CHAPTER TEN
When Sora opened his eyes, he immediately sensed the wrongness of his surroundings.
It wasn't that he was in the incorrect place, or even that the time was strange… in that sense, everything was perfectly familiar. Everything he saw was fine. Nothing was amiss, visually. The world was… cool, dark, and untouched.
No, it was something in the air, a warning at the back of his mind. Things were – out of his body – it was so heavy, so thick, exhaustion weighing down every limb. The thought of getting up and going wandering was met with alarm bells, almost a sense of panic. Sora couldn't get up, he couldn't go out, not tonight. Bewildered, he searched his head for a reason, for a root to the problem, and slowly, slowly, through the fog, a faint answer, a disjointed memory, came drifting forward.
It was because… he was sick.
Yes. Sora was sick.
Almost on cue, he felt a burning pulse in his chest. He struggled for a moment to breathe, eyebrows knitting together, fear threading cold fingers through his heart.
Sora couldn't go out tonight. He needed more sleep, as despised as the activity was.
He would have to sleep. He would have to recover.
And, hopefully, when he woke again, he would be stronger.
.o.O.o.
Roxas woke up to a voice, an angry, quiet voice. It was coming from somewhere nearby, but was muffled by walls, by a door. He slowly turned his head to the side, shifting slightly under the weight of the cool covers, staring at the rectangle of light outlining the door to Hayner's bedroom. It was still dark; through the slats of the blinds, night was still heavy in the sky.
He lay there for a while, listening to the voice. It floated in and out of range, accompanied by footsteps, someone pacing back and forth along the hallway. The occasional word came through, clear and audible, giving Roxas snatches of a conversation he couldn't care less about, and gradually, his gaze shifted up towards the ceiling. He stared for a while. The glowing numbers on the alarm clock bolted to the wall read that it was four in the morning, but Roxas couldn't bring himself to take note of this fact. Everything inside him was an endless, dull plane of grey, with no room for colour or contrast. He was a blank slate, with no interaction to form thoughts over.
In the corner of the room, something shifted, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that he wasn't actually alone. Looking down, he sought out the source of the motion, catching a split-second glimpse of shadow – and then nothing. He blinked at the emptiness for a while, before sighing. "You're hiding from me." Returning to look upward, he mumbled, "I don't care."
Outside the door, the owner of the angry voice was apprehended, Hayner's more recognisable tone hissing words inaudibly. There was a pause, then, loudly, "What? He hasn't made a peep, he's sleeping through the whole fucking thing. Now, do you mind? I'm trying to argue with my girlfriend, here."
"Then do it elsewhere, asshole!" Hayner spat in a whisper, the words coming through this time, less controlled.
"Look, back off, okay?" There was a beat of silence, then, "No, I told you I wasn't at Hayner's, didn't I? Why the hell would I be there?" The anger flared back up, the argument becoming less muffled. "If you turned up at his door right this second? I don't know, Olette! Probably chicken-wuss beating off to the sound of a washing machine, or some fucked up shit like that! Maybe sleep, since it's four in the goddamn morning."
As the voice faded again, and stayed that way, the door creaked open, a silhouette slipping through in the brief brightness. In the momentary light, Roxas recognised Hayner, at the same time that Hayner noticed the shine of his eyes. Then the door was shut again. Hayner stood in silence for a minute, before murmuring, "Are you okay?"
Roxas didn't answer, and the taller boy sighed. He came over, sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands and turning it to one side, studying the silent blond. "So I guess this means you haven't come good yet," he supposed tiredly. Groaning faintly, he rubbed a hand over his features. "Oh, man, what an endless night." Taking a breath through his nose, leaning his mouth against his knuckles, he mumbled, "Olette and Seifer are arguing. They've been at it for an hour and a half now." He shook his head, rested his forehead on his palms, adding, "I won't let him tell her why he's here, or she'll… she'll just freak, Rox. And so they're fighting, because he won't tell her where he is…" His eyes squeezed shut, exhaustion evident in the sag of his posture. "It's all my fault." Turning to regard his friend wearily, he said, "But you don't care, do you? It wouldn't bother you one way or another." A moment passed. "I'm sorry Seifer woke you up. I tried to keep him quiet, but, well… it's Seifer."
"…Why would Olette give two shits if he's here at your place?" Roxas asked flatly. Hayner froze, looked up.
"Hey," he smiled. "You're talking."
"You didn't answer my question."
Hayner's expression slowly faded, resuming its more haggard appearance. "Why would Olette care? Because he was meant to be with her. He blew her off when I called last night."
"…You're an idiot," Roxas decided, closing his eyes.
Hayner sighed. "I'm gonna go… do some laundry. I'll let you get back to sleep."
"No." Roxas was looking at him again, almost alertly. "I don't want to sleep."
Hayner grimaced. "Why? Not that it matters to you right now, but the more you sleep, the more likely it is that you'll recover faster. That's always the way it goes."
"I won't."
"No? Just like you weren't going to a while ago, before I came in and found you snoring?" Hayner sounded almost amused. Roxas, however, went still. He just stared at the taller boy, until all humour stuttered and died out, leaving him looking thin and lonely. "Okay, Roxas. You can help me with the laundry, then. But we have to dress you more warmly, it gets cold down there."
He stood, the spike-haired blond sitting up, and went to the chest of drawers, pulling open the second one, rummaging through. As he dragged out a sweater, something small and thin came flicking out along with it, fluttering through the air and landing on the bed. It took a moment for Hayner to realise what the sound had been, and when he did, he was suddenly electrified. He dived for the rectangle of card that lay beside Roxas, as if expecting to have to wrench it away from the blond's curious fingers, forgetting that oh, that's right… Roxas wasn't curious.
Whatever had come out, whatever it was that Hayner was so concerned about being seen by his best friend of all people… it was beneath the boy's notice.
Hayner hesitated, holding the item carefully in his hands, watching Roxas for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he relaxed a notch, tucked it back away within the drawer, digging it right to the back. He picked up the sweater from where he'd tossed it to the floor in his panic, gathered the fabric together so that it could be slipped straight over Roxas' head and tugged down his chest. He was forced to treat the blond like a heavy mannequin, Roxas doing nothing to help the process along, sitting motionlessly as Hayner struggled to slide his arms through their respective holes.
Grunting, he snapped, "You know, if you're really that keen to come with me, help me, Rox."
"I'll stay here," the blond replied calmly.
Rolling his eyes, Hayner muttered, "Like hell you will, I'm not leaving you in the tender care of Seifer." Huffing a frustrated breath, he threw himself into the task, managing to dress Roxas' upper half more warmly, at least. He was too drained to try and force the guy into pants, but figured that this would be enough. He pulled Roxas off the bed, the blond unresisting, grasping one of his hands and leading him out of the bedroom.
The apartment lights were almost all on, giving an illusion of daylight, even though the sun was still at least an hour away from even greying the horizon. Seifer was in the sitting room, now clear of debris, the carpet safe for bare feet again. He was sitting on the sofa, knees pressing against the edge of the coffee table, arguing at his reflection in the TV.
"Why the hell are you bringing that up? What are we even talking about, anymore?" the man was demanding, as the pair entered.
Hayner led Roxas to the door, pressed him against the wall and said, "Stay here. I'll just grab my dirty laundry." Glancing up at the sound of his voice, Seifer paused at the sight of Roxas, the blond staring dully back, attention attracted only by the fact that he had moved. For a long moment, they gazed at one another, the man hiking an eyebrow up, before blinking, shaking his head, saying, "Yeah, I'm listening. I'm listening, Olette. Christ."
Roxas continued to watch him, Seifer throwing scowling glances over his way, obviously wondering, despite everything, if this was a challenge he was meant to be rising to. When Hayner reappeared, hauling two stuffed pillowcases over his shoulders, one of clothing, one of towels, Seifer broke off the conversation without warning to press the phone against his chest and ask, "Where are you going?"
"Laundry room," the blond replied shortly. "Roxas is coming with me."
Seifer eyed him dubiously. "Are you sure? He's looking – kind of messed up still. Like he might snap. He's spent this whole time staring at me."
Shooting him an impatient look, Hayner said, "I'm sure we'll be fine, thanks all the same." At the door, he stopped, threw the makeshift sacks to the ground, and went to where Seifer had yet to resume his conversation, still watching them. He paused, shifted his weight onto his left foot, looking hard at the man for a moment, before reaching out and swiftly tugging his black beanie off. Spluttering a protest as his hair was sent wildly in all directions, Seifer snatched for it, for Hayner, nearly falling off the seat as the boy sauntered over to where Roxas remained standing dispassionately.
Smirking, he tugged the hat onto the shorter blond's head, pulling it low over his ears, adjusting the brim so that the blue eyes continued to blink out unhindered. Turning back to Seifer, who was looking more furious by the second, unable to attack with Olette on the other end of the phone, he said smugly, "Now we'll be fine. There's no way Roxas will get cold in the basement."
Eyes like slits, Seifer finally lifted the cell-phone back up, asked, "You still there? Sorry. Dropped my phone." He kept his gaze locked on Hayner, the blond's head held jauntily high, a smile hovering ceaselessly over his lips as he swung one of the pillowcases back up over his shoulder, shoving the other into Roxas' arms, the boy automatically locking his muscles in place to stop it from falling.
Hayner unlatched the door, pulled it open and ushered Roxas out, turning and giving Seifer a cocky wave and a wink, receiving a stiff middle finger in return. With a chuckle, he swung it shut, adjusting the load on his back, throwing a glance Roxas' way. "You look like a living doll," he muttered. "No wonder Seifer was weirded out by you, man." He gestured with his head. "Come on, let's go."
Roxas trailed him on auto-pilot, Hayner constantly checking to make sure he didn't veer off simply because he didn't feel like following anymore. He wished it wasn't so damn silent, but attempting conversation with Roxas when he was like this was asking to either be completely ignored, or cursed at in a disinterested fashion. In the end, it just wasn't worth it, not even to break the monotony.
The two blonds took the several sets of stairs down to the basement of the building, Hayner using his house key to unlock it and step down into the cold laundry room, flicking on the lights. Roxas followed closely, so much so that Hayner had to quicken his pace to keep from getting stepped on. They reached the bottom of the narrow stairway, Hayner slinging his pillowcase to one side, letting Roxas pass, and then stumping back up and closing the door again to keep the noise down.
With a sigh, he returned to Roxas, who was looking around blankly. "Don't drop that," he warned the blond, nodding to the packed pillowcase in his arms as he picked up his own and started towards one of the machines. "There's a bottle of cola in it."
Roxas dropped it.
The clothes burst out, luckily cushioning the cola, Hayner swearing viciously and throwing the other bag onto the nearest front-loader, hurrying to scoop it all up. "You really are some kind of bitch," he snarled, carrying the lumpy bundle over, slamming it on top of another of the line of washing machines. Glaring at Roxas, he pulled out his wallet, fished out some quarters, and slipped them into two different machines, while the other blond just stood in place and continued looking impassive.
Grunting and muttering to himself, Hayner bent and emptied a pillowcase into each one, throwing the empty sacks into the one with the towels, got the liquid soap from where he'd left it beside the large bottle of cola on one of the dryers and haphazardly glugged pale-blue into each. He slammed the lid shut on the clothing, programmed the cycle, and got it going, the hiss of water loud in the hush.
With several of the overhead halogen lights flickering uncertainly, Hayner returned to the cola, swapped it with the soap, carried it over to the machine holding the towels and bobbed down again. Unscrewing the cap, he upended the entire bottle in to mix with the washing liquid, shooting Roxas a glance. "It's for the blood," he explained bluntly. "Cola helps with bloodstains."
Roxas didn't care. Hayner swung the cover shut on the cola-soap combination, started it up, and hoped that when he saw his discoloured towels again, they'd be back to their more-or-less white condition. He threw the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, went to Roxas and took hold of his arms, pushing him backward until his back hit a nearby, dormant machine. "Sit down, you asshole." Hayner awkwardly lifted him up, Roxas making the slightest, slightest effort to assist by supporting himself enough to not fall over backwards onto the one behind. Hayner was perversely grateful.
He hopped up onto the machine next to him, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, slightly bent, and taking one out, sliding it between his lips. "You know," he muttered, digging for his lighter, "far be it from me to encourage bad habits in other people, but maybe you should take this one up, buddy."
The silence was all he expected. He lit up, face briefly flickering orange, and inhaled. As he let a breath of smoke go, he tucked his lighter away, eyes rising to the cement ceiling. "Only place in the entire goddamn building without smoke detectors. Thank Christ."
One heel tapping rhythmically against the metal front of his machine, Hayner slowly finished his cigarette, glancing around in boredom. "I don't suppose you feel like telling me anything helpful about yesterday," he sighed at last, tossing the butt onto the hard floor, slipping down to crush it firmly with the toe of his sneaker. When Roxas didn't respond, he shifted around in front of the blond, hands on hips to stare at him for a minute, before dropping his arms and gently taking hold of one of the boy's ankles, elevating the leg and peering at the sole of its bare foot. "It's looking okay," he mumbled. He checked the other one. "Cuts are doing fine." Next, he took the silent boy's face carefully between his hands, observing him critically. "You're gonna need stitches," he said softly. "Otherwise you'll scar." Roxas watched him from under hooded eyelids. Hayner shrugged. "But hell, what do I know? Seven years of Struggle can't have taught me much."
"…You smell like charred heart," Roxas whispered hoarsely, almost startling the other blond, who had accepted that the only sound aside from the rumbling machines was going to be his own voice. Hayner studied him, eyes narrowed.
"…Roxas…" The question he wanted to ask, it hovered on the tip of his tongue. It was there, and demanding to be aired… but Hayner didn't think he wanted to know the answer, maybe. And he didn't think he could perform the betrayal it'd take to give it voice. Roxas might have been lost for now, but he'd be back, in a day, a few days – and he'd remember his best friend's doubt. He might not care now… but he'd care eventually.
"How long can we stay like this, I wonder?" he asked instead, voice low and distant. "You pretending you're fine, me pretending I'm fine… Granted, there's differences between our not-fine's, but in the end…" He sighed, shook his head. "We're not the most normal guys in existence, are we, Rox?" He laughed a little, harshly. "You're my best friend, and you don't even know the extent of what a fuck-up I am…"
Roxas stirred slightly, for the first time since he'd woken, and lowered his eyes. "Stop looking at me." Hayner closed his eyes, let out a breath.
"I think I need another cigarette." He turned away from the blond, hunting once again through his pockets. He wandered over to the machines to check on their progress.
From behind, he heard muttered again, "Don't look at me."
"I'm not," he said shortly over his shoulder.
"…Someone is," Roxas said quietly, making Hayner pause, the slightest shiver running up his spine. Cigarette between his lips, he flattened his hands on the vibrating machines, before turning and sweeping the room with a sharp gaze. Slowly, he took in the stillness, eyes coming at last to rest on the downturned head of the hat-covered blond.
"It's just you and me down here, Rox," he pointed out, removing the cigarette and exhaling smoke with each word. He thought for a moment. "I know you must be scared, even if you don't want to admit to it, even though you're… hiding from it, basically. But down here, it's just us. No one can see you but me."
For a few heartbeats, it seemed like Roxas wasn't going to react to this, was going to return to his speechless state, and Hayner almost gave up – but then the boy started slowly shaking his head. "There's always someone watching me," he said hoarsely, a bleakness to his words that came from an edge of sharp belief. "Always."
"Not here," Hayner insisted stubbornly. He turned his back on him, adding, "See? Look, not even I am looking at you, now. You're completely alone over there, Roxas. I don't have eyes in the back of my head, okay?"
"Even when I'm alone. Even when I'm sleeping," came the dull response, and again, Hayner got a chill. He shook it off firmly, twisting his head, jamming his cigarette between his teeth, wishing he was a chain-smoker.
"You're being paranoid," he accused.
Roxas blinked, raised his head, met Hayner's gaze and for a moment seemed to actually be aware. He was participating in a conversation, he was rising out of the deeper levels of his funk, and Hayner was abruptly reminded of just how badly yesterday's attack must have affected the blond. This was all just – so fucked up and awful.
Roxas nodded slowly. "Yeah. I am." His gaze slipped past his friend, passing sightlessly through the far wall. "Doesn't mean it's not true."
Hayner gave up.
An hour passed, during which the clothes finished washing, were piled into dryers, and then stuffed back into their clean pillowcases to be folded upstairs. The taller blond once again shoved one of the warm bundles into Roxas' arms to be held, so that he could open the door at the top and lead the way back up to the apartment. They shuffled up wearily, the sun beginning to approach their side of the planet, a different, heavier feel to the air, the kind that came when daylight was the resented indicator that sleep had yet to be indulged in. It was the signal that, even if you went to bed right that second, it would be painfully, sickeningly soon that the alarm went off.
Feet dragging, Hayner pushed into the apartment, finding it dim, silent. He hesitated, ushered Roxas in, closed the door and looked around cautiously.
"About time you turned up," came the slow, drowsy voice from the couch. "Nice trick you pulled, chicken-wuss, I can't leave without my hat."
Setting his pillowcase down by the door, encouraging Roxas to do the same, Hayner asked cautiously, "You're leaving now?"
"It's that, or find my ass dumped before lunchtime," the man mumbled sleepily. "And as much as I know you'd love to see that, I'm thinking I should probably be gallant and go tell her a nice lie before she decides I've been cheating on her." He let out a yawn, a groan, and sat up from where he'd been lying, rubbing his face. "Don't worry, I won't tell her about Roxas."
Hayner was silent for a moment. "…I don't want you to get caught in a lie."
"I won't," came the curt response. "I lie with the best of them, okay? Now give me my fucking hat." Slowly, Hayner turned to Roxas, who had already taken the beanie off and was holding it out. Taking it, he in turn extended it over towards Seifer, who grabbed it and quickly fitted it back over his messy hair. He stood, the gunblade replica still hanging from its sheath clipped onto his belt. "I doubt anybody's gonna come – whoever did this to Roxas wouldn't have the balls to try it twice, probably – but, still, call me if you need to."
Hayner nodded slightly. "For the record – whatever it's worth –" he said quietly, "I wouldn't actually love to see you get your ass dumped."
Seifer paused to send him a patronising look. "Come on, Hayner. Think about who you're talking to." When the blond lowered his head slightly, saying nothing in return, Seifer darted a quick look Roxas' way, lifted a hand and clapped Hayner on the shoulder. "Like I said – call me." Hayner nodded, Seifer flicking Roxas' forehead as he stepped past, adding sternly, "And you, snap out of this shit. I want to hear you talking all your stupid feelings out like the sap I know you are the next time I see you, got it?" He strutted to the door, opened it, letting the light from the hall spill in, dimming the effect of the natural illumination beginning to grow outside, flipped a two-fingered wave over his shoulder. "Catch you later, wimps."
The door slammed behind him, and Seifer's steps faded away. Hayner sighed, looked at Roxas, reached out and tugged a few spikes back into place, muttering, "You have gross hat-hair like his, now." Drawing back to observe his efforts, he smiled a little, though it lasted only briefly. "Come help me fold, Roxas. Then I'll burn you something for breakfast, huh?"
He hooked an arm around his friend's shoulders, grabbing the corners of both pillowcases and carrying them, slipping in his grasp, to the bedroom. Roxas sat, of his own volition, and though he didn't help, he watched. Hayner turned on the light, drew the various items out one by one and folded them neatly, sorting them into piles to be put away, Roxas following each movement with eyes that were actually seeing what was going on. The distance in them was fading, slowly. Hayner noticed it, said nothing that might draw attention to it for fear of driving him back under, and just kept going until he was finished.
"Come on," he said, arms filled with a tower of towels to be left in the cupboard next to the bathroom. He exited into the hallway, listening acutely, and, when Roxas' feet sounded out across the carpet, he silently celebrated.
After putting away the towels, he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and gazed inside. He glanced over to find Roxas hovering at the doorway, eyes on the tiles. "…There's no more glass," he said cautiously. "It's safe to come in with bare feet." Roxas' eyes ticked over to Hayner's sneakers. He hesitated, stepped in slowly.
"It feels cold," he muttered.
Hayner eyed him carefully for a moment, then looked away as the blond's gaze rose from the floor, pretending he'd been studying the contents of the refrigerator the entire time. "I hate to break it to you," he announced, "but, uh, I don't actually have any food. Unless you count… mayonnaise. And I don't even know how old it is." Shaking his head, he eased the door shut. "We'll have to go out when the store opens, pick up some stuff." Hands on hips he turned to Roxas, taking a breath, adding casually, "And then, I don't know, maybe we could head on over to the police station and – file a report or something on this attack."
"No," said Roxas sharply. He stepped close, suddenly connected with reality, a hand wrapping around Hayner's arm, squeezing hard. "We're not going to. I'm not going to sleep, and I'm not going to report it."
Hayner hitched in a slight breath, told him, "You're hurting me." Then, eyes jumping into a glare, he demanded, "What the hell are you talking about? You can't just never sleep again, Roxas – and what if this guy comes back for you, huh? You can't just never go home, either!" Temper being ever his undoing, he added, "And you can't let that bastard get away with what he did to you – fuck, have you seen yourself yet, in between trying to not exist and leaving bruises on my goddamn arm?" He knocked the blond's grip away roughly, stepping back angrily. "Hell goddamn shit, I'm tired, Roxas! I've been up all night dealing with you, and with Seifer, and listening to him fucking bicker with Olette for hours on end, and I went to work yesterday, and I was the one who was having the shitty mood, and you took it all away from me by getting attacked!" He inhaled, snapped his hands in Roxas' direction. "And now – now, you won't even try to take steps to make sure the guy that did it gets what's coming to him! I mean – I mean – what the hell am I supposed to do, Roxas? I am not your caretaker!" Throwing his hands through his hair, Hayner paced agitatedly away towards the sink, digging his nails into his scalp. He stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, then squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low scream of frustration through his teeth.
A long silence fell through the apartment. Feeling slightly calmer, Hayner lowered his arms, opened his eyes and gazed out the window for a moment at the rising sun. Roxas was still there behind him; he could hear the blond's slightly ragged breaths.
Voice hoarse, he softly said, "Look… Let's just go to the 7-11 around the corner, okay? Screw waiting for the grocery store to open. Let's just get some milk and microwaveable burritos and come home." When Roxas didn't respond, he looked over his shoulder, forced a smile. "Besides, this way, there's probably less chance that that… Axel guy will be waiting. And it's nice and close, so you won't have to go far. Alright, Roxas?"
The blond stared at him, ice-blue eyes wide, neck stiff. With a trickle of dread, Hayner wondered if his outburst had frightened him… but then, Roxas said, "He won't be waiting."
Hayner blinked. "Huh? Who, the Axel dude?"
"He won't be waiting," Roxas repeated. As Hayner started to frown in puzzlement, he calmly added, "He won't be seeing anything for a while."
Eyes narrowing slowly, Hayner turned away from the sink, eyebrows drawn together. "…What?"
Roxas said nothing more on the matter, apparently finding any further elucidation to be superfluous. He just continued to stand and steadily look at the taller boy, who was suddenly faintly uneasy. "Roxas… I really wish you'd tell me what went on at your place yesterday. Please, just – tell me something I don't know, okay? I know there was pepper spray, and that your TV got trashed… What happened?"
"…I want a burrito," the blond said faintly. Hayner pressed his lips together, resisted the urge to start yelling again, to grab the blond like he first had the night before and shake some answers out of him. Instead, he sucked a long inhalation, stabilised his rocky insides, stilled himself and then nodded.
"Okay. Fine. Burrito it is." He checked his pocket for his keys and wallet, making sure they were still in place, pulled out what was technically his third cigarette of the day and held it unlit between his lips. "You can probably take the sweater off," he mumbled, starting forward. "It'll be warming up already out there."
Roxas left it on.
The two of them headed back out of the apartment, Hayner pausing at the doorway to run his fingers over the crunched dent under the light switch with a grimace. Tugging off a dangling piece of plaster, he tossed it to the ground out in the hall, locked up and slung an arm around Roxas. "Let's go, man."
Roxas' left arm came up hesitantly, wrapping around the taller boy's waist, surprising Hayner a little. He glanced down, lips parting, and tightened the grip slightly on his shoulder. They headed down the passage, took the stairs, exited out onto the street. As Hayner had predicted, it was already warm. The sun wasn't even up, was only just, just barely, shining over the horizon, but already the smell of heat was in the air. It wasn't long before they released one another, sweat springing up wherever they were touching. Roxas perspired quietly inside the sweater, still not taking it off, Hayner noting his discomfort with a sigh. He lit his cigarette, smoked it as they walked.
They headed along the street, Hayner keeping an eye out for any heads of bright red hair, but the roads were, for the moment, empty of other pedestrians. The vehicular traffic was only just starting to thicken, mostly trucks making deliveries and travellers entering town from the direction of Traverse. No one paid undue attention to the two fatigued blonds limping down the sidewalk.
They reached the 7-11, entering the cool interior of the store, the air-con rattling loudly over by the cashier's station. The clerk glanced up from his magazine, muttered a, "Good morning," and returned his attention downward to the glossy pages.
Hayner touched Roxas' elbow, said, "Get whatever you want, I'll pay. Just – anything you feel like." He left the blond standing there, casting a dubious glance back, perking slightly at the sight of Roxas actually scanning the nearest shelf.
As Hayner disappeared around the corner, heading for the dairy section, Roxas stared at the array of items set up in front of him, thoughts taking a short while to sort out what everything was. They were candy bars, set up conveniently close to the entrance, well within sight and reach of small bodies able to nag the nearest mommy into buying something. Roxas didn't want candy; the very thought made his stomach churn unhappily. He shuffled down the aisle, hopefully away from, only succeeding in venturing deeper into candy-country.
Frowning, he continued slowly on feet that were still bare, had been since he'd left his flip-flops at his apartment yesterday after – shut down.
All thought ceased, and for a few minutes, he stood in place and swayed with the natural, minor equilibrium adjustments his brain continued making.
Hayner could be heard muttering to himself over the date a few aisles over, a soothing anchor for the blond's frazzled nerves, for the seed within his mind that remained awake and aware and focused. It was smothered, blocked by layer upon layer of grey, by denial instincts stronger than he could fight, stronger than he even would have assumed his mind could produce. Nevertheless, it was there. He wasn't completely lost – he was hanging on, and eventually the shades would fall away, and he would be able to breathe properly again, think again. Until then, he just let Hayner take control, and waited to care that things were happening over which he had no control.
His face and feet hurt, but that didn't matter. There was a chance it wouldn't have even bothered him in his right mind – it was pain, and pain was something that could be dealt with, at least up until the point that it grew too intense to weather consciously.
As his eyes started focusing again, mind cautiously releasing its brief lock caused by a direction of thought better left alone, he became aware of a presence nearby. It wasn't Hayner – Hayner was now talking to the cashier, arguing over the price of a carton of milk, once again something to do with the date. Roxas swivelled his head, stared at the newcomer, who stood further along the aisle. It was a boy; about the same age as him, as far as he could tell. And the boy was looking at him.
Their eyes met, blue and blue, and for a long moment, neither one moved. Roxas was unconcerned with the way the boy refused to look away, completely unbothered by his steady expression, the way he wasn't intimidated by the way Roxas refused to look away. On Roxas' part, it was less of a challenge than simply – a place to be looking. The stranger had caught his attention, and he was watching him because of it. It was as simple as that, just as it had been with Seifer earlier.
The boy, however, unlike Seifer, didn't appear to consider their locked gazes to be any kind of competition – he was just… interested, it seemed. He studied Roxas with a slight frown, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked pale, Roxas observed neutrally. He looked about as tired as the blond knew himself to be, hair a spiked mess, smudges under his eyes.
The boy was the one to break it, eventually, turning his face forward, gazing blankly at the wares on the shelves. Evidently deciding he was in the wrong place, he headed back down the other way, vanished into the next aisle over, and Roxas no longer had anything to look at.
The electric doors slid apart a couple times over the next several minutes, and when Hayner came to find him, there were two more people in the store, but no sign of the boy anymore.
"Rox, come on," Hayner said quietly. He tightened his hold on the collection of stuff in his arms, swung his head over towards the register, and Roxas followed him to pay for everything. Evidently, Hayner had been back-and-forthing a little, as there were already bagged goods that were apparently for them. Among them was a carton of milk that had been freshly labelled 'on special' with a marker, due to go sour that very day. It looked like it had already been opened, and was packed in three different bags to contain any leaks.
"Okay," he announced, tipping the armful of goods onto the counter. "That's the last of it, ring it up."
The cashier did as bidden, and eventually informed them, "That's thirty-four ninety."
"Gotta be fucking kidding me," Hayner muttered, but reached into his pocket for his wallet, gesturing at Roxas. "You wanna start hooking these over your arms?"
Roxas studied the array of bags, looped three of them onto one wrist and swung them down. They were heavy, but he didn't try to redistribute the load; if the handles cut into his skin, they cut into his skin. No big deal.
Hayner, meanwhile, had swiped his card through the machine, was tapping out his PIN, pressed the small, green 'enter' button, and slid the device back across the counter. There was a moment of churning from the register, and then a series of high beeps. The cashier looked up dully, said, "Sorry, it didn't go through."
Hayner scowled. "What do you mean, 'didn't go through'? I got paid on Friday. The rent hasn't even come out of it yet; there's money in there, God damn it."
The cashier shrugged. "It says the PIN is incorrect. We can do it again." Hayner nodded at this, and they went through the process again, the clerk sliding his card through and pressing a button, twisting it around for him to re-enter his number. Carefully, face set in concentration, Hayner entered the code and pressed 'OK'.
Several seconds later, the register beeped again. The clerk shook his head, held up his card. "You want to try again? You've got one more chance, then your account gets restricted for the day."
Hayner glared in consternation. "But – I entered it right. I know my own number." He let out a growl, waved a hand. "Fine, do it again. I must be… spacing out or something." Massaging his brow, eyes squeezing shut for the moments that the guy went through the motions yet again, he muttered, "It's not like it'd be that big a surprise. Jesus, I haven't slept in such a long time. And I'm meant to be working today. God."
This time, he said the number firmly to himself first, then, concentrating fiercely, he slowly pressed each button. There was a breathless pause as he waited to see if it would be accepted – and then the beeping again. "Son-of-a-bitch!" He slapped the counter angrily, spinning away. "I don't fucking believe it!" The other occupants of the store were staring.
The cashier flicked a couple fingers at Roxas. "Can you put the groceries back up on the counter, please, sir?"
"No, wait," Hayner snapped. He turned to Roxas. "Did you bring your wallet?" The blond blinked at him emptily. "Oh, for fuck's –" Hayner grabbed his shoulder, jerked him slightly around, plunged a hand into his side pocket and withdrew the black wallet, ripped it open and pulling out the blond's card. "Okay, now your PIN, I know." He quickly swiped it, punched in the code, and, this time, it went through…
…Only to be rejected on the basis of insufficient funds.
Hayner crashed his arms onto the counter, burying his head in them. "I. Can't. Handle. This. Shit." He lifted his face again, snarled sideways at Roxas, "Why is there no money in your account? What the hell do you do, spent it on booze and hookers? And why can I remember your number flawlessly, but fuck up my own three goddamn times?"
"You're gonna have to hand over those groceries," the cashier warned. "You can't afford anything."
"Okay, now, wait!" Hayner held up a finger, seething. "Just wait a goddamn minute, okay?" He dropped Roxas' wallet onto the counter, grabbed up his own and opened it, went digging through for a minute, the clerk growing increasingly impatient on the other side of the register.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to –"
"Shut the fuck up, I have forty bucks," Hayner snapped, withdrawing two twenties. Turning to Roxas, he said, "It's from the bet the other day, okay? I'll pay you your half back. Then you can pay it right the fuck back to me, for buying you a whole bunch of stuff to eat." He slammed the notes down, the cashier plucking them up, sliding them apart and virtually inspecting them for flaws. "Oh, come on!" Hayner complained loudly. "I didn't forge them with a handful of fucking Crayolas, okay? They're real! It's big people money, so you can just give me my change, and my crazy friend and I can get the fuck out of your hair, with our groceries."
Still looking suspicious, the guy nevertheless opened the register, exchanged the notes for a handful of smaller money and several coins, which Hayner snatched, threw into his pocket, followed by his and Roxas' wallets. He grabbed up the rest of the bags, promised, "I'll be back when my card works again, and I will send myself into poverty, I'll buy so fucking much." Adding, "C'mon, Rox," he whirled away and stomped towards the exit, emerging out into the humidity, the world having resumed its sticky, sweltering quality between the time it took to get in and out.
As they walked back towards the apartment, Hayner cursed his luck liberally, ranting about every little thing that was pissing him off right in that moment – except, that is, for Roxas. He still had enough presence of mind to not start attacking the continuingly reticent blond. "…Call the fucking bank," he was muttering, as they approached the building's entrance. "Fucking ask them what my stupid PIN is. Three times! What the hell?" Then, he stopped suddenly, all ire vanishing in an instant, blurting, startled, "Pence?"
The brown-haired boy waved, but there was no sign of his customary smile. He moved to meet the blond duo as they approached, Hayner instinctively moving in front of Roxas, blocking him from view. "Hey… Hey, buddy, what're you doing here at thistime of day?" he asked, unable to entirely keep the thread of nervousness from his voice. He swallowed, smiled. Pence met his gaze with patience.
"Seifer called me."
Hayner stared for a moment, then spat, "I fucking knew it, I knew I couldn't trust that bastard. Jeeze!"
"Roxas?" Pence's voice took on a gentle tone, as he reached out and determinedly nudged Hayner out of the way. Roxas gazed at him wordlessly, the brunet letting out a low gasp of shock. "I don't believe it… Oh, man, Roxas." He shook his head. "It's a good thing he did call me, Hay – I'm here to take some pictures. For evidence," he explained. "Seifer's been in enough brawls to know when injuries need to be preserved, I guess." He shrugged, lifted up his camera from its usual position looped around his neck. "So, how about we head upstairs and get this over with?" Lifting a hand to forestall Hayner's first demand, he added, "It's okay, Olette's still being kept in the dark about it. He called me in confidence. I understand."
Expression torn, Hayner looked uncertainly back at Roxas, then, slowly, started to nod. "Yeah… Yeah, okay. Let's just – get upstairs and put everything away, and then… do it. It's – it's a good plan." After a beat, he gave the afterthought of, "Thanks, Pence."
The boy shrugged. "I'm a friend, Hayner. It's what I'm here for." He hesitated. "Just – next time, how about you be the one to call me, okay? I mean, jeeze – Seifer, Hayner? You called Seifer before me or Olette?"
Shaking his head, he led the way up, trailed by Hayner, who shamefacedly shepherded Roxas, the three of them tramping upstairs, the sounds of the grocery bags banging against their legs following them all the way.