enjoying the peace – nevermind the fact that he didn't require any further commentary on his chosen course of action. He was an adult. He could handle this.
He pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit shop, catching sight of nothing other than lonely boxes sitting on rather dusty shelves. No redhead.
Now, what the hell. He said he'd be ready to go before I got here.
"Axel?"
Stepping a bit further inward, he noticed the door behind the counter was wide open. Thinking it rather odd, he came around, intent on poking his head inside just to see if the idiot was ready, and holding out on him just for suspense purposes. "Hey, Axel! You said you'd be ready before I –"
He stopped cold upon rounding the corner. Not only was the guy not ready, he was … half-naked.
The redhead stood bare from the waist up – well, more so from the hips up, due to the astonishingly low-slung jeans that seemed only to stay in place with the help of a wide leather belt – with his back to the door, so far unaware that he was no longer alone. Roxas found himself unable to tear his eyes away from that expanse of porcelain skin, marked only across the shoulder blades with wings the color of fire; a burst of orange, red and yellow traced with delicate lines of charcoal. It had the appearance not of being an addition to his body, as much as something that had always been there – a part of himself, as though he were born to fly. He'd never seen such … art on a human being before.
He stood there stupidly, gawking, until Axel turned around and finally took notice of him. An almost knowing smirk broke out across that pale mouth as he turned to face the blond, not bothering to make a point of hurrying to put on the shirt he held idly in one hand. "Oh, hey Rox," he offered conversationally, bending low to retrieve something from a bag on the floor – was that cologne?
"Sorry I'm not quite ready. I got hung up on looking over paperwork from the last inventory cycle and lost track of time. It won't take me long."
Roxas nodded, taking note of the way his stomach muscles stretched as he straightened and spritzed himself a couple of times with whatever was in the bottle. "Yeah, no, it's no problem …" He made the mistake of breathing in deeply through his nose and nearly fell over; fucking christ, is it possible for someone to smell that good?
"Rox, you with me?"
"I'm sorry?" Looking up, his gaze met that of the bare-chested redhead now standing no more than two feet away from him; he shook his head, opting to breathe through his mouth until he was either outside or in a better ventilated area. Axel grinned, chuckling softly to himself as he stepped back and placed the bottle of cologne back in his bag. "You kinda … zoned out there for a minute. I was starting to think you were having a seizure."
Roxas' brow furrowed as he stared off into a far corner of the room – which was a feat in itself, seeing as it wasn't a very large room to begin with. "How many people do you know have seizures that consist of just staring off into space?" The other shrugged lazily, finally moving to tug his shirt over his head. "I worked with a guy once whose brother had seizures like that … he'd just be talking one minute, black out, then act like nothing had ever happened. Kinda creepy if you ask me."
"... Huh."
It was distracting, really, how the fabric of the wife beater clung to his frame like a second skin. The black contrasted greatly with his complexion, making him look even more pale than he actually was; it made his eyes stand out a little more, though, and that was … also very distracting.
Damn. Damn damn damn. I really should have thought this through a little more.
Didn't I tell you?
… I thought you were taking a nap.
Nope. Just silently observing. You're going to make an ass of yourself.
How do you figure?
Well, let's see … can you stop staring at him long enough to remember to swallow? You're about to start drooling.
Ever the embellisher …
My ass. Wipe your mouth.
"Isn't it a little … cold to be wearing a wife beater?" Roxas looked down at his own choice of wardrobe – a faded pair of jeans, the black button-down he'd agonized over before finally deciding that he could think of nothing better, and an old black and white checkered hoodie that had seen better days. Demyx had been after him to throw it out the moment he pulled it from the closet a few weeks ago. He didn't really see a point to getting rid of it – it fit well enough, it kept him warm, and dammit, it was comfortable. There was no reason to be wasteful, and to be quite honest … he didn't want to have to break in a new jacket. It had taken him months to get this particular garment to a state of his liking, and he was in no mood to repeat that process.
Just because he has no respect for stability …
This is what we would say if we were talking about … an apartment or something … not a goddamned jacket, Roxas.
Pipe down.
"It gets pretty warm inside Backstreet. I'm hot-natured anyway, so … I'll be a'right." The redhead shrugged into his own jacket, patting the pockets to make sure he'd remembered to supply himself with a fresh pack of cloves. Reaching behind him, he grabbed an unopened box from the case and tossed it at Roxas. "Just in case." He smirked.
"Just in case what?" He made a face, but shoved them into a pocket anyway as he was ushered out of the tiny room. Axel turned to pull the door shut as they ventured out into the main area of the shop, pausing briefly behind the counter to retrieve his Zippo. "Just in case you're out, and I don't want you smoking all of mine."
"About that, you never did let me – "
"Save it." The other waved a hand dismissively, nudging him out the door and onto the sidewalk. "I'll let you pay me back eventually … buy me a drink or somethin' while we're out tonight and I'll call it even. How's that?" He grinned as he pushed the door shut and turned the lock, and Roxas couldn't help thinking there was some sort of underlying agenda to that offering. He scrutinized, debated.
Just buy the man a drink, will you? It's a little late to be over-analyzing things now.
Stop talking. Just … stop.
"Fine, but it had better not be a twenty-dollar shot of Grey Goose."
"Damn, you saw right through that, didn't you? Guess I'll just have to find another way to make you spend money on me." For the third time that day, he slung an arm around the blond's shoulders – and keeping with the habit, it was promptly shoved right back off. Roxas just grinned and shook his head.
"Good luck with that."
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
It's so. Loud.
He was leaning against a wall in a far corner, a bottle of Blue Moon gripped loosely in one hand as he watched the swarm of people; bodies grinding, sweat-slick skin glistening beneath the flashing lights. It was hypnotic, in a way, as he let his eyes follow the intricate patterns made in midair by spinning glowsticks. Almost enough to make up for the fact that he was positive his ears were going to start bleeding soon – almost, but not quite.
Axel was somewhere within the crowd, having disappeared moments earlier to get himself another drink after drilling the blond about why he wasn't separating himself from the wall. He'd tried explaining that he wanted to observe this whole club scene before immersing himself in it; he'd tried to form a solid enough story that he'd be left alone at least for a little while, but the redhead wasn't buying. He was a bit more perceptive than he was being given credit for, and Roxas found that mildly disturbing.
He isn't dumb, Roxas. The little voice sounded almost surprised at that simple assertion, as though he was expected to have known that he wasn't being fair. You really need to stop thinking you're smarter than everyone else.
But … I am.
And that goddamn attitude. You need to work on your people skills if you expect him to stick around.
I thought you didn't want him to? You said he was a bad influence.
We're not talking about me, here. But in my defense, I'm fickle.
That's not a very good argument.
I didn't say it was.
"You look like you're either … pissed off at the world, or performing an internal monologue." He looked up as Axel appeared in front of him, holding a small glass bottle loosely in his left hand. The grin curving his mouth was lopsided and … strangely appealing.
"If I know you as well as I think I do, it's the latter."
The blond scowled into his beer. "What makes you think you know me?"
"Well …" The other took a place against the wall on his right side, pausing to sip from his drink. "The fact alone that you seem to read so much into this psychobabble you're learning in school leaves me open to that particular assumption." He sipped the drink again, gazing down with green eyes that, despite the poor lighting, glittered mischievously. "And honestly, you strike me as the kind of person that has conversations with himself."
He's got you there.
You're fueling the fire. Stop it.
Fine, fine.
Roxas narrowed his eyes as he met the redhead's smirk, cocking his head to the side. "What gave you that impression?"
"Why don't you stop concerning yourself with where I get my assumptions and come dance with me?"
The question caught him off guard, more than he would care to admit – he averted his gaze, bringing the bottle to his lips and drinking deeply to keep from having to answer right away. "I don't think so."
Axel's grin spread even wider and he chewed a corner of his bottom lip, reaching for the other's beer and setting it on a nearby table with his own. He leaned in close, and the whisper of breath over the side of his throat made the blond shiver.
"I'm not giving you a choice."
"Axel, no –"
He was being dragged across the floor, closer and closer to the mob of people swaying to the beat of a thundering melody blasting through the speakers – he felt his chest tighten as they surrounded him, the breath catching in the back of his throat at the touch of the redhead's fingertips against the inside of his wrist.
Just breathe.
"Come here." He was tugged back against the other's chest, cheeks flushing as hands rested lightly on his hips. Axel bent low, pressing warm lips to the shell of his ear. "Relax, Roxas. Move with me. I've got you."
Back and forth, his hips melded with those of the other as he began to move; he let his head fall back as his eyes fluttered closed and he allowed the vibration of the music to guide him. A hand crept from his hip and pressed flat against his belly, bringing their bodies even closer together as the blond reached back to comb his fingers through strands of fiery hair. He breathed a small sigh, lost immediately within the din as that same pair of lips brushed the surface of his throat – so softly, it was almost an afterthought.
I'll make you hot, make you rock
I'll leave the world in shock
I'm your tease, I'm your fuel –
He froze as it hit him, the overwhelming feeling of the room closing in around him; suddenly the music was too loud, the body behind him too close. Shoving away from the redhead, he fought to breathe as the ringing in his ears intensified – Out. Out. Get out!
A welcome burst of cold air met him head-on as he pushed open the door leading to the parking lot, and he all but collapsed against the outside wall – bracing his head between shaking hands, he allowed himself to sink to the ground as he attempted to recollect his composure.
I told you you weren't ready for this. I fucking told you.
Christ, for once, just once, don't say anything! Just be quiet. Please.
Not until you realize what a fucking huge mistake you just made –
"Rox?"
He didn't look up. Couldn't bring himself to. It had been so long since he'd that bad of an attack, and he wasn't so much embarrassed as disgusted with his failure to control it. He should have known …
"Roxas. What happened?"
Axel knelt beside him and he tensed without realizing it, pressing himself back against the wall. He sighed, forced his trembling hands still. "I, uh … don't do too well with crowds." Biting the edge of his lip, he let his hands fall into his lap and chanced a glance at the other. "I'm sorry."
"What the hell are you sorry for? Why didn't you tell me?" Brows furrowed over worried green eyes, and the redhead reached out cautiously to brush a stray hair from his forehead. The caress lingered, only the very tips of his fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I never would have brought you to a place like this if I'd known you didn't like being around people."
"It isn't that, it's …" The blond paused, frustrated. "I'm fine with people in general, I just … I don't let people I don't know touch me." He fell silent, noting the absence of the other's touch against his cheek as he withdrew; a pale mouth turned just slightly downward as he brought his hand back to his side, and he nodded.
"I see."
"You're different though." Roxas rested his head against the wall at his back, absently chewing a thumbnail in lieu of his lip. "It's like … I don't fucking understand it, but you're the only person I've ever let get this close to me. I don't …" He sighed, at a loss for any sort of proper explanation he may have been hoping to give.
"I don't mind you touching me."
It was quiet again. Quiet enough that he was almost afraid he'd finally managed to make himself out to be the crazy Psych student Axel assumed he was – it was only a matter of time, right? Before his sanity caved, and he welcomed the safety of padded walls?
You're being melodramatic, Roxas. Even I know that.
A tiny flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he turned to see the other smiling, almost secretively. A slight upward curve of his mouth, and it was his only warning.
"Would you mind if I did this, then?"
Lips were still warm, moist as they brushed against his in the softest of kisses – he could taste the faint bitterness of the alcohol, the sweetness of cloves. It was slow, deliberate, almost shy as Axel pressed closer and cupped his face between even warmer hands. He gave a tiny sigh, and the other flicked his tongue teasingly before receding.
"I wouldn't mind at all …" He kissed him again, a bit harder, more desperate as he brought his arms around the redhead's neck and pulled him closer. His tongue mimicked the other's playful teasing, teeth nipping; his breath caught in the back of his throat as he felt the ball of a tongue ring against his bottom lip and he withdrew, shivering.
Jesus … he tastes good.
Something in the back of his mind clicked into place as he took in the other's lopsided grin, a flutter in his chest as he stole one more brief kiss – something he was rapidly becoming addicted to.
I could get used to this.
