CHAPTER ELEVEN

Flash.

Click.

…Flash.

Click.

"Turn his head a little to the side," Pence murmured, watching through the viewfinder. Hayner did as commanded, taking Roxas' chin gently and twisting it, exposing the wound along his cheek for the brunet to capture from all angles. The collection of instant photos from Pence's hobby camera was slowly growing on the coffee table, the boy muttering to himself about lighting as he shifted back and forth, clicking time and time again. Hayner sat quietly beside Roxas, who had yet to even speak a word to Pence, and worriedly waited for the grim modelling session to come to a close, helping where he could.

Pence was being sensitive enough to not try and force Roxas to speak. Although he was fairly accustomed to Roxas' behaviour in one of his grey moods, only Hayner had experienced the full brunt of it in the past, and it seemed like the brunet had caught onto this fact and decided to keep his mouth shut. If Hayner was acting like it was relatively normal, then Pence wouldn't try to interfere. He just kept taking pictures.

At last, after twenty pictures had been placed upon the table, Pence called a halt to it all. "This ought to be enough," he stated, picking them up and flipping through critically. "It'll be pretty plain to whoever looks at them that Roxas has been badly assaulted." Pushing them into a pile and handing them over to Hayner, he added, "He needs to get it stitched up, Hayner, or it's going to scar, and there might be an infection setting in." He leaned over, waved a finger at the inflammation ringing the puckered groove on the top picture. "See that? That's what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, Pence, alright," Hayner replied, disgruntled. "I heard you, and I know." He looked at each one in turn, shaking his head slightly. "It looks like someone mistook his face for something cold and vanilla and attacked him with a goddamn ice-cream scoop. Like… a mini one."

Pence nodded. "I noticed that. It's not like a knife-slash or anything. It's a weird injury." He shrugged. "I guess we can just be thankful that it wasn't his eye."

Hayner shuddered. "Nice thought, Pence. Way to lighten the conversation."

The brunet sighed, edged around the coffee table and sat down on it, his knees bumping Roxas'. He paused, distracted for a moment, glancing down to the side. "…Didn't there used to be a bowl of trail-mix there?"

Hayner shut his eyes, pressed his knuckles into them with a moan. "Used to," he agreed. "Big used to."

Pence shook off his confusion, focused his attention on Roxas, leaned forward and tried to engage him in eye-contact. He was moderately successful in that Roxas did look at him… but there didn't seem to be a whole heap of interest in those blue eyes. "Okay… Roxas?" he said cautiously, keeping his tone smooth and soft. "Can you tell me some of what happened to you yesterday?"

There was a pause. Hayner shook his head, slumping back against the couch. "It's no use, man, he's not talking about it." His voice was heavy. "The most he did was identify the guy to me, but he hasn't told me any details at all. Everything I know, I know because Seifer went with his buddies and checked the apartment out."

Pence thought for a moment. "I might go there during my lunch break," he said. "I'll take some photos of the debris, and there'll probably be blood around…"

Hayner rubbed his forehead, eyes widening. "That's… fucking morbid, man."

"It'll help towards Roxas' case, though," the brunet insisted. "If we can prove without a doubt that Roxas got hurt during an actual attack, it'll make it more likely that we can nail the guy. I mean, you've got a first name, you've got a physical description, you've got Roxas' testimony once he starts talking – and now we'll have solid visual evidence to back it up."

"I'll burn your photos."

Both boys froze in shock, gazes swinging around to where Roxas was still steadfastly staring at Pence. His eyes bore into the brunet, cold and unfeeling. Pence spluttered, "W-what?"

"I will burn your photos." The blond's gaze narrowed slightly. "They won't be used for evidence. I don't give permission for that."

Pence drew back slightly, blinking rapidly. "Roxas…"

"That's my final word," he said, and the ice in his voice… oh, it barely sounded like Roxas at all.

The other two were… quiet. For a long few minutes, there was silence between them, breathed in and out, Hayner and Pence struggling, dazed, to reconcile this suddenly chilly creature with the Roxas they knew and loved. Hayner was… especially stunned – this was a new plateau of grey. This wasn't even proper grey anymore – it was getting… dark.

Before Pence could form a protest on the matter, Hayner sat forward and shoved the pictures into his chest. Eyes hard, brows lowered, he said slowly, "That's fine, right, Pence? If Roxas doesn't want us to use them, we won't." He leaned back. "So just take them home and put them in a dark room, Pence-y boy. They're not necessary here." He clapped Roxas on the shoulder, the boy swaying with the motion. "Right, Rox?"

"…Right," the blond muttered. Hayner nodded sharply.

"Then it's settled – no problems." He slapped his knees, starting to stand, forcing cheer into his tone as he demanded, "Now – who wants a microwave burrito? Roxas, I know you're in on this." Receiving a faint nod from the blond, he turned his gaze expectantly to Pence. "You too?"

Pence stared. "...Sure. I'll just pretend it's a… breakfast burrito."

"Fucking ace." Hayner vacated, heading for the kitchen, every muscle impossibly stiff. He swung open the freezer, brought out the solid, wrapped lumps, and shoved them into the small, elevated oven bolted to the bracket in the wall. He programmed the time, stepped back with fists on hips, and, despite every warning his mother had ever given him on the detriment it would do to his eyes, watched the burritos rotate on the plate.

There was a shuffle from his left, glance darting over, a scowl forming at the sight of Pence. "What are you doing?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "Get back out there, man, he'll think we're talking about him."

Eyes wide, Pence demanded, "Don't you want to talk about him?"

Grabbing a handful of his sleeve, Hayner hissed, "Not while he's like this – he's out of it, Pence, but he's not stupid, for Christ's sake. Stay with him. Make him forget about the fucking photos."

"But –!"

Hayner let him go, cut him off, "Get some cups and the milk from the refrigerator. Take them out there and see if you can get him to help pour us each a glass. We've gotta get him interacting as much as possible."

Pence gazed at him for a long moment, brows drawn together in concern, obviously completely at a loss. "I – I want to help, Hayner."

"Yeah?" The blond was back to watching the burritos cook. "Then do as I said. Get the cups. I want some fucking milk."

Pence closed his eyes, bowed his head slightly before shaking it with a sigh. When he straightened again, he headed for the refrigerator, swung it open and bent down. A hand on the carton, he tipped it back slightly, frowned. "Hayner – this milk is out of date."

"No, it's not," Hayner growled,"it still has today, I got it for a dollar. It is dollar milk, Pence. That makes it taste okay."

Pence rolled his eyes, pulled out the carton, popped the lid and sniffed at it suspiciously as he headed for the cupboard to get cups. He hesitated as he looped their handles over one finger, the ceramic clicking quietly together as he glanced back towards the door.

"Just go, Pence," said Hayner quietly. "He'll be wondering where you are."

"…Is he wondering anything right now?" the brunet asked in dry response, but obeyed, returning to the sitting room.

When Hayner eventually brought the burritos out, Roxas was sitting in precisely the same position, a mug clasped between his hands, sipping calmly. Pence, resigned to it all by now, had stopped resisting and was doing likewise at his side, all sign of the photos long gone. Hayner sat between them, and, in silence, the three males consumed the 7-11 goods.

Once he'd finished, Pence glanced at his watch. "I'm going to have to get going, guys. I came right over when Seifer called, and I have some things to get ready for work."

Hayner nodded, covered his mouth as he swallowed some milk, setting his mug down on the table. "Alright, man," he said hoarsely, licking his lips and standing, folding his hands behind his head and stretching. "Listen, I appreciate you coming around. And – just, yeah, everything."

He accompanied Pence to the door, the brunet pausing, and despite the warning in Hayner's eyes, murmured, "You know this is beyond the call of duty, don't you, Hay? Take care of Roxas, sure, he's been through something bad – but he's a big boy."

"Good-bye, Pence," Hayner said, deliberately loud, between his teeth, pulling the door open. Pence grimaced.

"Ever consider that you might be enabling his behaviour by coddling him like this?"

"You have a nice day, too." Hayner pushed him out the door. "And you're welcome for breakfast." The door slammed, a little more plaster coming loose from the hole below the light switch and crumbling lightly down the wall. He took a moment to compose himself, before turning back to his friend with a tight smile. "Are you still hungry, Rox?"

"No," the blond said quietly. The smile growing thinner, Hayner drew in a breath through his nose, eyes overbright as crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well. I'll just put the milk away before it goes sour, and then, I don't know. What's the time, Roxas?" When the boy didn't respond, Hayner clicked his fingers crisply a few times. "Hey – hey, Roxas, talk to me. I don't care if you don't care about the time. Look at your watch and tell me what the pretty numbers say."

Roxas sent him a flat look. "I'm not an infant. Don't talk to me like that."

"Then start acting like a goddamn human being," Hayner returned curtly. For a long minute, the two blonds locked gazes, Hayner determined, Roxas with decreasing blankness, thank God. Even if he started getting aggressive, like he had with the pictures, that would be better than the empty, shell-like state he'd been exhibiting with only brief hiccups ever since Hayner had got home the night before.

"I need to know the time," said Hayner slowly, "so that I can call our boss, and let her know that neither of us is fit for work today." Eyebrows rising, he persisted, irritated by the fact that everything Pence had said had just been an echo of the traitorous little voice in Hayner's head that had been in residence for a while, "Remember Aerith? Nice lady who pays our bills for us? Makes it so we can buy one-dollar milk and shitty microwave burritos, and maybe pay our rent from time to time?"

As he had expected, for a long minute, there was nothing. He waited, keeping his eyes on Roxas', not ready yet to relent. Then, miracle of miracles, the spike-haired blond shifted, the fabric of the sofa rustling slightly beneath him, and lifted his wrist. A couple heartbeats passed. "…You could call her. She'll be there sorting the early orders."

Hayner's smile relaxed into a small, genuine, exhausted one. "Okay. I'll do that, then. Get you another day off, you goddamn moocher." He dug out his phone, dialled the shop, waited patiently until the woman on the other end picked up. "Aerith!"

He wandered away, took to the short hallway to pace back and forth as he explained to their employer why she was going to be flying solo for a day. Roxas heard snatches of, "– were in ER all night, the doctors there are so overworked," and "He'll be alright, just watch out for any red-haired dudes today, okay?"

When the blond finally came off the phone with a sigh, Roxas observed, "You lied to her about the ER."

With a pleasant smile, Hayner asked, "Would you rather I tell her the truth, Roxas? That you're more likely to throw all her flowers onto the railway tracks when a train is coming past than actually deliver them?" As Roxas said nothing, he shrugged, slipping the phone away again. "Either way, she's fine with it. I told her the truth of the attack, at least, so she'll be on alert, and she said she hopes you're okay – but we both have to get there early tomorrow. There's some big delivery due at that gigantic place we took the pots to the other day." Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he dragged it up over his stomach, saying, "Until then – I'm having a shower and a nap." He paused with the shirt at his shoulders, head tilting, turning as he was halfway out of the room and asking, "Nothing really did go wrong or weird at that place the other day, did it? You're cool with working there again?"

Roxas was silent for a moment, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. "…Yeah. It's not a problem."

Nodding, Hayner disappeared, and for a while the apartment slowly filled with steam. Roxas lay down with his head on the arm of the sofa, folding his hands over his stomach, and stared at the ceiling.

The pots.

The pots, the pots, the pots.

The house with the pots.

Part of him wanted to care that he would eventually be going back there, but it belonged to that isolated little seed, riiiight at the back there. It cared. Roxas didn't. But he would, he knew it was going to seep through eventually, and he kind of wished he could have one of the rare blackouts he experienced sometimes during an episode, where he would just – cease to exist for a while.

The fact that he could wish for something was also a worrying sign that everything was starting to settle. That he found anything worrying at all – another one. It was just one indicator after another that soon he'd be back to normal, and then… that was when he'd have to face life again.

He wanted to retreat. He wanted to flee further into his mind, find a place that wasn't touching anything, and lie there for a while, in the darkness.

"That isn't your decision to make."

Roxas jolted, eyes springing open from where he hadn't realised they'd fluttered shut against his cheeks. He lifted his head with a jerk, looking around the apartment sharply. There was no one about – the shower was still running, the splatter of drops falling from a body easily audible, Hayner's occasional hard exhalations loud as he spat water away from his mouth. They were regular sounds that Roxas was well accustomed to – he shouldn't have been able to hear any voices, any words. Not unless Hayner started singing, or talking to himself, which he hadn't. The tone had been completely different, the pitch softer than Hayner's bold voice. Roxas… should have been… entirely alone.

And, looking around, he found that he was.

That isn't your decision to make.

Had he imagined those words? Was his subconscious rising up to put him in his place?

He hated the fact that he actually wanted to know.

With a groan, his head fell back, eyes slipping shut, hands pressing against them. "No, no, no," he whispered. "Stay down. I don't… I don't want to think… I don't care." Covering his eyes with the back of his hand, he added, barely audibly, "Just… stay hidden. You're not welcome here."

There was no response, from anything inside or out of his mind. He was, after all, the only person in the room.

Hayner finished his shower, the apartment filling with sudden silence. The door opened, the bathroom belching steam, the dripping blond shuffling out and heading for the bedroom. Trailing a cloud of humidity, towel wrapped around his middle, he groaned loudly, "Oh, my God, that felt good." Throwing a look over to the couch, he demanded, "How long has it been since you had a shower, Roxas? I mean, not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but you kind of reek." He shrugged, entering his bedroom, voice drifting out as he continued, "I wasn't saying anything before because, you know, who knew which one of us it was? But, now that I'm nice and clean again, I get to hop on my high horse and say: Buddy, you stink. Of, like, days-old sweat and deodorant." Moments later, he emerged wearing a pair of damp boxers and a tank top, slowly rubbing the towel over his hair. Glancing around the airtight apartment, he muttered, "It's getting hot in here." He went to the sliding glass door, pushed it across to let whatever stray sea-breeze in that decided to go breathing past.

Returning to the sofa, Hayner propped his elbows up on the back of it, peering down at the blond's covered face. He grimaced, shook his head, reached down and carefully took hold of Roxas' wrist, tugging it away. Roxas allowed him to, didn't resist as Hayner laid the hand out across his stomach, taking the other one and doing the same, revealing blue eyes once again. The tall blond sighed, resting his chin on his forearms as he gazed down at his friend's face. "Look at you, Rox. All beat up." Lips curling down at the corners, he asked, "Can I at least put a plaster over it or something? It looks gross, and it's going to get shit in it, dirt and stuff. We'll take you to the doctor after work tomorrow or something, if you're acting normal again."

When Roxas didn't protest, Hayner took this to be his permission, straightened and went and got the materials from the bathroom. When he returned, he came around to the front of the couch, sat on the edge of the cushion and nudged back a little, pushing Roxas' hip to give himself more room when the blond didn't automatically shift for him.

Lifting a strong-smelling washcloth, he warned, "This'll probably sting. I diluted some antibacterial in the basin, but I deliberately made it a little strong." Without pausing to allow Roxas to process this, he applied the warm cloth directly to the wound. Roxas flinched, hissed in slightly, eyelashes twitching, but other than this, he was as unresponsive to the pain as he had been last night. This, though, wasn't such a big deal; it was just like he had been with his bruised knuckles when he'd been in a fine mood in the back of Aerith's van. Roxas just never reacted much to pain. His threshold must have been good. Hayner understood this – after all his years of Struggle competitions, and spending his teens getting into scuffles with the likes of Seifer, he was no stranger to the ins and outs of physical woes.

He wondered, briefly, what had been in Roxas' past to condition him to it. The blond had never spoken much about anything before Twilight Town, and, out of respect for what had seemed like his discomfort at the subject… none of them had ever asked.

As Roxas' eyes slipped automatically shut at the faint sting of the evaporating disinfectant, Hayner allowed his worry and regret to resurface, calmer than it had been since before the shower, but still strong enough to pack a punch. Maybe if he'd dug more, he'd actually have some idea of what was going on with his friend of half a year – maybe he could have headed the red-haired guy off when he'd first come sniffing around, even just delivered Roxas a warning. Hindsight was a spiteful little bitch he could live without.

He finished up with the washcloth, dried the edges of the gash with one untouched corner of it, then stripped the plaster of its wrapping and lined it up. He'd got the biggest size in the multipack in the medicine cabinet, trying to avoid any of the adhesive touching the actual site. He'd suffered too-small ones in the past, and oh, boy, pulling them off had been even more fun than sustaining the injuries themselves.

He set it carefully, with familiarity, smoothing the edges against Roxas' skin, before drawing back to inspect his efforts. For the first time since he'd realising that Roxas had been hurt, Hayner relaxed a little. Seeing it patched up like this was – reassuring. It bespoke of things moving in good directions. Pretty soon, this whole mess would be over. A week from now, a month from now… He couldn't wait for this to become a bad memory.

"Okay," he said softly. "You're done." He smiled as Roxas opened his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I am shattered, man. I'm going to go sleep for a few hours, try and catch up. If you don't feel like sleeping alone, you can come take half the bed… but if I wake up and find you spooning me, there'll be trouble." He smirked.

Roxas regarded him stonily. "I'm not going to sleep, Hayner."

The other blond's expression settled into a frown. "Why not? You don't need to be afraid, Rox, that Axel guy can't –"

"No."

It was the exact same tone of voice he'd used when refusing to allow the photographs to be used to bulk up his accusation against the guy. It brooked no argument, it allowed nothing, and any disagreement would be met with increasing ice. Hayner was too unfamiliar with this side of Roxas to take it on – it was back towards that darker side of the grey, and he didn't want to tip the blond into it.

So, reluctantly, he said, "Okay... No one's going to make you sleep. I mean, it's not like I can exactly knock you out…"

"No," responded Roxas flatly, "you can't." Hayner scowled a little, but stood.

"Okay, but I'm still gonna sleep. I can't keep going like this. Just… don't go anywhere, okay? I hate when you vanish on me."

Roxas shrugged. "I've got nowhere to be," he said coolly – not the greatest of guarantees, but as much as Hayner could count on right now. He was running on nothing but hot air and stubbornness. His tired body was crying out for rest, and he'd reached the point where he'd have let it seduce him on a crowded train. Enough was enough.

"Well… you know where I am if you need me," he said wearily. "And there's stuff if you want to eat, so just… yeah. Okay." He stood, wrapping the towel around his shoulders, scrunching up the little pieces of plaster wrapper. "G'night, Rox. I hope you feel better."

He shuffled out of the room, leaving Roxas alone. The spike-haired blond listened to him moving around in the bedroom, heard the slide of a drawer open and shut… and then the apartment was silent. Noises filtered in from the street, entering where the mythical cool breeze refused to, and Roxas turned his head, stared at the blank TV, waiting for something to come along and require his attention.

At no point during the day, as Hayner slumbered deeply in the next room, did he close his eyes for more than a few seconds. He simply refused to.

.o.O.o.

At five-thirty, the sun dipping into the realms of twilight, there was a heavy rapping at the door. Roxas jerked up out of his staring stupor in an instant, flooded with shock and then a second of acute relief – he had been drifting. His eyes had been open, but his mind had been getting further and further away. Much longer of that, and he'd have started dozing. Dozing would be followed by sleep – and then vulnerability too overwhelming for him to even contemplate. It made him shiver to think how close he'd come.

It all blew away, though, the moment he registered exactly what noise had startled him up. Another steady knock, loud and confident, but unlike the last time someone had visited, there was no command from Seifer to be let in – yet, it was unmistakeably male. Or, at the very least, it wasn't Pence, and it wasn't Olette – not even an angry Olette.

As he struggled to rise, Hayner came bursting out of the bedroom, hair unkempt, eyes wild, the high energy of adrenaline warring with the low alertness of utmost fatigue. "Stay where you are!" the taller blond ordered quickly, words tumbling over each other out of his mouth as he struggled to exist more swiftly. He stumbled towards the door, and Roxas, in stark disobedience, jumped off the sofa and brought up the rear.

It wasn't Axel. It couldn't be Axel. Axel was holed up somewhere with a face that was his enemy, filled to the brim with agony.

So why was it so damn hard to breathe?

God fucking damn it! He was caring again. He was thinking, he was feeling, and he didn't want to. Every part of his psyche screamed for him to run from this, this consciousness, but his mind couldn't maintain it. He'd had his hiccup in sanity – it was time to resume full-capacity. Short of going completely and utterly mad, voluntarily, there was nothing he could do to fight it. And – it just wasn't worth that.

He had to admit that in that split-second, he was disappointed with himself. The moment he realised that he wanted to escape everything, couldn't deal with the full impact of having been attacked, he felt ashamed, weak. Here was Hayner, busting his balls for Roxas to keep him safe until he was back to normal, and Roxas – hell, given his own way, there was a good chance he wouldn't be back.

He'd thought he was stronger than this. It was… a disillusioning sort of blow.

Hayner got to the door first, placed a hand on the handle, the other on the wall, and after a moment's hesitation, demanded, "Who's there?"

Muffled by the wood, a voice came, "It's uh, me. Seifer. And… your boss is here, too."

Hayner drew back slightly in bewilderment. "Seifer?" As he started to unlock, he paused. "Wait – Aerith?" He swung the door open, revealed Seifer's large frame, the man leaning against the wall… and, beside him, looking positively dainty in comparison, stood Aerith, smiling gently.

"Hayner," she greeted, "it's so nice to see you. I thought I'd drop by and see how you're both going." She laid a hand on Seifer's arm. "I bumped into Seifer on the tram – isn't it funny, we both had the same idea."

"Oh, wow, that's great," Hayner agreed, shooting the man a sharp glance and wondering what, if anything, he might have said to her. He gazed coolly back.

"I guess great minds just think alike," he supposed, a hint of his regular cocky smirk in place. "I always figured I was one of them, and now your boss has confirmed it for me." As Aerith laughed, Seifer added, "So, are you going to invite us in, or what? As picturesque as the hallway is, I'd kind of like to put my feet up." Eyes narrowing, he asked, "Or is this an awkward time for you two?"

Hayner glanced back over his shoulder at Roxas, who stood a few feet away, following the conversation with wide eyes. When he hesitated, the blue-eyed blond inclined his head. "You can't keep them standing out there all afternoon," he pointed out quietly.

Hayner's expression lifting slightly, he returned his attention to the visitors, stepped back and opened the door to allow entry. Aerith's gaze went instantly to the large plaster covering half of Roxas' cheek, the good nature on her face morphing into concern. She went straight to him, the quick movement that made him flinch slightly, but she didn't notice.

Hayner watched with concern as the woman carefully placed her palms against his jaw, angling his face to better see the plaster. "Uh, careful of it, Aerith," he warned nervously. "Remember, the stitches are still new."

"Oh, that's right," Seifer said dryly. "I'd forgotten that you spent all night in the emergency room. Lucky your boss was kind enough to remind me."

"Yeah." Hayner shot him a hard look. "ER was pretty busy last night. It's why we got the day off today. We were up until dawn, after all."

"You were," Seifer conceded, swinging a plastic bag that smelled like hot food. Aerith was virtually oblivious to the exchange as she inspected him with trepidation.

"How are you feeling today, Roxas?" She frowned, started to pick at the corner of the plaster, muttering, "Let's have a look at these…"

"Ah!" Roxas ducked away quickly, planting a hand over the white patch, smoothing the adhesive back down. "Uh, please don't, Aerith. It… it looks…"

"It's pretty gross," Seifer contributed lightly. "Roxas just about passes out the instant anyone looks at it. He's kind of a wuss like that." Aerith frowned around at him, but for the moment relented.

"Alright then. I don't want to upset you, Roxas." Unhappily, she replaced her hands on him, his shoulders this time, gazing into his eyes earnestly. "You really should have gone to the police already, though."

"Ah, yeah, perhaps," Hayner intervened hastily, stepping up quickly beside his friend. "But Roxas was so out of it, it wouldn't have done any good. It's – it's on our list of things to do. Tomorrow. First thing."

Regretfully, the woman shook her head, eyes conveying pain as she softly corrected, "I'm sorry, but it will have to be after." She sighed. "The order for the dozens of baskets has to be filled. They refuse to order through anyone else, and have offered high compensation for the inconvenience." She hesitated. "I actually called the client today, and tried to alter the arrangement, after hearing about Roxas' attack." The blond stiffened under her touch, her gaze darting to him sympathetically. "But they simply refused. We have to be delivering by seven a.m., to meet the deadline for a brunch party they owner is hosting."

Disgruntled, Seifer snorted, "Sounds about right. They come in, buy up the coast, and then start ordering us around to cater for their fancy-ass parties."

"Yeah, and no one asked you, Seifer," Hayner said sharply. "This is Aerith's business, it's what we're paid to do, so cram it." He waved a hand at him. "If you brought food, you can start getting it out in the kitchen. Stop eavesdropping on our conversation."

"I didn't bring it," Seifer smiled dangerously.

"That was me," Aerith agreed, raising a hand against her body. "Seifer was kind enough to offer to carry it up for me." She sent her employees affectionate looks. "I didn't think you'd be too interested in cooking, so I brought over some simple food from The Usual Spot, just a couple of their meals. I hope that's okay?" She glanced between them, seeking belated permission to mother her favoured monkey-boys. Then she was suddenly struck by a thought, saying apologetically to Seifer, "I'm sorry, I didn't think to bring extra."

Seifer waved her off. "It's not up to you to feed me," he said dismissively, heading for the kitchen. Hayner shook his head with exasperated gratitude.

"It's not up to you to feed us, either. Thanks, Aerith – we seriously appreciate the gesture."

"There's only… so many times you can microwave burritos," Roxas muttered, drawing a mock-glare from Hayner.

"Hey, I fed you, didn't I?"

With a slight giggle, Aerith covered her mouth. "I have to agree with Roxas."

"Yeah, well…" Hayner was, in contrast to his attitude, completely relieved that Roxas was even choosing to speak, had made a humorous remark, as half-hearted as it had been. When he met the blond's blue eyes, there was humanity within them. "You're right," he grinned.

Turning back to Roxas, allowing seriousness to reinstate itself, Aerith continued on the previous topic. "I'm sorry that I can't allow you to go earlier than that. I can't even pick you up – the order's so large, I'll be working late tonight as it is."

Guiltily, Hayner scratched the back of his head. "I'm… sorry for bailing on you today."

She waved a hand gravely. "Don't even think about it," she warned. "There are plenty of things more important than a big order – Roxas' health and safety is way up the top there."

"It's no big deal," Roxas said quietly, at last involving himself in the conversation, though his eyes were averted towards their feet. "I prefer going later, anyway. It'll give me a chance to gather all my thoughts. And our friend came over earlier and took pictures of my face, so it'll all add up."

Hayner wanted abruptly to sit down, take his head in his hands, and take a few unsteady, deep breaths. Oh, Jesus. It was all coming together. His relief was – just about smothering in its intensity. He nodded shakily. "Yeah. What he said," he told Aerith, whose mouth twitched up, eyebrows knitting together.

"Okay, then. Well, I'll have to get back to the store – I closed up early to finish tomorrow's order, and come and see you both." She turned to Roxas, gathered him into a hug. "Are you going to be okay for it, though?" she asked. "I don't want you doing more than you're capable of…"

He reached around, patted her uncertainly between the shoulder-blades. "Sure, Aerith," he said uneasily. "I'll be… fine."

She drew back with a watery smile. "Make sure of it." She went to Hayner, repeated the treatment, then straightened, sniffed, and tried to not look too worried. "I'll see you tomorrow then – six a.m., I'm afraid, to start loading up the van." She stepped back towards the door, started to let herself out, then paused. "Oh, by the way … I heard more today about the florist across town that was first booked for the Traverse Town wedding – the one that was burnt down."

The two males stiffened, paying attention. "Yeah?" Hayner asked tensely. "What's the verdict on it all?"

Aerith hesitated. "…It was definitely arson." Both blonds' eyes widened.

"No shit," Hayner breathed. She nodded grimly.

"There was even a witness, a man walking his dog," she confided. "He saw a tall person in a black coat leaving the scene of it all, just before the flames got going… but apparently their head was covered by a hood. The witness didn't know anything much, other than that it looked like a man, from the look of his frame." She lifted a shoulder. "So, we'll have to keep an eye out for any suspicious people. I was questioned about it, since I then got the job, but I think it's quite obvious that it's the work of some kind of vandal or pyromaniac."

Hayner clicked his tongue unhappily. "Well… you watch out, okay? If anything weird seems to be happening, call me, like, straight away."

She laughed slightly. "Don't worry. I've invited a couple of friend to stay with me while I work tonight. There's nothing to worry about." Casting one last fond look over them, she added, "I just thought I'd let you know. Take care, okay, boys?"

Hayner linked the chain after the door had shut, engaging the dead-bolt, a frown in place. He stood and stared hard for a while at the painted-white wood, discontent stamped all over his features. "Well… as long as someone's there with her," he muttered. He exhaled slowly, threw a glance over at Roxas. "Wow, nothing like a visit from Aerith, huh? She brings all sorts of fun information." Then he smiled, a genuinely happy look on his face as he said, "But you're going to let us use the photos, Rox – that's fantastic. It's really going to help out, I swear." He laughed. "Like Pence said, Seifer knows this sort of thing best!"

"Seifer knows shit loads of stuff best," came a growl from the kitchen. "You just need to hurry up and get with the program."

Hayner scowled, turned and barked, "Who asked you, anyway?"

"It's not going to actually happen, Hay. I was lying," Roxas said calmly. Hayner's posture went rigid. He whipped back with a glare.

"What?"

"I'm not letting you use the pictures. I just said that to make Aerith stop feeling guilty."

Hayner blinked at him, struggled for a moment, said, "But… you're…" Helplessly, he met Roxas' gaze, expression confused. "You're getting better, aren't you? I mean – " He laughed slightly, an incredulous sound. "The fact that you'd care enough to tell Aerith a lie just goes to show…"

"You can't use them, Hayner. I told you, didn't I?" Roxas was unwavering in his certainty. "You won't use them against me."

Hayner frowned. "Against you? Roxas, you know I'd never…"

"No." Sharp. Blue eyes hard, boring into hazel. "Just listen to me, Hayner, listen and stop talking for a second… No."

Hayner floundered for a moment, trying to make sense of the sudden about-face between the almost easygoing Roxas that had been around while Aerith had been in the room, and now seemed to have vanished. Leaning close, he demanded intently, "Why? I could understand it when you were being weird, but I can tell you're improving. This isn't you being childishly stubborn anymore…" He trailed off for a moment, then asked, with genuine bewilderment, "Is it?" He needed some confirmation, a direction, some rationality to cling to, and so far, Roxas wasn't providing.

"Do you really need a reason?" the blond asked. Hayner's eyes just about bugged from their sockets.

"Hell yes, I need a goddamn reason! My best friend gets attacked by a mystery stranger, goes into the darkest fucking grey I've ever seen as a direct result, you're refusing to sleep, refusing to let me try to help – all I want to do is help you – and if you're going to shut me the hell up on the subject, I'm going to need a damn good reason!" He swayed back, lifted a finger to jab in Roxas' direction. "I gave up some much needed venting time to take care of you," he reminded him quietly. "Now, I did not mean the stuff I said to you when we got back from Traverse, but that anger was something I needed to express, and I swallowed it to help you. I took your punch, I lost an entire night's sleep, I patched up that gash on your face…" He broke off with a loud breath, pinching his eyes shut with a thumb and forefinger. "And I'm getting really, really sick of having to rant at you like this. The fact of it is that I deserve a fucking good reason to not take those pictures in."

Roxas, who had stood silently, blankly, throughout the monologue, regarded him levelly. "…In that case, I won't be going to the police. At all."

Hayner stared at this, the words going in but not processing. Roxas might as well have been speaking another language for all he understood the statement that had been imparted.

Outside, like a switch had been thrown, the heat-drawn crickets erupted into song, their dry rattling swelling within seconds, the noise sweeping in through the open patio door. For a minute, all there was was their music.

At last, someone spoke. "You're making a mistake, there, chicken-wuss." Both boys twisted, displeased at the lilting intrusion. Seifer stood leaning against the kitchen's doorframe, a faint trace of obligatory smirk in place, belied by the seriousness in his eyes.

Glowering, Hayner snapped, "Weren't you supposed to be in there to stop this little butting-in problem of yours?"

Seifer exhaled a groan, eyes rolling. "How many times am I going to have to explain that you completely waived that right the second you called me?"

With a huff, Hayner asked, "What are you even doing here? I don't recall calling you in the last twelve hours. Aren't you meant to be appeasing Olette?"

"She's been appeased," Seifer responded bluntly. "A whole day passed while you were sleeping, Hayner – a lot happened. For one thing…" He turned his gaze to Roxas. "I got a couple people together – not Rai, he's still out of commission since snorting your fucking carpet and taking a happy breath of mace – and we scoured the town with the info we had." He looked at Hayner, shrugged. "We couldn't find anyone matching the name or description of the guy that did this."

"…Thanks for trying," Hayner muttered, eyes low.

Seifer returned his attention to Roxas. "Any vigilante ideas you might have about taking this guy on yourself need to get out of your skull, Roxas. You should go to the cops."

The spike-haired blond's eyes narrowed, as if something sharp was balancing on the tip of his tongue… but it subsided after a moment's thought. In the end, he softly said, "It's not safe. Going to the police. It's not… secure enough."

"What are you talking about?" Hayner demanded, cut off by a raised hand from Seifer, who was looking curious more than anything.

"You don't feel safe going to them? You think the guy will find out, maybe come after you?"

Roxas slowly lifted his shoulders. "I won't do it. I'm not going to file a report."

"So, you are scared," Seifer surmised. When Hayner glared at him, he lifted both hands in a pacifying gesture, though his eyes were more alert than they had been at any prior point. "What I want to know," he said shrewdly, "is what you're scared of. Logic says it's gotta be the dude…" He studied Roxas sceptically. "But the harder you fight – the fact that you kept it all secret until the guy actually hurt you – makes my gut instinct tell me that there is a reason, a good one… and one which you're not telling anyone."

Almost disappointed by this theory, Roxas sent him a flat look. "I gave my reason already, remember? Stop being dramatic."

"You want to talk 'dramatic' for a moment, Roxas?" the man retorted. "Try the last twenty-four hours on for size, I think you'll find it fits perfectly."

Roxas looked automatically to Hayner for some form of defence, realising with a jolt of surprise that the other blond wasn't going to jump in.

…He was on Seifer's side.

After a moment, the shorter blond sighed. "You can think what you want, Seifer. Spin conspiracy theories with me at the core, if it makes you happy." He shrugged, continued simply, "But it's the truth, I don't feel safe going to the police." He met Hayner's eyes steadily. "I don't feel safe… when I sleep. And I'm sorry I hit you. I am now. I am."

The sound of the crickets took precedence once again, as both Seifer and Roxas waited to hear whether Hayner would buy this, and let it drop, or pursue the matter further. His face was dipped low, so that neither one could properly gauge his expression, and the silence of voices grew deeper.

When Hayner did at last speak, it was almost inaudible, hoarse, each word riding his breaths heavy with resignation.

"If that's the way you really feel, then…I think… you need help, Roxas. That's just… not normal." Hazel eyes rose slowly to meet shocked blue. "What you said just now – that wasn't normal." He grimaced, swallowed. "I think this might be... This is beyond the call of duty for me. I don't want to enable you any more... than I already have."

Roxas was feeling enough by this point to feel the hurt, followed closely by the sting of betrayal.

On that note, the sun sank below the horizon, and their first day's grace drew to a close.