CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Somewhere in the general region of two a.m., Roxas sat in Hayner's dim sitting room with the TV going silently in front of him, elbows on the coffee table, knuckles propping up his exhausted head. The wooden front of the sofa digging into his spine, he alternated between gazing glassily at the flickering images of infomercials, filled with frighteningly bright smiles, and the shadowy numbers on the papers between his elbows, illuminated by the light from the television. He was staying awake, resolutely rejecting the creeping notion that this couldn't and simply would not last forever, trying – being the operative word – to figure out again what was going on with his finances.

Turned out, going to the source of the trouble had done nothing but frustrate Hayner all the more. Oddly enough, having the bank manager condescend him to his face hadn't ended up being a major improvement. The tension had been alleviated somewhat when a couple of tellers had come forward to say that yes, Hayner was a long-term client, they recognised him from the various deposits, withdrawals, and complaints he'd made over the years – but none of that changed the fact that suddenly, with no reason whatsoever, Hayner's account had been somehow completely – deleted. Or lost. Or something. All his details – all his money – were gone.

This left the two blonds in an uneasy situation. The bank was not yet claiming responsibility for what had happened, and as a result was avoiding making any noises whatsoever regarding the topic of compensation. What funds Hayner had had, had officially been plunged into some unknown limbo. Combine with that the unexpected lack in Roxas' own account lately, and the boys found themselves desperately penniless, with demanding things like bills and rent to be paid, not to mention their persistent need for food.

It really, really sucked. Financial stress, they didn't need.

At least they were both functioning for the moment, at more or less full capacity. Even more than that, they were a united front again. Roxas had listened patiently to Hayner's ranting throughout dinner, and his apparent willingness to be a sounding board sans any attempt at giving advice had proven a more conciliatory gesture than three hours' apologising and grovelling ever could have achieved. It felt good; it was them against the crazy world, and that was how things were meant to be. It came as more of a relief than Roxas had expected – kind of like he wanted to hug Hayner really hard, only he couldn't, because then Hayner would call him a freak.

In fact, for the first time in so many days, Roxas had actually started feeling… decent. Sure, there were one or two things weighing on his mind, but he knew that he at least was back to normal when, despite it all, he felt a rush of positivity. Life went through hectic phases, that was all – things always settled down eventually, right? That intensity, it just couldn't last. It would all get better, it really would.

Then, Hayner had reached across the table for his glass of water – the dollar milk had been long gone by this point – and through half a mouthful of convenience store food, announced, "I saw you dozing last night. I was glad; as much as you might not want it, you really need it, Rox. Trust me, one night of good, sound sleep, and you'll be on top form. It's what every Struggler knows."

Roxas had felt such a terrible spike of panic at the thought. He'd slept? When? How, when he couldn't even remember having closed his eyes? Vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable! He couldn't stand it. His skin was crawling, prickling all over, heart clawing for his throat. He felt sick.

Back to normal, huh? Like hell.

And so – here he was, eyes open but virtually blind with fatigue, a brick wall of determination separating him from the slumber he knew that Hayner was right this very same moment enjoying in the other room, like he himself would have been a week ago. But… that had been then. Before.

Sighing quietly, Roxas forced his staring, light-headed gaze down to the various receipts and bank statements, sluggish mind struggling to make sense of the gap that shouldn't have existed. Maybe… maybe it was the bank. He'd got a local account when he'd moved to Twilight Town, and though it wasn't with the same one as Hayner's – Roxas was with the First Bank of Twilight – this latest dilemma had proven that thing could go wrong, like with the computers and people not noticing and stuff… It was a possibility at the very least. Roxas just didn't really know what else to attribute it to, without deciding that he really had lost his mind.

However, he still hadn't asked Pence for the sorely needed calculation help, so maybe there was something he was overlooking. If there was, it wouldn't take Pence's sharp eyes and mind long to pinpoint it and come up with a viable solution. God, he hoped so. Until then, until everything was fixed with both his and Hayner's finances, he supposed the only thing to do was ask Aerith for cash-in-hand wages from now on. Luckily, they'd been putting in all the overtime lately.

A thick breath worked its way out of Roxas' lungs. It was no good. He couldn't concentrate. It was all dancing numbers with nothing to hold them together. Lowering his hands, smoothing his fingers over the ridges of the papers' fold lines, he returned his blank eyes to the TV screen, fortunately deaf to the seductive entreaties to buy, buy, buy all the crap he'd never wanted or needed in the first place. In the overbright teeth of last year's flavour-of-the-month celebrity pimping the latest insect-control gadgetry, Roxas saw his night laid out in front of him, and had the good grace to feel depressed.

.o.O.o.

Hayner finally appeared after the first few hysterical trills of his cell phone alarm, scratching his armpits and stopping off in the bathroom before embarking on the short, shambling search for his temporary roommate. Sunlight burned strongly through the glass sliding door, the day already promising to be killer even at eight in the goddamn morning. With all the windows shut tight, the apartment was feeling like some kind of slow-roast oven, with a couple of dumbass blonds as the main course. Hayner groaned, wiping at the moisture already gathering on his upper lip, finding Roxas sitting at the kitchen table, skin glistening as he nursed a black, boiling hot coffee.

Upon seeing it, he groaned again, even louder, sinking into the next chair over. "You're insane," he complained, Roxas not batting an eyelid. "How can you drink that? Ugh, it's making me sweat just looking at it. Take it away, you're hurting me."

"My, my, if it isn't the princess, woken from her thousand-year nap," Roxas greeted, earning a thin-lipped glare.

"If I wasn't dying right now," Hayner informed him threateningly, "I would smack you."

"Just like they teach you at Princesses 'R' Us Academy?"

Hayner lowered his chin sulkily to the tabletop. "Stop being a sarcastic bitch so early. I can't keep up." Rubbing the damp bridge of his nose into his laid-flat arm, he muttered, "Just because you're not sleeping…"

"Aha." Roxas gave a pleased smile. "Exactly." He lifted his mug in a toast, then sipped at the burning innards. Hayner stared with heavy-eyed confusion.

"…What were we talking about again?"

Roxas lifted one shoulder carelessly. The taller boy thudded his forehead against the table's edge, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know how you do it," he said to his knees. "I don't know how you can sit there and not be smothering." He tilted his face until one eye was exposed, squinting over at the bovinely placid, utterly sleep-deprived blond. "…How long have you been conscious now, anyway? Discounting the involuntary naps."

Roxas smiled blandly, suppressing the shiver that desired expression at the very mention of such things. "Would you like that in a subtotal of tens of hours, or just a rounding of days?"

Hayner expelled a low, sharp breath. "Ever since that asshole…" he began to growl, then cut himself off. The abrupt silence hung between them, the hazel-eyed blond's grunt of frustration a moment later soft, but audible. He let loose a short, irritated sigh, before declaring, "I can't take this anymore. I'm having a shower. I'm just –" He lifted his arms impatiently, bare chest and stomach visibly tacky with old sweat. "I need to get clean, and cool."

Roxas smirked a little, a flicker of alertness entering his expression, a slight diversion from the generally haggard appearance that had overwhelmed him at some point during the night. "'You are such a whiner in the heat'," he mimicked, Hayner looking at him with blank annoyance, before, with Roxas sending him a pointedly mocking look, he felt a tickle of remembrance. He attempted a scowl, but couldn't keep the rueful roll of the eyes from getting through. Flipping Roxas off – old traditions back in place – he rose from the table and shuffled off to get clean.

Roxas listened to the familiar hiss of water distantly, ignoring the small specks of light that floated lazily in his field of vision. He stared into his coffee, feeling the weight of the many hours building up brick by brick on his shoulders, pushing his posture into a deeper slouch with each one that stacked atop the others. He was doing well, though. He had managed the entire night without even a flicker of unconsciousness, not even a resting of the eyes. Not that they didn't need it – God, they were begging for it by now. Every muscle and every exhalation begged for slumber, but he knew only that he, regretfully, couldn't deliver. He couldn't give in. Couldn't be exposed like that. He –

"You're breaking up."

Roxas jumped, spilling coffee, over his hand, the table. It was cooler, though. It was almost cold. In the next second, he realised with an intake of breath that the apartment had gone so sharply quiet that it was like he'd gone deaf. A knife had been sliced guillotine-quick between Roxas and all aural input, leaving him adrift in utter, utter silence.

But no, that wasn't right. He could – he could hear the traffic outside. Down on the streets, tires over hot bitumen. And… he could hear the birds, the crickets' constant noise. So it wasn't his ears, it was…

"Hayner?" Roxas stood slowly, peering uncertainly at the doorway. It was the shower, he realised – it had cut off completely. Between one second and the next, it had gone from rushing at full power to just being… off. And there had been no banging of the pipes, like always, always happened when you twisted off the taps too fast. There had been no final splatter of droplets hitting the tiles. There was just – there was nothing.

And no response from Hayner.

Worry stabbed hard into the blond, expression tight as he circled the table, visions of his friend unconscious and bleeding from some cranial injury after having slipped and fallen shuddering at the edges of his mind. His lips formed a thin line, a breath going in through his nose before he barked, "Hayner!" steps speeding up as he headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

At the exact same moment that he opened the bathroom door, saw that it was empty, there was a slight click from behind him – and Hayner stuck his head out of the bedroom, a curious frown in place, and said, "What?"

Roxas whipped around, eyes wide, stared for a long moment. "What… how the hell did you get there without me hearing you? Or – or seeing you?"

Hayner blinked, scrunched his nose, then asked again, "What?"

"You were just in the shower," Roxas exclaimed, bewildered, "only seconds ago – and then it went so quiet, and – I mean, it's physically impossible! You can't be over there, you're supposed to be in the bathroom!"

There was a pause, Hayner reaching up to scratch at his head, smoothing the damp waves back from his forehead, before venturing, "…Would it make you feel better if I went and stood in the –"

"No, it would not make me feel better if you went and stood in the bathroom," the blond exploded, hands tossing up into the air. Hayner raised an eyebrow.

"Dude. What are you talking about? I got out of the shower like five minutes ago."

With consternation, Roxas shook his head. "No – no, you were… in the shower, and I was sitting in the kitchen, and then all of a sudden it was quiet, and…" He trailed off, Hayner looking at him like he was nuts. Then, suddenly, the taller blond laughed with realisation.

"Wait a sec – I know." He was a perfect mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You fell asleep, I'll bet. You were just sitting in the kitchen, and you fell asleep and totally missed my debut from the shower." He shook his head. "You can't go on like this, Roxas – one way or another, you'll be snoring eventually, or you'll be dead."

"No," Roxas said sharply, making Hayner roll his eyes.

"Right, right, no sleep, not ever, not for Roxas."

"I didn't fall asleep," the blond snapped. "That's what I mean. I didn't fall asleep, because I would have felt it happen."

"Just like the other couple times it happened?" Hayner returned archly. "What, you felt it then, but just couldn't be fucked putting up a fight?" Roxas was effectively stumped. As his expression fell, Hayner sighed a little, lifting his gaze to the ceiling and dragging a hand through his hair. "Roxas. Whether you want it to happen or not, you're going to end up passing out at this rate. We're not made to stay awake indefinitely, remember?" Roxas didn't respond, face darkening now, with every word that he uttered. Hayner clicked his tongue with irritation, changing the subject in an effort to distract him from his idiocy. "Listen, I've been thinking, and yes, it hurt – we have got jack. Shit in this apartment, as far as eats go. I was thinking that maybe we should head over to your place."

That was definitely enough to shake him free of the encroaching grimness. Roxas jolted a little, asked, "My place? Why?"

"Because," Hayner replied, leaning forward and stretching out to flick him in the forehead, disturbingly Seifer-like, "you have food at your place. Don't pretend you don't, because I totally saw it last week when I came to pick up your grey ass to bring you here. So unless your red-haired visitor decided to do some food shopping while he was there, you and I need to go grab some of it. We're out of burritos, thank Christ, but we're out of everything else, too."

Roxas hesitated, Hayner observing it, exhaling quietly and softening his tone a little. "Hey. You don't need to worry about the Axel guy, Roxas. We'll take protection, okay? I've got my Struggle bat, we'll pull off the foam and fucking kneecap him if he so much as breathes near the place."

Roxas couldn't help but chuckle weakly, rubbing the heel of his palm into one tired eye. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It's – the sensible thing to do. I've… I've got a few things we can grab."

Hayner nodded. "Of course it's sensible. It was my idea. I am a pinnacle of sense." Back to business, he disappeared into the bedroom, calling, "You might as well take your backpack, restock on clothes for a few more days." As Roxas cautiously hovered at the doorway, blue eyes drawn nervously to the chest of drawers, Hayner lowered to his knees, pressing his face to the floor and reaching under the bed. His voice came out muffled, continuing, "Then, I don't know – maybe if he hasn't shown his face, it'll be time for you to go home and stay there, Rox." He hooked out his blue-padded Struggle bat, then rolled over and sat. Leaning over, he hitched up Roxas' backpack from its corner, swinging it on one strap. "Like you said – nothing happened there, right?" There was a hard note in his tone, a challenge. He tossed the bag over, the blond catching it clumsily, feeling some of the contents knock into his sternum.

"…Right," Roxas answered. "Nothing at all."

Hayner's lips thinned a little, before a smile came out, looking forced. "Well, then, what are we even waiting for? This extended sleepover needs some munchies to keep us going, before we fucking fade away."

Together, they headed out of the apartment, Hayner turning as they exited to lock the door. Roxas eyed it untrustingly. "You know, you might wanna invest in a deadlock of some kind." Hayner, with his wallet jammed in his mouth as he fiddled with the key, made a muted, questioning noise around the fabric. "Oh, no real reason," Roxas uneasily responded. "Just that it doesn't look all that… dependable, you know, one single, simple lock…"

Hayner spat out his wallet into his palm and dug it, with his keys, into his pocket. "If you say so. Hasn't failed me yet." He shrugged distractedly, giving the door an extra tug to make sure it was properly secured. He twisted, satisfied. "Okay, let's get out of this dump. We'll be grabbing your fan, too, by the way – my place is way too hot."

"Consider it grabbed," the blond sighed, figuring that there'd be no way to give any real reason for the need for better security without opening the whole can of worms to shrivel in the heat. He just hoped despondently that Seifer wouldn't ever make good on that ability to 'clean him out every time he leaves for work'.

The blonds descended to the street, Roxas gripping the handrail hard as his leg muscles shook the whole way down, knees virtually shivering back and forth as they exited out into the piercingly painful sunlight. Both boys faltered under the cosmic abuse, the air dense enough to wade through, thick in their lungs like steam being inhaled. Roxas watched the fireflies explode anew in front of his eyes, while even Hayner seemed to stagger beside him.

"Oh, God," Hayner moaned. "I wanna go work in the shop in the air-conditioning."

"You can't," Roxas grumbled, hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder and blinking through the haze. "It doesn't even open until ten."

"I don't care," the other blond complained petulantly. "I want the air-con." He tipped his head back, letting out a mewl of suffering. "Come on. Let's go. Before I melt into a puddle of Hayner-goo."

"Ugh. Sounds disgusting."

"Oh, screw you, too."

They set off towards the tram common, catching one rickety car full of late commuters who fortunately all but poured off two stops later. Able to stretch out now, rubbing where their hot arms had been briefly clamped together in the squeeze, they separated to opposite sides of the aisle, and endured the journey quietly. Despite the clearing of air between them, there still remained a thread of shared awkwardness, topics which had been silently acknowledged as out of bounds, represented by the Struggle weapon balanced across Hayner's knees like some kind of symbol of suppression. Thus, once again, they travelled more or less wordlessly, eyes directed out the windows, watching Twilight Town pass by.

They disembarked down the hill from Roxas' apartment complex, legs jolting as feet found the pavement, the tram car clacking steadily onward. As they took a necessary moment to steady themselves, Hayner sent an assessing look sideways, squinting through the brightness, taking note of the tight set of Roxas' features. The shorter blond said nothing of disconcertion or fear, made no sound as he swayed for a moment, fighting obviously for strength, eyelids beginning to flicker. Mouth curling down at the corners, Hayner warily asked, "You okay?"

Roxas caught himself, the swaying dying down, and didn't meet his gaze as he answered, "Sure." He sounded breathless, but was obviously resolved to go through with this, either through some form of stubborn pride, a silent battle with the red-haired attacker's lingering presence that he refused to back down from, or just because, like Hayner, he was hungry by now. With a small shrug, Hayner did the only thing he could to make it easier on both of them and took the backpack from Roxas' shoulder without warning or complaint, slinging it onto his own, the padded bat over the other, and started up the hill.

Roxas followed jerkily, watching the backs of Hayner's sneakers, copying him step for step in a mindless way that allowed him to not think about just how much energy this climb was requiring, devoured from already-leeched limbs. The bright and dark little sparks swarming his vision couldn't deter him when he was like this – it was too automatic, too easy to keep doing, and keep doing, and keep doing until they reached the top.

The awning of the ground floor cast a stretching shadow over the pavement, Hayner leading the way around to the side door with a faint Roxas following, closely now, only just restraining himself from clutching the back of the taller boy's shirt to keep steady. The inside of the building was a splash of coolness compared to the outdoors, slightly chilled by the backwash of the several portable air-cons going in the various luckier apartments. It was enough to give Roxas the ability to shake off some of the dead feeling, hands going instinctively for the rail as their shoes took them high again.

His apartment, when they finally reached it at the end of the long, third-floor corridor, was shut tight, locked up. Hayner looked to Roxas, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dry eyelids sticking shut every time he blinked, the blond stepped forward, awkwardly bringing out his keys. He clicked and clacked for a moment, having to concentrate hard just to get the key actually in the lock, before finally twisting it, listening to the quiet snap of it disengaging. He pushed the door open, admitting them into the airless, tomb-like space of the sitting room, destroyed, fixed up, and then abandoned, all in the span of a few days.
Being here again was surreal. Roxas wasn't reliving the fear, he didn't half expect Axel to come leaping out from behind anything, but he kept looking around and mentally marking points where events had happened. That was where he'd been standing when the intruder had first entered. That was where he'd had his face gouged open. That was where he'd lain helpless on the ground, and the back of the sofa was where he'd tried… where he would have… stabbed the redhead hard with the window rod.

There wasn't a lot of emotion attached to these remembrances, but – surreal was definitely the word for it. He could almost hear the echoes of the two of them facing off, hanging on the still air, clinging to the walls.

Several feet to one side, there was a whispering slither as Hayner, without ceremony, twisted and pulled the foam off of the Struggle bat, leaving a slender metal pole shining in the sunlight, hard enough to withstand the years of slamming people around without bending. More than capable of a good kneecapping. Roxas had to bite back a shiver at the idea, but Hayner's tossed-over glance was bland. "You wanna look around?"

Roxas' gaze slid gradually across the room, panning from one side of the hush to the other, hesitating at the sight of the broken television, its screen smashed away, all the little chunks and slivers of glass long swept up. He exhaled slowly. "…Sure."

With Hayner close by, he closed the door and wandered further into the apartment, blue eyes roaming. He sniffed carefully, detecting the capsicum spray lingering on the air, trapped between the walls and windows all this time. His gaze was drawn to the spot between the kitchen and bedroom, that innocent-looking patch of carpet that Rai had so stupidly got down on his knees to inhale.

Hayner coughed a little, a quiet sound, but harsh in the silence. "Pepper spray," Roxas heard him mutter wonderingly.

Grimacing, the spike-haired blond headed over towards the window, the pole for keeping it shut missing, elsewhere in the apartment, his makeshift weapon gone. Fingers digging around the metal, he wrested it open, the tracks stiff, let the baked Twilight air swirl in, curtains twitching. He sensed as Hayner drew level with him, but kept his gaze firmly out on the view of the town, avoided looking over at him, even as the taller blond softly demanded, "Roxas, I think it's time you told me what happened here. And I mean like… really. Everything."

Roxas' eyes narrowed slightly, his hands pressing into the window frame. For a long minute, he didn't answer, Hayner waiting stubbornly for a response. A low, impatient breath came from his lips. "…I made my choice." He flashed over a glance, pushed away from the window, turning and heading towards the bedroom. "It was your idea. Why aren't you sticking to it?"

Hayner's eyes rolled broadly, an exasperated grating coming from deep inside his throat as he swung loosely around, swishing the naked Struggle bat through the air. "Because I don't have an 'off' switch like you appear to, Rox. Because my best friend was attacked, and asking for details at this point doesn't seem like such an unreasonable request." He rammed a palm into his forehead and rubbed hard as Roxas disappeared into the next room without even so much as a pretence at listening. "You say," he continued heavily, following doggedly after him, "that you don't know the guy that did it, but he knew you, and he made such a mess of you…" He paused at the door, leaning against it and watching Roxas' back disappear into the bathroom. "…and I can't quite get out of my head the fact that Seifer implied that you might have been…" He hesitated. "I don't know. Hurt worse than is… outwardly obvious."

…Outwardly obvious?

Inside the small, tiled room, Roxas had stopped in front of the mirror, sliding it open to reach the band-aids, knowing he couldn't go into work without something to cover the slice in his face. Aerith thought it was all stitched up and healing; she couldn't be allowed to see the scabbed, inflamed mess it was becoming. As Hayner's voice came to him from the bedroom, he had sorted through the small collection of plasters in the box until settling on the largest one that there was. Smaller than the one that Hayner had stuck on him, but broad enough to cover the carnage. Maybe some of the redness would be visible, but as long as he didn't mind having to rip adhesive off of the cut itself, he'd be fine.

As he'd slid the medicine cabinet shut, reflection returning, Hayner had uttered his final words, at first puzzling the shorter blond. He found himself staring at the scoop in his flesh, the ragged quality of it, the slight glisten of fluids that wouldn't have been there if he'd been taking care of it properly. A quick trip to the hospital, that's all he needed… but… he couldn't go. No more than he could take himself to the police. There was just – there was this blockade in his mind, and the second any vaguely rational thought rose up regarding the sense of what Hayner had been saying all along… something larger, and stronger, blotted it out in an instant.

His head was aching a little. He grimaced, averting his gaze and concentrating instead on pulling the papers off the band-aid. "What are you saying, Hay?" His cool voice echoed a little, bounced off the shower door and gleaming floor. "That he drove me nuts, or something? Pushed me off an edge I didn't even know was there?"

Hayner appeared at the doorway, wariness stamped all over his features, arms folded uneasily as he considered Roxas' tone. "…No, more like, kind of… more physical. But… not where – anyone's likely to notice."

It took a moment for these words to sink in, blue eyes once again coming up, blank this time as they met themselves in the mirror. "You think he raped me?"

"…Tell me he didn't." Hayner's voice was small. Roxas could hear the fear in it – he was afraid that his best friend had been badly, badly hurt, and that he hadn't been perceptive enough to notice.

The blond lowered his chin a little. "He didn't," he said simply. Hayner's relief was slow to come, but palpable.

"So, he didn't like – do anything to you in that way? He didn't – try anything? He just…" He trailed off. There was silence as Roxas lifted his head enough to study himself in the mirror as he applied the band-aid over his wound. Hayner's expression gradually screwed itself into a mask of confusion. "…Roxas, what did he wantfrom you? Did he rob you? Do you owe him money? Who is he?"

Roxas' hands faltered, just the slightest amount, Hayner's unwavering gaze boring into him from the side.

How… how did you tell your best friend that someone had expressed a desire to kill you? And not even a desire – not a personal desire. 'Icky orders'. He had been scared, he had been so scared by that at the time, it had been like getting slammed in the face with a slab of ice, but now it seemed so fake. It seemed strange, overdramatised, abnormal, insane – of course it was insane, who actually just out and out killed a person, on orders no less?

And then there was everything that had come after that to consider, the way that Axel had tried to grab him, had attacked so violently, the way that he'd… apologised, like he hadn't meant to hurt Roxas, and then gone on to sexually assaulted him right there on the carpet…

How did you explain allthat to a person?

If Roxas had to give an answer to Hayner's question – the one regarding what the redhead had wanted, not who he was, because Roxas just didn't have a clue – he could only end up saying, 'Me.' Axel had wanted… Roxas.

"I just… I don't… know, Hayner. Stop asking, because I, I just don't." He flattened the band-aid's edges against his face, the other male watching on attentively.

"Roxas… you know that all I want is to help you."

"I know," the blond agreed quietly. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, turning to the taller boy. "But there's nothing you can do that you haven't already done. So just… come on, forget about it. Let it go. It's not going to happen again, and I didn't come here today seeking closure. Remember? We've got food to pick up, and clothes, and the fan, to cool your apartment down." Determined, he added, "This trip isn't about me, it's about us."

Hayner dropped his head a little, eyes closing, knowing there was more to what went on than was being vocalised, knowing that things weren't right… but knowing, too, that right now, he really had done all he could. There were no more options, short of threatening to disown Roxas altogether. And at this point in time, he wasn't so sure that delivering such an ultimatum would end up helping anyone. He could – all too clearly, imagine Roxas walking away.

Sometimes, the duty of a best friend was to – know when to hold your tongue.

"Okay," he said simply. He folded his arms more tightly, a resigned lift to his brows as he met Roxas' eyes again. "Okay, Roxas. If that's what you want. We'll just… get the stuff then. Food. And clothing…" He squinted one eye, turning his head, muttering, "Oh, and cigarettes, that's right, I had cigarettes here…" He threw Roxas one last patient look that spoke volumes, before twisting away from the door and heading out of the bedroom.

Roxas exhaled, once again feeling that sense of having got his way, but ending up all the more hollow for it. His insides were dropping, taking his mood with it, but this was no grey phase he was heading into – he was just… unhappy. Stressed, and exhausted, and… everything. Life was feeling… altogether too difficult right now.

With a final glance at his newly-bandaged visage in the mirror, Roxas left his gaunt reflection to the things that it would do until the next time they found themselves face to face, and went to help rummage for edibles.

.o.O.o.

Aerith's was busy that afternoon, Roxas for once allowed to man the register while she herself swiftly went from place to place, keeping the store organised, replacing missing stock, and doing it with a damn sight less under-the-breath bitching than either of the blonds ever managed.

On occasion, he found her looking his way as she straightened from one task or another, absently brushing her gardening gloves against the pink of her dress, checking to make sure everything was going okay. There was usually a worried crease between her brows, as he worked the register, accepted phone calls, wrote down orders in the log book and printed out credit card receipts, but she had refrained, thus far, from approaching and confronting him about his absolutely shattered appearance. He was like the walking dead, his eyes hollow, skin almost grey with exhaustion.

Perhaps Hayner had said something to her about Roxas' current general state of being, because it was rare for either of them to be given an indoors job like this – she hadn't hired clerks, she'd hired manual labour, and so it was only ever out of the goodness of her heart that they were given the chance to stay in the air-conditioning. Then again, perhaps it was just because of the heat – yes, most days were hot anyway, but today had been markedly worse than the rest. While Roxas stayed in the shop, Hayner had been sent out on deliveries, for once enthusiastic about it since it meant he'd been permission to keep the windows wound tight and the air-con blasting right in his face. It meant he couldn't sneak any sly cigarettes – Aerith would freak if she smelled it clinging to the upholstery or wheel – but for once, he actually hadn't minded.

All Roxas knew, or cared about, was that if she'd tried to get him moving massive terracotta anything today, she'd have had an unconscious employee on her hands. From the glances she kept darting him, he got the feeling that she knew it, too.

The day progressed, Roxas making only a few fatigue-related mistakes – forgetting to give a customer his change, writing down an order incorrectly, utterly botching, for about five minutes, the connection between the register and the debit service. He didn't even know how he'd managed it, and in the end, it took Aerith's skilful hand to come sort it all out, complete with tactful silence. He figured she was just – chalking this week up as a dead loss, as far as her monkeys were concerned, and waiting for Monday to roll around fresh and sparkly-new.

Hayner got back at five, spent thirty minutes filing the various papers from the deliveries clipboard and noting them in the logbook, and finally, the boys were released. It was Friday night, Aerith had given them the weekend off to recuperate from the last several days' stress, saying that she'd shut down the store and go visit her mother in wherever-the-fuck-it-was-called's-ville, and for the first time in what seemed like a million years, all they had before them was the prospect of rest and relaxation. Well, for Hayner, at least – Hayner was looking forward to all the extra hours he'd be able to grab, napping whenever the hell he felt like it, recovering from all the lost sleep for once and for all.

What had Roxas to look forward to? An unending stretch of time that he knew, mentally, physically, and emotionally, he wouldn't survive without sleep. He had reached the end of his reserves, he was done; he had made it from Tuesday to Friday on nothing but what his body stole whenever it found him not paying strict attention, and now it was over. It was over, he had nothing left… he couldn't keep going like this.

The realisation came as they reached the steps up to Hayner's building. Twilight had enveloped the town, early as ever, afternoon and evening light overlapping, darkness beginning to overflow their quiet, sleepy town. The two boys had walked here from the tram stop, side by side, and as Hayner took his first step upward, Roxas just crumpled. His strength was gone; this was it. He hit the ground knees first, elbows following numbly, feeling, for a few seconds, like everything he'd ever eaten in his entire life was going to come wrenching up through his soul and back out onto the pavement.

Hayner was beside him an instant later, voice coming dimly through the haze that had sprung up to envelop his head, concern but most of all comfort radiating from his tone. Roxas didn't really need to be able to make out the words to know that Hayner just… wanted to help him up onto his feet again. He swallowed the thick saliva in his mouth, nodded weakly, reaching up with one trembling hand as Hayner gently pulled him upright to feebly wipe at the coat of sweat that had come out of nowhere to encase his skin.

Together, Hayner's arms wrapped supportively around him despite the hideous, clinging heat, they ascended, pushed through the building's door, and climbed the staircases, floor by floor.

"It's okay, buddy, I'm here, I'll take care of you. Everything's going to be fine. We'll get you in, get you fed, and just throw you into bed, okay? Bed, finally, you can sleep this off, Rox, you'll be fine." Over and over, the words were murmured, Roxas aware of little but the motion of his legs, muscles working this one last time with the promise of rest at the end of it all. He distantly wondered about a shower, but without Hayner there to hold him up, he didn't dare try.

He nearly laughed at the thought. He nearly laughed, just for the sake of laughing. He kind of felt like crying. He was going to be weak, and vulnerable. He was going to be exposed. He would lose himself, he would cease to exist, he was going to sleep and he was scared that he'd never wake up again. He would close his eyes as Roxas, and open them again as some lifeless being, a mere memory of himself, a nothing, a nobody. Again and again, Hayner rambled off the same promises and reassurance, with no clue that he'd be waking up in the morning next to a ghost instead of the real Roxas. Oh, Lord, he wanted to cry.

Then, "Olette?"

The girl scrambled to her feet from where she'd been sitting with her back against the door, still wearing her uniform from The Usual Spot, but without the apron or nametag. She wiped at her eyes and cheeks tellingly, sniffing loudly, Hayner staring at her, Roxas dizzily raising his head. "What, what's wrong with Roxas?" she asked, voice thick with shed tears. She continued sniffing and rubbing at her damp face. Hayner's brows came together, alarm and weariness warring.

"Never mind him, he's just feeling the heat – what about you? What's wrong? What's happened?"

She turned to face him head-on, hands dropping to her sides and forming small fists, expression not holding any pain or sorrow like expected but – anger. Determination. She swallowed hard, then asked, "Where's Seifer, Hayner? He's here, right? Isn't he? He's here."

Hayner's eyes widened, amazement and disbelief showing briefly on his features, before exhaustion once more took the helm. "Oh, no. Ohh, no, no, no, we are not having this conversation, not here, not now, not ever," he informed her, pulling Roxas over towards the door, nudging the brunette out of the way and burrowing through his pockets with one hand for his keys.

"Hayner!" Tears started back up in her eyes, distress building up. "Don't do this! Please!"

"Please what, Olette?" he demanded, fishing out his key-ring and attempting to sort through the collection while holding Roxas steady. "Can I say please, too? Please, please, please let me get my nearly-unconscious best friend into my apartment?"

She blinked rapidly, returning her gaze to the slumping blond with bewilderment. "You – you said he's just feeling the heat... He's going to be alright, isn't he?" Trying to gather her wits, she leaned forward, brushing a hand through Roxas' sweaty spikes. "Ro-Roxas? Roxas, are you okay?"

"I'm…" He struggled to come back to the more alert side of consciousness.

"He's not fabulous," Hayner interrupted, jabbing the key in and unlocking. "I need to get him into bed."

"Hayner –"

"Olette, I'm tellin' you," he said tiredly, "I haven't seen Seifer for days, okay? No offense to you, but I sure as hell wouldn't be near the guy through choice."

She responded sharply, shakily, "Well, that's more than can be said for him, isn't it?"

Hayner stopped dead for a moment, Roxas heavy in his grasp, eyes, for the first time, going over the blond's head and meeting the upset girl's gaze. "…I don't know what you're talking about. If this is what you came here for – never mind that it's been a week since you've even seen me or Roxas – then can you leave, and come back when you're feeling less paranoid?"

She bristled. "Don't act as if –!"

Hayner suddenly snapped, flung the door open, banging the opposite wall hard, and turned to her with bared teeth, flaring, "What, Olette? You wanna come in and take a fucking look around? Fine, then! Mi casa es tu casa! Don't forget to check under the cushions, I hear they're meant to be great fucking hiding spots. Or, hey, maybe he's just standing in the corner over there with his eyes shut! You can't see him, but it's only because he can't see you!"

He hitched Roxas up, virtually slinging him over one shoulder, and stormed into the apartment, leaving the girl to gape at the doorway. Roxas, by this point, was feeling a hell of a lot more alert, though. "Hayner – Hay, Hayner, you can put me down now. I'm okay, you can put me down…"

He found himself slammed to his feet, a set of fiery eyes briefly piercing his own, before the taller boy stalked off towards the bedroom, slamming the door behind him loud enough to reverberate three apartments down. Then, there was silence. Slowly, stunned, Roxas turned to face Olette, tears running down her face, eyes squeezed shut. "…Olette, what…?"

His voice was gently confused, but she flinched as if he'd started yelling. She hiccupped and gulped for several moments, before brokenly saying, "This wasn't how it was all meant to end up. I only… I only… I like Seifer, but the only reason he's with me is because Hayner knows I like him, and I thought… I could… but –"

Roxas shook his head carefully, stepping towards her, reaching out to touch her hair, her shoulder, holding himself up against the wall as her squeezed her. "I don't understand," he said, with soft helplessness.

She turned her eyes heavenward, sucking in a deep breath to try and regain some composure, voice trembling hopelessly. "Hayner. And Seifer. And me." She looked at a loss for several seconds, unsure how to continue, before her watery green eyes met Roxas' worried blue, and her fingers unsteadily traced the shape of a triangle in the air. "We're like this." As shock showed on the blond's face, she gave a thin smile. "O-only, I'm the one at the top, it's one of those – uneven ones. The two down here…" She poked her index fingers into the invisible points of Seifer and Hayner. "They're even, and, and face each other, and they're the same. But me…" Again, she returned to the triangle's uppermost corner, a bleak expression overtaking her features. "I thought it would be okay. Hayner said it would. And Seifer's always treated me nicely, but it was only because Hayner wouldn't…" Her hands dropped slowly down to her sides, Roxas pulling her into a bewildered hug. "I'm so stupid," she concluded dully, muffled against his arm.

He shook his head instantly. "No, no, you're not, you're not." She nodded, her nose moving up and down against him.

"I am," she insisted, and this time it was a whisper. He held onto her for a while, the two of them standing in the open doorway, no sound coming from Hayner, no sign of life. Gradually, the dynamic of the embrace began to change, as Roxas grew heavier and heavier on her. Olette stirred a little, began shifting, detaching a minute later and stepping back out into the hall. "I guess… I caused trouble for nothing," she sighed, sounding sadder than Roxas had heard her in the entire time that he'd known her, including when her childhood cat had died three months previously. "Seifer's not here. I suppose he never was."

Clamping down on all the memories of the cocky Struggler's presence in their lives the last few days, pretending they didn't exist, Roxas quietly asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

She sniffed, forced a parody of a smile. "Sure. I'll call Pence, maybe. You can take care of Hayner, and he can take care of me. It's all over now, anyway. I'm… I'm sure of it."

Roxas frowned uncertainly, lifting a finger, pointing to her and then the air beside her as he said, "You mean you and…?"

She was silent for a moment, cheeks ruddy from the tears, fringe a little bit sweaty from the day's heat, looking like some kind of wilting flower. "…I'm kind of tired of being stupid," was all she'd say, before pushing the hair from her eyes, giving that same false smile. "Take care, Roxas. Don't let the heat get to you like that, okay?"

Her footsteps faded, her plaited hair vanishing from view, and Roxas closed the door with a click. He stayed there for a minute, running all the information he'd been suddenly bombarded with through his mind. Hayner, Olette, and…? Triangle…?

He supposed… that it would explain a couple of things.

Pushing away from the door, feeling the broad dent in the wall from where the trail mix bowl had nearly taken off Hayner's head, Roxas stared at it for a moment, before turning and shuffling down towards the bedroom. He stood outside, listening carefully, hearing nothing from within. Steeling himself for a vicious reaction, he hesitantly raised his knuckles and rapped them against the wood. "…Hayner…?" No response. Roxas sagged slowly against the upright surface, the brief spurt of adrenaline from the drama leaking out once again, leaving him boneless. With his lips against the door, he eventually said, "Thanks for – helping me when I fell. I appreciate it." He paused. "You… Just…" His eyes slipped shut. "Yeah." He exhaled heavily. "Thanks, man."

He righted his posture, taking his full weight onto shaky legs, and made his way over to the sofa. What had previously been the enemy was now some long-forgotten friend as he collapsed onto its softness, legs knocking hard against the coffee table, the cushions accepting him willingly. As the blond curled up into himself, fingers shortly fumbling to untie his laces and lever off his shoes and ankle socks, he felt the fear thump in time with his heartbeat. Vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable. The word was pounding through his mind.

"…You're breaking up."

His eyes slipped shut, lips parting, breath pushing out in a whisper of, "But I'm so tired…"

Roxas fell asleep, his body shutting down, his mind drifting far, far away, as outside, another summer night finally claimed Twilight Town completely.

The third day's grace was over now.

There was no fourth.