CHAPTER FOUR
"Roxas, wake up, we're here." There was a beat, during which the blond didn't move, before Hayner hissed, "Dude, you're making us look gay in front of Seifer."
The older male, two seats back, overhearing this comment, smirked as he stood, an arm looped around Olette's waist. "Oh, don't stop on account of me – you two are just darling together." Shooting him a sour look, Hayner removed himself from under Roxas' head sharply, the blond dropping to the seat with a startled grunt, human pillow suddenly gone. As Hayner pushed past him into the aisle, straightening his shirt, Roxas sat up, rubbing his head, the beginnings of petulance hovering over his mouth. Pence, gripping the backs of the seats as the train slowed, patted his shoulder as he passed, a cheerful, encouraging smile in place. "Come on, Roxas – it's not far from the station to the beach house. You can take some time to wake up there." He paused as Roxas grabbed his arm, the pair of them managing to haul the exhausted boy to his feet. Pence was frowning by the time he was upright, holding him steady. "Wow, you don't look so hot," he remarked. "You're all pale. Been sleeping okay?" Roxas shook his head, blowing out a sigh, dismissing the subject.
"Forget it." Darting a glance Seifer's way, meeting Olette's happy gaze only briefly, Roxas gripped the seat as the train drew to a halt. Hayner was already at the door, waiting impatiently to put some space between himself and Seifer. Pence steered the blond in front of him, hands on his shoulders, following him down the aisle to meet Hayner, Seifer and Olette behind them with Fuu and Rai bringing up the rear. At last, not soon enough for Hayner, the doors slid open. They exited the carriage, onto the brightly lit, lonely station platform. Already, you could hear the waves, smell the dead fish and salt of the ocean, sweeping through on a cold, stiff breeze. Roxas' arms went around his waist, the sudden chill bringing a carpet of goosebumps up across his flesh. Damn it, Hayner had been right.
The train pulled away again, its noises loud and echoing in the emptiness, the group waiting until it was out of sight, attention drawn to the only point of movement in the entire station. As it disappeared around a curve, its engine growing distant, they all took a moment to look at one another, a small amount of wariness present in all eyes but Olette's, who, by either choice or blindness, remained oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. Smiling, she shrugged under the weight of her boyfriend's arm. "It's this way," she said, voice strangely loud in the silent, unpopulated space. "It isn't far – we'll be there soon." Hayner took the lead, grabbing Roxas and Pence surreptitiously, tugging them to walk alongside him. They stumbled a little, fell into line, the trio the first of them to descend the well-lit stairs leading down to the sidewalk, swallowed almost immediately afterwards by the shadows of darkness.
The town was small, two stops further along than the beach that had made Twilight Town so popular by association. Olette's grandparents' summer home was about fifteen minutes from the station. Shoes crunched over a medley of dirt, sand and gravel, all ground into the crumbling edges of the asphalt, the sidewalk disappearing fast to become a thin stretch of road. The lights of town were only a five minute walk away, a couple of broken streetlights pointing the way, but the group turned off before they reached the main strip, heading down a side road for a mile, then along a thin, rambling lane, its surface rocky and overgrown with weeds. The scent of honeysuckle grew to mingle with the oceanic by-products, creating a thickness to the sharp air, the vines tumbling and tangling along a battered-looking fence running alongside the path. The group thinned out into single file or two abreast, Hayner determinedly piloting the way. In the darkness, moon present but not enough to cause sufficient illumination, it was easy to trip and stumble, lose your way along one of the several small animal tracks that merged seamlessly with the lane. Having been here before, Roxas' friends moved confidently along, and within minutes the old house came into view, looking old and ramshackle, a weather-worn door opening straight out onto the lane. The wood was peeling and mottled, unattractive; a permanently dirty window peeped out from a thicket of green growth extending from the side of the narrow path, revealing nothing of the interior.
Without waiting for Olette to give the go-ahead, Hayner zeroed in on the weed-ridden pot-plant beside the door, in a dirty, parched terracotta dish. Roxas thought it was something Aerith was likely to want to adopt, limp and hopeless, brutalised by years of brackish air, saline-drenched rain. On the bottom of the grubby pot, scotch-taped in place, was a partially rusted spare key. Hayner ripped it off, set the plant back down with a lingering glance that told Roxas the same thought had occurred to him, and jammed the key in, jiggling it while shoving the door with his shoulder. It popped open, hinges predictably screechy, but after the first few inches it quieted down. The seven of them shuffled through, leaving the bracing wind behind, the stillness uncomfortable in comparison, the walls filled with several months' worth of built-up heat. They were in a laundry-room; ancient sink, broken-down washing machine, a scattering of cockroach droppings along the counter. A weird smell hung in the air, Pence making a low, disgusted sound as it hit him. "Jeeze, let's open some windows," he muttered. With a nod, Hayner joined him, the pair of them setting out through the dark house. Seifer choked a little, raised a wrist to his nose.
"God, what is that?"
"Damp." Fuu's voice cut through the hush with flat precision, her eyes moving slowly to take in their new surroundings.
"Hey, I think she's right, ya know?" Rai seconded, nose wrinkling. "Smells like mould – ya know?"
"We know," Roxas sighed. Olette nodded.
"That's what it is – the roof leaks when it rains, and no one's around to mop it up. Grammy and Pop don't come down this way too often anymore – they've got a place in Traverse Town, and the outgoing traffic bothers them. They're getting kind of old for an old beach-house without power."
"No power?" Seifer echoed, mildly. "How are we meant to see?"
Roxas wandered off at this point, searching for Hayner and Pence. His steps thudded dustily, the disturbed air tickling his sinuses. He found his friends wrestling with a stiff window in a larger room, a thread of moonlight entering through the glass. Soundlessly, he moved to a faded loveseat along the back wall, lowered himself into it, slumping back to watch them work. Grunts and curses whispered out from between Hayner's teeth, reminiscent of when they moved anything large at work, making Roxas smile faintly. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he studied the room. Grey cobwebs, a perpetual layer of dust, a bookcase, pull-out sofa-bed, low coffee table in the centre of the floor. It wasn't cramped, but neither was it spacious.
At last, with some particularly vicious swearing from the blond, Hayner and Pence got the window up, a gust of air inhaling into the stifled house. Olette entered at that moment, her boyfriend and his cronies trailing, each of them toting a flickering candle. The brunette let out a dismayed noise as the wind made her flame gutter and die, several drops of hot wax splattering her shirt and drying hard. "Nice one, jerks," Seifer dryly commented. "You sure know how to pick your moments."
Hayner, very obviously, bit down the response that was dying to be snapped out, swallowed it into his chest. A smile was forced onto his lips, eerie in its lop-sided determination to seem perfectly happy at being insulted, and instead he dug into his pocket, pulling out a gas lighter. He went to Olette, said, "Sorry," and flicked up a flame to relight her wick. Seifer seemed satisfied with himself. Roxas wondered what the hell he was playing at; it burned to see Hayner having to suppress his natural aggression, when someone like Seifer was so goddamn deserving of it. He still wasn't convinced that Olette was going to have to choose between them – it all seemed so juvenile, to think in those terms – but he hoped she recognised the lengths they, and Hayner most of all, were going through to keep her around. The rangy blond knew he was the one that sparked the majority of the arguments, and so was clamping down on everything from that vein of his personality. It was going to give him heart problems, if he kept it up. A facial tic and a nervous cough.
Hazel eyes shifting past them, Hayner wondered, "Where's Roxas?"
"Here," the boy replied sedately, startling the entire company but Fuu. The candles swung his way, softly illuminating the back of the room.
"Jesus, man!" Seifer exclaimed, clutching his chest with his free hand.
"You should warn people, ya know?" Rai added, agitated.
"Ahh, that's Roxas," Pence said airily, flipping a hand his way. "You hang around him long enough, you'll start wondering if he ever trained to be a ninja."
"Should've known," Hayner agreed, grumbling. He grabbed a stubby little candle from the bookshelf, lit it rapidly, dripped some wax onto the wood and squished the base of it onto the swiftly drying fluid, sealing it in place. Several others were lined up alongside the books, Hayner and Pence lighting each one and setting them up around the room as Olette showed Seifer, Fuu and Rai to the sofa. She was swung onto the tall blond's lap, giggling, the man's sidekicks exchanging faint, eye-rolling glances. It seemed the two groups were united on that front at least; this crossbreeding thing just wasn't right.
As Hayner and Pence took their places next to Roxas, the room now sufficiently illuminated, a steady, awkward silence fell over them all. It was all very well for Seifer and Olette to make gooey eyes at one another, but what the hell were the rest of them supposed to do? Their history was long and violent; there wasn't much to talk about, except past battles and old ire. A throat was cleared from Seifer's side of the room. Hayner's long, knob-knuckled fingers rested together at the tips, the boy studying them intently, while at his side, Pence's gaze drifted across the ceiling, studying the various shifting shadows. Someone sighed. "So… crappy weather," Roxas remarked after a while. "Too hot, right?"
"Way too hot," Hayner agreed quickly.
"It makes me itchy when I'm working out," Rai complained.
"I don't mind it," Pence chirped, "but that's because I'm usually in the air-conditioning."
"Asshole," Seifer said conversationally. Olette giggled nervously. "So, anyway, what's to drink around here?" He nudged the brunette. "You said something about a bar, right?"
"Right!" Brightening, Olette jumped to her feet, grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Why don't we make a tour of it? Rai and Fuu, you can come – Roxas, too. I'll show you around properly, and we'll grab some things from my grandparents' bar while we're at it."
"Pass," Roxas dismissed. He'd come along out of duty, even though he was exhausted, but he wasn't going to play happy tourist for her. He wasn't back to himself enough to do something nearly so selfless. Olette's expression faltered a little, eyes darting over to Seifer, but the smile was back to full-force after only a second. "Okay, then. Maybe the guys can show you around later?"
"Yeah, all four rooms," Hayner snorted, stretching out his legs.
"Plus the bathroom," Pence reminded him. Rolling her eyes a little, shooting them warning looks, Olette led the three others out of the room, both she and Seifer toting the candles they'd come in with, Rai's and Fuu's stuck to the coffee table's corners like the setup for a séance. Once they were out of earshot, Hayner let out a breath. "Christ."
"You're doing well," Pence encouraged. "He's trying to bait you, but you're resisting."
"Keep it up," Roxas said sleepily. Hayner scowled, shoved him hard, grabbing him before he hit the floor with a yelp. Wide-eyed, he demanded, "What the hell was that for?"
"Don't you dare fall asleep," the blond growled. "I can see it – you're just about dropping off in your seat. I swear to God, Roxas, if you abandon me now…"
"I'm here, aren't I? What do you want, for me to prop my eyelids open with matchsticks? I'm fucking tired, Hayner," Roxas whined. "I had a long night, okay?"
"Then I guess that makes two of us," came the sharp reply. "I was there, remember?"
Pence let out a strangled laugh. "You guys – I'm so glad Seifer wasn't around to hear that." He peered curiously at Roxas. "Rough night, huh? More of those nightmares?"
Roxas was more inclined to slip into slumber during his emotionless periods, the will to remain conscious all but entirely gone. When he did, nightmares usually resulted, loud and violent, just like they had last night at Hayner's. The others had all born witness to Roxas' inner demons, even though the blond denied insistently that there was nothing in his mind to spark it. Whatever it was, was connected to the cause of these emotional low-tides – some kind of chemical imbalance or something. He was sure of it.
He shook his head roughly, then reluctantly nodded, a confused contradiction. He settled himself back on the loveseat, Hayner's tight grip loosening on his shirt, relenting slightly in his ferocity. "I'm doing okay?" Both boys nodded.
"Better than okay." Roxas attempted support, flashed him both thumbs. "Stellar, man. Seifer's like a flesh-eating bacteria – just don't let him under your skin, and you're cool." Shaking his head, grinning crookedly, the thin blond stood, went to stand by the window, obstructing the influx of cold air. The candle-flames ceased their constant flickering, lengthening and calming. Roxas' eye was drawn to them, solid-looking but insubstantial enough to sear. From one pocket he pulled a single cigarette, his lighter from the other, setting it alight, sucking the filter. The smoke was alternately blown inward and drawn out. Roxas sniffed. "Tobacco," he observed. Hayner, elbows on the window frame, glanced over his shoulder, shrugged a little.
"Trying to give up the green stuff. It's fucking with my head, man."
"We've been telling you that for – how many years?" Pence said archly, hands lifting in exasperation. He didn't look mollified by Hayner's alternative. "Can't you just stop smoking altogether, though?" Hayner took on an irate look.
"Back off," he bit off. "I'm doing it how it's easy, okay? I go from that to this," he flicked the building ash out into the wind, "then maybe, one day, I switch to patches or gum or whatever the fuck, and I'm out of the woods. You want me to fail, keep pushing the cold-turkey option."
There was a brief silence. "Olette'll be pleased," Roxas said. Hayner lifted his shoulders.
"I'm not doing it for her," he grumbled. Roxas smiled to himself, sent Pence a secret glance. "I fucking saw that, Roxas," the blond added mildly. He flipped him off, turned back to the wind, exhaling a ribbon of smoke. As Pence went to study the books on the shelves, Roxas tried to stay awake, attention drifting time and again to the occasional dance of the candles. There was something – familiar about them. That sounded crazy, when he gave the little tug in his gut form, because, hell, they were candles – of course they were familiar, he'd seen them in every electrical black-out of his life. There weren't too many people around that didn't recognise a fucking candle flame. But, as much as he tried to rationalise it in his mind, he couldn't shut off the strange squirming it gave the pit of his stomach to stare into the miniature, flickering fires.
He was frowning deeply by the time Olette and company returned, toting various bottles of assorted volume. Seifer, for once, was looking quite happy, and not because he was abusing Hayner or locking tongues with Olette. Another reason they didn't like Olette with him – Hayner might've been a stoner, but Seifer was a goddamn borderline alcoholic. Or at least, that was what they told themselves, more reason to hate him just that little bit more for being with their resident brunette. "Well, if it isn't the fun committee," Seifer greeted sarcastically, taking in their positions around the room. "You guys need this even more than I do." He tossed a bottle of bourbon at Roxas, who caught it deftly, rolling it over to look at the label.
"I hate bourbon."
A bottle top already between his teeth, being unscrewed, Seifer rolled his eyes. "So choose something else, dick-wad." Roxas sent him a flat look. What was it about this guy that had Olette holding her tongue? What happened to the stories of the old days, when the three of them had gone up against Seifer, when Olette would shrilly tell the bully to leave them alone? Tell Hayner to ignore his immature taunting? She sure as hell wasn't doing shit about it now. Something akin to disappointment threaded through the blond's veins and, despite his dislike of the stuff, he unscrewed the cap and chugged down a shot of bourbon. "Roxas." His eyes swivelled over, to where Hayner was crushing out his cigarette on the windowsill with one hand, the other gesturing for the bottle. "Gimme the goddamn bourbon, you won't appreciate it, and it'll make you sick." Shrugging, Roxas tossed it over, without replacing the lid. Hayner was forced to lunge for it, Olette letting out a gasp as it smacked audibly against his palms.
"Roxas! What on earth was that for? You could have broken it or spilled it!"
Hayner was shooting him a suspicious look. Roxas had been improving on a steady bell-curve, but here he was, displaying signs of another funk coming on. Two in a row was unheard of. "Olette – you still got that sake?"
Fuu made a small movement, glowering. "Mine." She nursed the small clay bottle against her chest. Hayner snorted.
"Fuck that. I saw it first. Hand it over."
"Hayner, don't be rude!" Olette scolded. "Why shouldn't Fuu – "
"No, it's okay," Seifer interjected, a hand held up. Faint amusement tugged at his mouth. "Fuu, give the loser the sake."
"He's not a loser," Pence stated baldly from the bookshelf. "And by the way, I want a beer." Rai threw one at him, Pence having to move fast to keep from getting hit square on the nose. Glares erupted all round, the shaky truce coming into question, but Fuu stepped forward, thrust a hand out. Hayner crossed to her, grabbed it without thanks, went to sit beside Roxas. Ignoring the scowl Olette was sending his way – it always seemed to be Hayner that lucked out – he held the bottle up in front of the blond. "Okay, you looking at this? You've never tried rice wine, right?"
"No."
Hayner sank his nails into the cork peeking over the neck of the bottle, started twisting and pulling. "This stuff is great, good for what ails you, if you know what I mean. Usually you'd warm it first, but – lack of electricity equals drinking it cold."
"See, Fuu?" Seifer drawled from across the room, sitting once again on the sofa, a beer balanced on one knee, Olette on the other. Fuu was sitting on the floor in front of Rai's knees, lining up shots of tequila. "Only people with shitty taste drink cold sake; they were doing you a favour by taking it off your hands."
Hayner was determined – Seifer wasn't riling him up this time. Roxas was the sole focus of his attention, concern and frustration rising. The cork popped free, Hayner palming it, handing the bottle over reverently. "Okay. It's good, I promise. Try it." An eyebrow perking, Roxas took it, went to sniff it. "Don't!" Hayner was glaring. "Just drink it, dude." Then he stopped, brightening slightly at the realisation that Roxas actually cared about not killing his mouth. He calmed almost instantly, watching as the boy shrugged, lifted it and took a swallow. There was a brief pause, before the blond started coughing harshly, eyes watering, holding the bottle away. "Holy Christ, Hayner!" Hayner grinned devilishly, hands rubbing together.
"Now, my pretty, you truly are one of us."
Choking, Roxas gasped, "That was horrible."
Hazel eyes rolled. "Oh, come on, you baby. It's better when it's warm, okay?"
"It tastes like cheap vodka."
Hayner was beginning to take offence on behalf of the beverage. "Cheap vodka!" He slapped the side of Roxas' head. "Have a little respect, man, that stuff's twelve years old."
"Old, cheap vodka," the blond redefined, sniffing, wiping his eyes, throat hoarse.
"You have no culture, you know that?" He reached out, plucked the bottle from its outstretched position, brought it back around to press against Roxas' chest. "Have another drink and quit whining. You owe me."
Roxas sent a pointed look over to where Seifer was laughing as Fuu started slamming back the tequila, a small crease appearing between Olette's eyebrows. "Who owes who?"
Pence came to join them with a sigh, settling between the two blonds. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't see this night ending well. Not with alcohol involved."
"That's why you're going to take me for a walk when I start getting really drunk," Hayner informed him calmly, before taking a long swallow of bourbon. "I can't be drawn into a fight if I'm not around, can I?"
So, the night progressed. Roxas quickly lost all sensation in his taste-buds, which made the sake easier to consume. He vaguely heard Olette, at one point, asking him to not finish the bottle off – her grandparents wouldn't be happy if they found out – but the front of his skull was too filled with dense fog, nose tingling too interestingly, for him to pay attention. He continued to drink. On the other side of Pence, Hayner began a gradual, graceful descent from the seat, starting halfway through the first hour, finding completion towards the end of the second. By this point, the two groups had mingled and separated again, the warmth of friendliness spontaneously short, tipsiness giving way to future hangover material.
His head rolling against Pence's knee, the brunet remaining more-or-less sober to act as a voice of reason if it was needed, Hayner slurred to the two of them, "I think it's time I went for a walk…" Roxas turned his face to Olette, eyes catching up twenty seconds later, a blurred display of heavy, sloppy making-out going on on the other sofa. His expression scrunched up slowly. "Ew," he commented. "I was – I was happier when I was looking the other way." Hayner was pawing Pence's leg clumsily.
"Take me oouut, Pence-y boy. I'm like a dog that needs the bathroom." He grabbed handfuls of the loveseat, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet, Pence sighing with affectionate patience, standing and helping Roxas up, neither blond doing too well at the whole balance game. "And you know – you know what you do with dogs needing the bathroom?" He pushed himself hard, staggering sideways across the room as he bellowed, "You throw them out the window!" He hit the windowsill, grabbed the edges, started hauling himself through. Olette broke free from Seifer.
"Hayner! Oh, for Pete's sake, not again! Get away from the window!"
"But Olette, honey, I'm a dog that needs to pee!" Hayner slithered, disappeared, a thump and a curse alerting the room to the fact that he'd met the ground on the other side. There was some mumbling, and by the time Pence and Roxas reached the abandoned sill, Hayner was halfway back to standing, clawing his body upright by way of the rickety latticework clinging to the side of the house. "Okay, through you go," Pence encouraged. Roxas drew breath to protest, but by the time he started talking, he was already face-first in the long grass, chewing dirt as he attempted to form consonants. His feet were still in the air, in the warmth of the house, kicking the wall, the shivering glass panels. Determinedly strong hands seized his ankles, his back-end being manipulated through the gap, knees thudding to the earth a moment later, Roxas rolling awkwardly in the search for equilibrium. Pence followed with a great amount more dignity, bent and helped the floundering blond to his knees. Roxas' hands snaked up, grabbed the windowsill, arms pulling him up to peer blearily back into the softly-lit room. "You jus' – have fun with Seifer while we're gone, 'kay Olette?"
There was a sigh from within, the question directed at Pence: "Where are you taking them?"
"Probably to the beach," the brunet answered. Roxas let go of the sill, fell from view.
"To the beach!" he roared, the war-cry echoed a moment later by a far-away-sounding Hayner. Pence lifted him to his feet, a hand under his elbow, the pair leaving the house behind. "How do we get to the beach?" the blond wondered.
"It's okay, me and Hayner know the way," the other boy reassured. He raised his voice. "Hayner, head for the beach!"
"To the beach!" came the distant, responding confirmation. There was a sharp crackling and rustling as the inebriated blond changed course. It was only a short walk before crunching vegetation became sagging sand, Roxas, having only recently got the hang of walking solo, nearly toppling, rescued by Pence. He clutched the brunet's shirt tightly, knees bowing, feet shuffling in an attempt to regain balance. "I'm okay," he mumbled.
"You won't be saying that in the morning," Pence smiled crookedly. "You've got work tomorrow, remember?"
Roxas blinked rapidly, an eyebrow sinking low in bewilderment. "I do?" Pence nodded. "Well, fuck."
Pence suddenly whispered a curse. "Roxas, I'm going to have to put you down for a minute, okay?" Without waiting for a response, he lowered the blond quickly, set off across the sand, shouting, "Hayner! Hayner! Don't go in the water!"
"I'm the Little fuckin' Mermaid, Pence!"
"You're a drunken ass, is what you are…" As Pence disappeared into the darkness to save Hayner from drowning literally in his own stupidity, Roxas sat on the softness and slowly looked around, a surprised expression plastered in place. "Well, fuck," he repeated. He was shivering, the wind sharp, blowing through his clothing as if he weren't even wearing any, setting a chill against his skin. It was sobering, a little, though his head remained cotton-clouded, thoughts swaying and swimming, following each slightly nauseated stream of consciousness until it brought him back to its beginning again. The beach swirled a little, the start of a helicopter spin, but ceased almost as suddenly as it struck. He was relieved; any of that crap, and he'd end up hurling the mystery-chicken all over the place. He wondered if Hayner was faring any better.
Lifting his head from where it had unconsciously sunk to between his knees, he blinked hard a couple times, slow, blurring vision scanning the immediate area in search. When he couldn't see them, he listened – tried to hear Pence, Hayner's drunkenly dulcet tones. Nothing. He was – alone. A frown slowly sank his features, sharp and steady disquiet settling through his bones. The wind seemed as if to blow colder, a stripping quality to it, as if he were more vulnerable all of a sudden. The blond drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them, burying his mouth against one knee, balling up to keep warm.
Uneasiness prickled the back of Roxas' neck, little pins stab, stab, stabbing. He reached up a couple times to slap at the skin, convinced there was something there, something crawling – but each time, he met himself, only himself. A thumb slipped between his lips, teeth worrying the nail, waiting for Pence. Every few seconds, he'd glance around, sucking in a breath, because it was worse when he was intoxicated. He hadn't realised it would be, but it was, it was worse, and he'd never been alone like this before. This being-watched feeling, the one he could usually talk himself out of without much effort – it was worse.
He could feel eyes on him. Distant, like the stars, but close enough to set his teeth on edge, a constant breath just out of reach of his cheek. Thing is, earlier in the day, there had been a breath. Roxas fell quickly into paranoia, eyes prowling, heart thudding tightly, muscles trembling, taut. All the warmer elements of his inebriation were withering, leaving his thoughts clearer but icier, lips sealing together, shoulders hunching. It wasn't even thirty seconds later that he decided he couldn't handle it anymore – his chest was starting to pound uncomfortably, pulse jumping at his throat, and combined with the confusion of his current chemically-induced mindset, it was more than he could stand.
Hands reached out, grabbed twin handfuls of unresisting sand, fingers digging deep enough to find some form of support. Roxas pulled himself shakily to his feet, bent over awkwardly, like some kind of open-target. He felt a shudder of fear, a small gasp choking his throat, the blond unfolding, straightening, eyes shifting slowly to the side, expecting to find someone there. He turned in an unsteady circle, feet sliding through the sand, scanning the treetops lining the back-edge of the beach. Shivering hard, teeth chattering, unsettled and unhappy, Roxas backed away from the utterly obscured vegetation, all too easily imagining snipers, binoculars, high-powered telescopic shutters, a cold, unreasoning eye staring him down without him even realising.
He freaked out, quietly, couldn't take another second of it at this intensity and turned, lurched across the shore, heading for the last-known position of Pence and Hayner. Several times, he went as if to trip, stumbling sharply, but fear drove him onward. No panic, no overwhelming quality to it, just a cold, numb fright. He hit the water before he was ready to, the icy shock, the sudden slipperiness, dragging him to his knees. He collapsed with a shout, gasping and wheezing, swearing and scrabbling, making more splash and noise than even Hayner had. Sense caught up with him after far too long a delay, quieted his motions, made him sit dripping, sniffing, miserable, as still as possible. He barely even knew what the hell he was doing, waist-deep in brine.
Then came the body, throwing itself upon him with a roar. "Roxas!"
The blond bellowed, shoved up to his feet with terrified strength, elbows swinging hard and wild, a shove, a duck, a push, then a punch so filled with power and drive it knocked Hayner right off his goddamn feet, bam, straight into the water on his back. The taller boy started thrashing, choking, face slipping beneath the surface. As Roxas shrieked and leapt back, Pence caught up with them, plunged his arms down into the sea and hauled Hayner up by a handful of hair, a handful of collar, bending the hapless male over to let the fluid drain out of his nostrils. Hayner moaned, hacked as some salt tried for his wind-pipe, started screeching a moment later, clutching his forehead. "My fucking face is on fire!"
"I'm sorry!" Roxas yelled desperately, very firmly no longer drunk, dancing uncertainly from foot to foot, out of retaliation range. "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Hay!"
"Aaaah!" If Pence hadn't been holding him, the blond would have started rolling around in the shallows, the agony all-consuming. "It stings! Oh, my God, it stings so bad!"
"Let's get him out of the water," Pence called to Roxas. He got a frantic head-shake in reply, let out a growl and commanded, "Now, Roxas – he needs our help. He's not going to get you back for this, okay?"
"I'll fuckin' kill the bastard!" Hayner, with tiresome timing, corrected.
"You shouldn't have jumped on me!" Roxas wailed.
"For God's sake!" Both hesitated, Hayner blinking through his newly-sprung tears of pain, as Pence seemed to swell, double in size. "I am telling you, right now, that we are all getting Hayner out of the water – or I'll personally drown you both myself!"
There was a brief, stunned pause, then Roxas was scrambling over, grabbing Hayner's other arm, and, under the brunet's fierce glare, the two blonds did their best to co-operatively pull their weight. Pence led them quickly back up onto the beach, where the firm sand from the earlier high-tide had yet to dry and crumble. Panting, the three tumbled to the earth, Pence growing wetter by the minute with Hayner hanging all over him. "I feel sick," the tall blond complained.
"You shouldn't have had so much to drink," Pence grumbled, shrugging him off, clearly close to his wit's end with the pair.
"It's not the bourbon, it's the sea water," Hayner declared heatedly, eyes slightly unfocused. "Isn't – isn't it – isn't sea water poisonous?"
"I'm sorry," Roxas said, softly, drawing the gazes of both boys, frowning at the expression on his face. Hayner leaned over Pence, looking hard into the blond's face.
"It's fine," he said after a beat. "Don't worry about it."
The three boys lapsed into silence, Hayner holding his face gingerly, expression scrunched against the pain, the gentle noise of the waves shushing and sweeping. Roxas took a breath, released a slow, quiet sigh, all the artificial energy he'd thought he had finally draining out all the way, not even real in the first place. Illusions of strength.
The hush was comfortable between them, as it almost always was, though Hayner more because he was concentrating on willing the burning from his sinuses. Roxas closed his eyes, listening to the ocean, drawing his knees up, resting his head against his knees. As Pence stared up at the stars, a slowly sobering Hayner glanced his way, eyeing the blond's exhausted posture. "So, where'd you develop a right-hook like that, anyway?" His voice sounded muffled, nose blocked. Roxas shrugged slightly. Hayner lifted an elbow, dug it into his back and rested there, ignoring the uncomfortable squirm beneath as Roxas tried to dislodge it from the muscle. Pence took a breath, sleepily asked, "Do you guys think we'll always be like this?"
Roxas lifted his head, Hayner's attention going over to the brunet. "Like what? Pissed on the beach with Olette swapping saliva with our childhood-worst-enemy not a couple hundred feet away? Well, sure. It's why I'm contemplating suicide."
Roxas wasn't listening, a frown in place as he gazed out at the sea. His eyes strained, narrowed, the boy shrugged Hayner off. "Do you guys… do you see that?" They glanced at him, followed the direction of his squinting, struggling to see what he was indicating. A long moment passed. "There's someone out there," Roxas said softly. "Standing in the water." Pence tilted his head to one side.
"Really? I don't – oh, is that – ? Oh, no, it's a rock."
"Next to the rock." Roxas didn't waver.
Hayner stared hard, eyes held open, unblinking. "I don't see them." He scowled. "It isn't Seifer, is it? Or one of his goons?"
Roxas' head shook gently from side to side, something tingling in his chest. "No – he looks… different. Different to them."
Pence laughed. "Maybe it's a mermaid?"
Roxas shook his head again, more firmly. "It was a guy. There's someone out there. Some… some guy." He looked sideways, found them watching him sceptically. "There is," he insisted, eyebrows shooting up. Frowning, he turned back, said, "Can't you guys use your eyes, for – "
Water lapped the large rock jutting out of the ocean, the slight sliver of moonlight barely illuminating it as more than a deeper darkness against the obscure blue. The wind continued to breathe, freezing against the water clinging to his clothes, and Roxas wondered if it had blown the boy away. He was gone – that dim shadow, up to his thighs with his head thrust back, scrutinising the heavens… the boy was gone.
"I – I saw him," Roxas murmured. He rubbed an eye sharply. "I did." He looked at the others. "He was right there."
Pence and Hayner weren't buying it. The concern had returned to Hayner's expression, coupled with that old wariness. "Maybe… you should get some sleep," he advised, voice low, noncommittal, before Pence could find a way to make light of it, laugh at Roxas for his mistake, when the blond was so clearly taking this seriously. Roxas blinked several times, rubbed his eye again, rubbed his chest. "I'm not tired," he lied. "I mean…" He looked back out to the ocean, as Hayner shifted beside him, staggered to his feet. Pence was swift to follow, quietly bewildered, curious. He still didn't know about the night's activities, not in full, but suspicion was rising. Roxas stayed in place, searching the spot he had last seen the person. "He was right there."
Hayner sighed, shook his head, bent down and hauled Roxas to his feet as if he were the one who'd had the most to drink, like he was some hopeless drunk unable to perform the most basic of functions. Resentfully, the blond tugged free, absently rubbing his knuckles, sore from where they'd slammed into what was now a blooming bruise on Hayner's face. As he noticed it, though, whatever anger that had started sparking flickered, fizzled and died, hands dropping to his sides. He reached out hesitantly, Hayner flinching away from his touch, the flesh stinging. Roxas pursued, gripped his chin tightly, turning his face forcefully to the side, slowly, Hayner letting out a muffled noise of protest. Pence watched cautiously, not sure what to expect. Hayner's eyes glared, though they did so to the side, unable to twist back, though he tried. "Mind – lettin' me go?" he asked, lips slightly crushed by the hold.
Roxas blinked, surprised, released him. "Sorry. I just wanted to…" He took a breath. "Maybe I should go sleep."
Hayner nodded slowly, rubbing his jaw, working it slightly, trying to rid it of the small, numb points where it had been clutched. "Just like I said." Roxas twisted his head, gazing out, almost longingly. Hayner wrapped a hand around his upper arm, jerked him back around, facing the trees instead, finding a strong and sudden dislike in the expression on the other blond's face. "You can take the bed, I'll tell Olette when we get back."
Roxas' eyes darted along the lumpy, dark line of vegetation, swallowed and nodded, lowered his head as the three of them got walking, Pence soon pushing between them, trusting neither blond to carry himself all the way back to the beach-house. Roxas went quietly, deciding he'd caused enough trouble for one twenty-four-hour block of time… and busy hoping that whatever killer might be hiding in the trees would continue to merely watch, and not act on the cold impulse to kill that the blond knew, knew without a doubt, was hovering.
They made it up to the path, disappearing from the wide-open space of the shore, and Roxas' heart ceased to beat quite so frighteningly hard.