A/N: best get a mug of tea and a comfortable chair, boys and girls, because this sucker is 12K words of boring thinky-thoughts
Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember.
- Oscar Levant
Hayner had never been shot before. He'd been stabbed a couple of times, in his shoulder and across his ribs, but hey, life. It'll get you. He wondered how long it took to feel the pain after you'd been shot. Was it instant? Could you feel it tearing through you? Or did it bury itself as far as it would go and then release like a grenade?
The movies had taught him that there was a moment when you didn't feel anything, and then the bad guy looks down at the spreading wet redness on his shirt, clutches at it, looks back up to the hero and says something that makes you pity him for the second before he dies.
"Not like this."
"I'm sorry."
"Help."
Help.
Oh, no, wait.
That last one was from real life. Guess he forgot.
Haha.
Sweat and faint mist collecting in drops on his forehead, dirt like a messy charcoal pencil collected in the lines of his strong neck. Hayner, help. Go get some towels. Help.
The room Seifer had booked wasn't exactly huge, but then, what had he expected? Even back before, motels were a place to pass out on business trips, not a place to spend time.
There was a single bed, just about large enough for two people, a nightstand on either side, and some drawers on the other side of the room. The wallpaper was bland as hell. Cream-colored flowers on a grey backdrop, just the kind of sleepy boring thing Hayner had gotten used to.
He set his pack down on the chair in the corner, tickled by a light feeling of ownership, grey and transparent. He kept his back to Seifer, who drew the curtains closed.
Pence's death was a vivid memory. Olette was...more of a blur, somehow faster but without the realization. I'm not immune.
That was what Pence had been: it's not just other people who die. It's not just people far away on the bad side of town it is not just your neighbors or the homeless it's you, it's Pence, who used to catch whirligigs and plant them on the playground, he was alive and now he's dead forever.
Forever.
Shit.
He hadn't thought of them for ages. He hadn't thought of his old life in more than a passing way for ages, and now he couldn't get enough of it.
Hayner stared at the bed - pleasant, featureless dark brown comforter and pleasant, featureless white pillows - trying to remember which side he usually slept on. It had become such a habit that he did it by feel now, more than conscious thought. If he went up to the bed and turned off his brain and lay down he'd probably get it right, whichever end he ended up on.
There was no bathroom attached to this room. Down the hall, he'd spotted one coming in, but he wasn't totally convinced it was safe to shower here. If nothing else, they probably loaded their water with chlorine and fluorine and shit to sanitize it. Could be kind of a shock to the system when you were used to rain and river water filtered through carbon and sheer force of will.
Okay, all right, okay. Face the music, buddy boy. Lay it down on the line. Talk to him.
"So. That happened."
"...yeah."
"...what now?"
"I don't know, asstard. Make your own decisions for once."
Yeah, because that would go over so smoothly.
He needed to shower very, very badly.
Wait, who had died first? Pence or Olette? Pence, definitely Pence. Because Olette just left for a while and came back two months later. That was different. She didn't just die, the way Pence did, from a bullet. She did it real slow. She took her time. She poked a dozen holes in her own sinking ship instead of one in her belly.
But Hayner didn't want to go down there, not tonight; he could feel the memories hovering at the edge of his mind, threatening to steal his appetite, put him in one of those moods. He didn't have moods now. He was angry or content, sometimes a little melancholy, but he hadn't cried since that night in their new room. His emotional range shrunk to a teacup.
He couldn't afford to go someplace high, like a roof or the top of a truck slowly sinking into the mud, and look up at the sky and feel alone but kind of free. Everyone you know is dead and you're not. You can be anybody.
Seifer didn't seem nearly so - upset about anything. He moved as well as ever, pawing through his pack for something and sitting down on the bed. He shifted his weight a little and his ass sunk down on the mattress into the dark comforter, flanked by the little lint pills that accumulated on cheap fabric after too many washings.
"Oh, shit. Shit, I forgot to ask those guys what the materials would cost," he said with a frown. "Can't believe it. I guess I was just really weirded out by the check-in guy for the room."
Really? That was how they were starting this conversation?
Hayner felt like he was wading through really murky waters, and for treasure that didn't exist. "Uhh. That's okay, I'm sure it won't matter. Besides, we're already using the room, and it's not like we can un-spend that. We'll just find out tomorrow." He thought about adding an "Okay?" to that so Seifer didn't get his authority panties in a twist, but decided against it. Too far in either extreme would get bad results.
"Ugh." Hayner held his breath. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm sure we'll deal with it regardless." 'Regardless.' Six months ago, Hayner couldn't have imagined the word 'regardless' coming out of Seifer's mouth unless he was mocking somebody. Maybe Vexen was getting to them more than he thought.
So he wondered what to say next, if he was even supposed to start a conversation here, if Seifer's soft lips and slow exhalation and his pushing into Hayner's hand like a needy cat were a sigh of acceptance: I think we've got some wiggle room here (tone down the paranoia).
He thought about saying, "We always do." But that sounded pretentious and melodramatic, and besides, it was presumptuous. If that moment in the field had changed anything, Hayner had to assume it was for the worst. He was standing on an even smaller rock in the middle of the ocean and the winds were blowing stronger.
There. That's what it was like. Being around Seifer was like constantly waiting to be knocked into the water, balancing on your tiptoes and trying to lean into the breeze long enough that he didn't catch your eye. It was terrible but exhilarating, just like everything else.
He thought about saying "So why was the guy so weird?"
But he knew where that train led - Why was the guy so weird? Oh, he just said some weird stuff, you know. But he let us get the room? Uh-huh. I mean, it's fine anyways, unless you have a problem with sharing a bed.
I don't have a problem with it. We've been doing it for ages.
Okay, cool. Jesus, calm down.
But now precious seconds had passed, and if he replied to something Seifer had said off-handedly - a minute, two minutes ago? - it would stink of overthinking, of panic. He'd spent an entire sixty seconds carefully crafting a reply for Seifer.
No, his best bet would be a new topic entirely. Come up with something safe that they could dive into, let their words mean nothing and their tones do the talking. What was that? What just happened? What did it mean?
Or maybe he was the only one who thought like that. Maybe the way Seifer felt about him was simple and two sentences long:
Hayner's this kid I fought with when we were in middle school, but then all my friends died and all his friends died. Now we work together for the sake of convenience, but he's not bad-looking, so I let him kiss me, because what the hell?
Everything hadn't been destroyed just because Hayner had messed up.
Though, that would be easier.
Hell, maybe things would go in the opposite direction, maybe they'd be hunky fucking dory now and they'd do it again and feel better about everything.
Okay so - maybe the whole emptying his thoughts out in front of Seifer thing had been a bad idea. It had led to weird places.
He didn't know what else to do, though; he could fester in silence, staring at Seifer on the bed, or he could sit down next to him and say something.
He scooted over to the bed (right side, he was always on the right side of the bed) and lay down, careful and slow like he didn't want to spook Seifer. He kept his knees bent, and his head on the pillow. Whatever kind of fluff was in this comforter was pretty low quality; it had sunk to the sides which dangled to the floor, leaving the part on the bed disproportionately thin. That felt like a good way of putting what was happening to Hayner right then: all his bad things had left his stomach, where they boiled his insides with acidic hunger. When he lay down, they'd all filtered to his head and the bottoms of his feet which ached from small boots.
"You know what I realized?" he said at length, careful to keep his eyes on the popcorn ceiling, away from Seifer at all costs.
"What?" His voice wasn't particularly sharp, or loud. Not soft or understanding. Just sort of there, a little brown plop in the mud bucket of their conversations, and if Hayner thought like this anymore then he wouldn't finish his train of thought.
"It's been...what, eleven since?" He knew, of course, but it didn't hurt to ask.
"Yeah. 'Bout that."
A big breath. Count to three and off you go. "Eleven years, and I've stayed squeaky fucking clean. Isn't that ridiculous? I don't know about you, but I've never even smoked a cigarette. No coke, no heroine, not even pot. I don't think I've been drunk more than once or twice. Haven't even had sex."
"What, really?" Seifer set his pack down and lay back, supported by his elbows. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, really. It's not like there was ample opportunity," Hayner groused. He wasn't really in the mood for being teased about his virility.
He considered saying "Besides, I kind of had other things on my mind" and instantly regretting it when Seifer rolled over and asked him, "But you and Olette never...?"
Olette? Seifer was seriously asking about Olette right now? Hayner was shocked the guy even remembered her name, much less put any thought whatsoever into Hayner's love life. In a way it was kind of...good, since Seifer actually - he didn't know. Seifer thought of him as a person, with a background and everything. Somebody who had a life before, who didn't just follow Seifer around and make his life difficult.
Jesus, had his standards sunk.
Still. Him and Olette? Something about the thought annoyed him in a way it shouldn't have, like Seifer was accusing him with an implication. You never pounced on the helpless girl who befriended you? You didn't stick your dick in her when you had the chance? Gee, that's a real shocker, Hayner.
"What the hell, of course not! I was fifteen the last time I - …" Shit.
Oh, god, Olette. Oh God. Speaking of things he fucked up.
She could have been fine.
He couldn't tell what, but something in Seifer's body told him he'd messed up. Angled a little away, slumping, avoiding eye contact. And his mouth went down at the corners just a little.
"...sorry," Seifer said. He laced his fingers behind his head and his elbow bumped into Hayner's nose. Hayner just moved his head to the side.
"Why?" he asked, folding his arms over his belly. God dammit, Olette, Olette, Olette, she had such beautiful eyes, she practiced the flute for an hour every day when she first learned it. "You didn't kill her."
"Jesus Christ, Hayner!" With a whump, Seifer sat up again, pushing his fist into the bed. His mouth was open just a little, and he looked at Hayner, then the window, then all around like he just didn't know what to do with himself. "God!"
"What?" Definitely fucked something up now. Well, better to do it early on than wait until they'd gotten their hopes up.
"How can you even say that?" He swung his feet around to plant them on the floor, hunched over on the bed's side. "How can you talk about her like that?"
"Like what? Like she's dead?" Because believe you me, he thought bitterly, I know that better than you do.
"Like it's a joke. God, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Maybe there was a little fire in Seifer's voice, but mostly it was quiet, like he'd been pulled down to the ground and shrunk to fit.
Hayner shook his head and felt the place where the comforter met the pillow, that tiny ledge right at the dip of his skull. His head shaking slowed until he felt like a cat, rubbing against the furniture to scratch an itch because the pillow's pull of his hair tingled. He waited for a few seconds, because there were a lot of things you could say to that, but he didn't want Seifer angry.
"She did kiss me," he said with his eyes closed and his hands over his stomach.
Seifer stayed quiet, out of apathy or patience, Hayner didn't know. So he kept going. "When Pence died, she was...I mean, none of us were okay, but she was...really not okay. It was the first time either of us had seen somebody we know die, I think. I mean her parents were dead, but she'd never seen them die, since they sent her to that Children First thing, you know, during the rescue missions."
God, he hadn't thought about this for a while. Those rescue missions had been one of the weirdest times of his life, but they didn't merit thought.
There wasn't time for moping, normally. He hadn't ever thought he'd be grateful for that. But he supposed if somebody died and he was in high school or college with nothing but a load of books to keep him busy, that kind of thing would crush you. Nothing kept your mind off things like struggling to survive.
"And?"
"I dunno. She...left for a while. Two months, maybe three? I don't remember. Long enough that I got worried." He uncrossed his arms and then put his hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles next to his neck. "Back then I was living in this house we'd found that had a bunch of canned food in it, stockpiling for a hurricane or Y2K, I guess. I didn't have a lot to do. I buried Pence since - well. That took almost a day. I thought about waiting for Olette to come back before I did it, but I didn't know how long she was going to take, and I mean...we saw what happens when you just leave a body out, right?" He breathed in through his mouth and then wrapped his arms around his stomach again.
"So I was alone in this house for a long time. It was pretty sad, I went all Cast Away and started talking to this stuffed animal in the living room when I was really bored. Then one day I'm out on the balcony moping and she comes up to me out of nowhere. I guess I just wasn't expecting it so I wasn't listening for anyone."
"Yeah. I know how that goes," Seifer said. He seemed a little calmer now, and he edged his feet up on the bed again, leaning against the headboard. His boots were still laced firmly around his feet, and Hayner worried briefly about mud in the traction soles getting on the blankets. But it wouldn't be worth it to bring that up.
"Yeah. And she comes - she came right up to me and leaned against the railing. At first I was just glad she was back, but she seemed so...tired, you know? You remember how she was before?"
Seifer nodded and crossed his arms. "Cheerful, kind of a nerd. Pushy."
"Yeah. But also just...optimistic. Like you kind of felt like she'd always have some advice for you. I was freaking out over something stupid once and she said 'There's nothing you can't fix.' But - " The trick with these things, he figured, was to separate the memories with opaque dividers. If he kept his mind on that moment, and not a few weeks later, it wasn't so sad, and he didn't have to start crying. "She was really pale and she had those bags under her eyes. And she grabbed my hand, and we stood there for a while I guess. I mean, we didn't talk. Then she just kissed me."
It was like in that moment everything became clear for Hayner, but he definitely got an idea of what was happening, even if maybe it was wrong. Because it was sort of an Olette thing to do, wasn't it? Maybe not at 11, but four years later it might've been. If you were in love, things would seem less awful. At least the two of them would be together. So if Hayner was the only one left, they had to get together and then everything would be fine, right? It was always fine.
That was maybe the problem. Hayner couldn't kiss her. Olette was the girl he tried really hard to have a crush on, because he'd always known she probably liked him, and things would be easier that way.
He remembered that kiss, soft, hopeful and grey. Olette's princess moment and his...nothing what-so-fucking-ever.
"And nothing else?" Seifer asked.
"No. She kissed me and..." The story was a start, but he didn't need to tell the worst parts. "And then she died a few weeks later. The end."
He waited for another "I'm sorry," another "Jesus Christ, Hayner," but Seifer unfolded his arms and rested them palm-up by his head. "That's around when I found you, I guess?"
Hayner blinked and looked to the wall, where his pack was listing to the side but too bottom-heavy to fall down.
"Can we not talk about that?"
Good job. Build up all this honesty for him and then just tear it down, make it seem like he ruined it. Fucking brilliant.
Seifer had felt the mood dampen, he knew; nothing in his body gave it away but it was still there and it was still obvious, and it was still just as bad as when you did it at the lunch table in the cafeteria.
"Sure. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend."
His eyes were drawn to Seifer's side, to the dizzying chevrons of his coat and the big wood buttons, then up up up his side to his hand. That hand, bare and splayed between them. Hayner wanted to reach out and grab it, rest his hand on top of it, something to make amends. Something had to change.
He was always talking about what if they were in high school, what if they were in college. But if that were true then they wouldn't talk and Hayner would find better friends that he had stuff in common with, so fuck that. He had to deal with his reality and his reality was Seifer.
He wanted so, so badly just to touch Seifer's hand. Just to see if he'd pull away.
Seifer was stronger than they were. Pence or Olette, probably even Roxas. He had made it - scathed but alive, like Hayner. Congratulations, you have been selected to win our prize.
"I guess some people...take it harder than others," Seifer said. "Not everybody can handle this place." Which was awful, really, a terrible thing to say like you could just give up on half the population of the continent, but he was right. And what were they going to do? Moping wouldn't help anybody.
Hayner tried to laugh. "We're talking like old men," he said. "All...fuck, you know. 'Ooh, we're so tough and jaded.'" And then he did start snorting like giggling with his mouth closed. "It's not really that fun, is it?"
"Oh, God," Seifer laughed too. "It's really not." His fingers twitched and he said "Mm. You know, even by today's standards, we're pretty young."
"What?"
"Barely into our twenties? That's not old."
Hayner supposed it wasn't, not that he'd ever thought of himself as rickety and gray-haired. But certainly nobody looked at him or talked to him like he was a little kid, nobody asked him if he was alright or where his parents were, obviously. But Seifer was right. Strictly speaking they weren't old, age-wise.
Hayner expected he'd seen more death than his dad ever had, though.
So, you know. Fuck that guy and his screeching about athletic ability.
"...I don't feel young," he said as quiet as he could. "I feel - "
"Old?"
Old people sat in chairs all day and read newspapers. They fell asleep. Talked about how many geese were in the river that day. The word for Hayner and Seifer wasn't 'old'.
"...tired. Just...tired."
"...should go to sleep," Seifer muttered, leaning down to untie his boot laces. It took him a few good tugs to get them off and onto the floor.
"That's never fixed it before."
"Hm." A thin chain, silver at the top and blotched grey down where the plating had been worn off by fingers, hung from the lamp on Seifer's side of the bed. He fingered the bead at the end, rolled a thumb over it and pinched it.
The darkness outside wasn't quite as far along as Hayner preferred - he didn't have a great view of the sky, but it still seemed dusky, almost orange. The sun should've set by now, but then he supposed it could be different here.
"Hey look," Seifer said, pointing to the window. "Orange barfglow, courtesy of downtown. Been a while since we saw that."
"Oh." Hayner rolled over to his stomach and propped himself up on his hands to get a better look at it. "Is that what it is? Shit. That's completely disgusting."
"Isn't it, though?" he sighed and tugged on the chain, clicking off the lamp. The only light in the room came from the barfglow. A sickly orange made of street lamps and computers. "I think I'm becoming one of those assholes who loves trees."
"Yeah."
Seifer?
Yeah?
Why did you pick on me in school?
I wanted your attention.
Yeah, right. Because that was how bullying worked.
You couldn't just go around saying what you thought when you thought it. Sometimes because it wasn't an okay thing to say, but mostly because chances were somebody else had thought of it already. Everybody was thinking it, but nobody said it because they all knew, and that was comforting in a way that wasn't really comforting at all.
Hayner Conway didn't have a goal. Things would not be better in college. They would not be better with a mom. They would not be better with a blimp, or with money, or with Seifer's love. Things were shit. Maybe he had to tear it all down and start again.
He'd been that way in school - he jumped on the point when you gave up and started over. If he messed up on a drawing, he threw it out. His teachers hated that. You were supposed to use your mistakes and incorporate them into the art, or at the very least just erase them. Hayner hadn't understood that then, and he didn't now.
Use your mistakes? But then even if it turns out amazing, you'll know it wasn't all you. He'd know that part of it, maybe the best part, was an accident because his hand slipped or his friend bumped into him. Even if nobody else knew. He'd know it wasn't quite right. Same if he erased it - it would still be there. Hayner had tried explaining this to his first grade teacher, but she'd refused to see reason. He'd drawn all the features of his self portrait scrunched in the middle of a huge face, just to spite her.
In retrospect, missing out on school may not have been the worst thing in the world.
Hayner rolled to face the wall, away from Seifer. He stared at the door. It might be easier to talk to him if he didn't have to see his face.
The orange sat, fat and despondent, on the wallpaper, the door, the shelves. There was no lovely dark night, where nothing had color. Orange. The color that grade school kids love to tell you nothing rhymes with. Orange, door hinge. It fuzzed everything, put it out of focus, closed your eyes for you just to get away from it.
Hayner had been spoiled by the great outdoors. You were well and truly fucked when the sky was jaundiced.
For the first time in his life, he wondered if maybe there hadn't been enough destruction. If all these people slept every night with sick clouds instead of stars then they'd tolerate anything, he thought.
"You think Vexen means what he said?" he asked. And yeah, not seeing his face was helpful.
"Said about what?"
"Something about..." Shit, what was it? Hayner remembered liking it in a 'Seifer will hate me if I bring it up' sort of way. "Uh. Something about starting over, I guess?"
"Um." Um, no, that's a fucking stupid thing to say, you gigantic manchild. "Yeah, I kind of remember it now that you mention it." He paused and made a wet sound like smacking his lips. "I don't know, I guess he meant it, I mean...it sounded kind of depressing, the way he said it."
"Like how?"
"Like...didn't he say it's a blank slate and we can start over and not do the stupid shit we did before?"
"Yeah. How's that depressing?"
"Because." Hayner didn't turn around, but he could practically hear the wrinkled nose and Seifer's vague distaste. "It's like saying he's happy all those people had to die."
"Well." Hayner closed his eyes and felt his words vibrate inside of his throat. "I guess so, but it's better than sitting around moping about how awful everything is and then not trying to do anything."
"What, you mean like us?" Seifer giggled.
"Hm. A-yup. Just like us. We're terrible people. We should join the rebel alliances to make up for it," Hayner said, stretching out on top of the covers and smoothing down his shirt.
"There probably are people like that, in groups and shit. You know." He laughed. "Rebel alliances."
"Fuuuck. You think so?"
"Mm-hm. There always are. They're probably sitting around having conversations about how to rally the people."
"Oh. So we're just a part of the faceless masses with no minds of our own?"
"Slaves to the system. That's us."
Seifer rolled over to rest his head on his crooked elbow. "Such bullshit. Jesus Christ. Not our fault we don't have time to sit around on our fat asses complaining about everything. I'll rebel against the system after I get some fucking food."
Hayner laughed at that. "You're content to be a mindless puppet? God, you sheeple are so annoying!"
"Sheeple?" He rolled over to see the smile in Seifer's voice. Where usually the corner of his eye, the point of his jaw, the shadow of his cheeks reflected in the darkness, now a whole half of his face was cast with dusty orange lines coming through the blinds, warped by his ghost face.
"Hey, I didn't make that word up."
"'Sheeple,' though? Seriously?" He scrunched up his nose and licked his teeth. "Jesus. I guess I should be grateful I found you before I had to join the rebel alliances, then."
"Mm." His eyes closed again, and Hayner felt around under his back for the edge of the blanket. This was going pretty smoothly; may want to quit while he was ahead. "Did I ever thank you for that?" he muttered.
"No." The bed rustled. Hayner couldn't tell if Seifer was moving his head or his arms.
"Oh. Well...thanks," he said and ducked under the covers like a seal into water. He risked a glance at Seifer, arms out, staring at the ceiling. At least he wasn't all curled up in on himself like before.
Seifer laughed small and started to work his arms out of his coat; the sudden shifting of fabric seemed too loud for the room. Like turning on the TV when you'd turned the volume up too high the night before. The blast of static broke his peace, just a little.
"No problem."
"I mean it. Thanks," he said again. "That was...not a good time."
"I remember." He slid the coat down to the foot of the bed, then mostly off so that only the sleeve was visible.
That was it for the night, Hayner figured. He was perfectly happy to end it there with neither of them mad or depressed.
When Seifer got under the covers, he turned so his back faced Hayner. Which was fine. If you faced each other everything got muggy and warm, and you woke up with somebody else's morning breath in your face. Hayner turned around too. When he breathed in, his mouth tasted like metal, gas, and the horrible electric buzz of lights in other rooms.
He realized absently that he hadn't eaten in seven hours. But the lights were off and - well, he'd live.
The hunger pangs didn't get really bad until maybe twenty, twenty-two hours, anyway.
Okay but apparently Vexen had completely ruined him.
Regular meals. Sleeping in a bed. No electricity, isolated, with more stars than sky. Thinking about blimps instead of your dead friends, and standing in the rain instead of kissing Seifer to feel better about himself.
Now that he thought about it, the whole thing made him a little bit too much like Olette. Olette, who tried to fit them together like jamming pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She'd fanned the edges and damaged them both.
How long had it been since Seifer had turned out the lights? A few minutes, maybe? No more than a few minutes.
He didn't really keep time anymore, since there wasn't any reason to. Either it was sunrise, midday, afternoon, sunset, or night. The end. All that mattered was how much daylight you had left, not how many hours of sleep you could get until your 7 o'clock alarm woke you up for work at 9 o'clock sharp.
It was kind of inconvenient. He should get a wind-up watch that didn't need batteries.
Build a sundial, maybe.
The worst feeling in the world is not being able to find a shovel to bury your very last friend. He remembered searching all over the house, hating himself when he realized he'd thrown away the one he'd used for Pence. Because that should have been enough. Pence should have been enough.
He remembered screaming - and now, he knew that was the first time he'd really not cared what the neighbors thought, five years in - screaming and screaming, kicking a wall so hard he broke the plaster. Olette would rot because he couldn't find a fucking shovel, and he'd be too busy kicking and screaming about it to do anything else.
Then that voice. Not soft and plaintive, it'll be okay because it just will, let me kiss you and everything will be okay voice. "Jesus fucking Christ, you asshole! Some of us are trying to sleep! I should've known being an orphan wouldn't make you any less of a fucking moron."
And they'd come face to face. Hayner didn't remember it too well, but he remembered seeing Seifer's face, really seeing it, not 'oh God is he looking at me' thoughts from across the road. He remembered the hollow cheeks, the barest peach fuzz of stubble, and eyes that expected him to be small and angry back. Needed him to be.
Hayner didn't remember it too well, but he remembered, "I need a shovel."
And he remembered, "Fine. Wait here. Keep your pants on."
Then Seifer dug him a hole five foot deep and six foot long and four foot across.
What did you call someone like Seifer? Friend didn't cut it, enemy was just stupid, lover sure as Hell didn't apply. Brother? Brother made it sound like they'd been through a war together.
Seifer was just the other one. Seifer and Hayner, Hayner and Seifer. For the first few days after school ended, Hayner always felt weird going out and not bringing his backpack with him; he couldn't get used to the lightness on his back. Seifer was his backpack.
Oh god. He could not tell people that. That was just...no.
He zipped out of his head and back into the darkness of the room, underneath the covers, stretched out on his side. He stifled a giggle. He was just not going to get to sleep now, just, really, wow. Backpack. Wow.
Hayner groaned and tried to ignore the building pressure in his bladder.
The need to pee was a strange one, he'd noticed. It wasn't painful the way a bruise was, but it certainly didn't feel good. Something he wanted to get rid of, but not something that would kill him. His body was clever that way.
Yeah, very clever, but he still needed to pee.
He slid his feet around and onto the floor, glad for the warm air, and leaked out of the covers. The bathroom was down the hall - if he remembered right.
Right before leaving the room he glanced back. Seifer was still sleeping, or looked like it.
Hayner remembered these mattress ads that talked about how the mattress didn't transfer motion to your partner if you slept together. Stupid, he thought. If you slept next to somebody for long enough, he got used to you getting in and out.
When he got back to the room, Seifer had turned around, and his sleeping face was perfectly visible in the orange glow.
Was Seifer even handsome? Beautiful? Hayner couldn't tell, anymore. He'd grown accustomed. He knew he liked that face, slow and peaceful with clear, unassuming features. Which was probably all that mattered.
He approached the bed, but he couldn't quite get himself to get back in it. That would mean facing away from Seifer, and he needed to look at that face for a little while. Just a second.
He knelt and stretched his palms across the bedspread, following the bunched curve of the comforter until it twisted up onto Seifer's shoulder.
Hayner felt a little ball of something unwanted in his throat.
I don't know.
I love you.
He hadn't realized it until now. He wondered briefly if Seifer meant it, but - no. Of course he did.
"I think - fuck," he said, and made fists in the sheets. "I think you're the only person who's ever loved me, aside from my parents." He stared at the sheets and smelled the musty sweaty person smell, and the gas. "I mean. Pence and Olette, come on. We were in middle school. And Roxas - ...left. He just left, so fuck him too."
He stared a while longer at Seifer's sweet, angry face.
They had never promised to stick together.
I'm a dead-end bum with nothing at all, working my ass off just not to get shot, and I've filled my pockets with money which isn't even worth anything anymore. I don't make promises.
"I think I'd kill somebody to keep you alive," he whispered. "I'm supposed to be applying to grad schools right now but instead I'd kill somebody for you."
He got under the covers and pulled them up to his chin. Took a long look at Seifer's face and turned around again.
"I wish I wasn't okay with that."
What others think of us would be of little moment did it not, when known, so deeply tinge what we think of ourselves.
- Paul Valery
Getting Zexion to talk had always been hard, but even Vexen had his limits. The information he volunteered was vague and nameless: "They're all fine," or "Everything's pretty much the same."
Zexion refused to accept food from him. Dried fruits, meat, greens from the garden - met with little head shakes while he slumped at the kitchen table, head down and knuckles on the wood. He reminded Vexen of a trapped animal or a stray cat brought inside. Some combination of nerves and hard-learned wariness dominated any real hunger, even when Vexen heard the stomach growls.
The sky had gone dark; the only light was the emergency candle Vexen had lit when Zexion refused to leave the kitchen. He tried coaxing him: "If you go to the first-floor guest bedroom, I can get the fireplace going. It's not much, but it's warm."
Zexion shook his head again.
"You can't sleep in the kitchen."
"I'll leave."
Vexen sighed, and sat down across from him, cupping his palms over his knees like a patient parent. "I'm not saying you should leave, Zexion, I don't want you to leave. But it's really no inconvenience for me if you use the guest bedroom. I could use the company."
Zexion snorted and rolled his eyes, which practically shoved Vexen back to his professor days. "What was that for? You don't believe me?" he said.
"You've got people living here already, Vexen, I'm not blind. I saw your laundry line in the backyard."
He laughed and shook his head. "You were always like this," he said. "Ienzo."
"Please don't."
"These funny little assumptions," he waved his hand in the air and caused the candle flame between them to flicker sideways. "As if you couldn't possibly be important to anyone. I don't know if you're doing it to get me to contradict you - ...Zexion - or if you honestly think I don't want you here. Either way, it's not healthy."
Zexion pinched his lips. He'd been quiet at the university, of course, but Vexen had always gotten the sense it was more out of superiority than shyness. Zexion did not need to stoop down to participation in a lab discussion; he did all his thinking in his own head, privately, and came to you with fully-formed and edited ideas.
This version was a beaten, frightened Zexion with thumbtacks in his paws and cigarette burns on his back. He had literal scars on his hands and kept his hair over his face.
"You've gotten more honest," he told Vexen.
"Best not to waste time when you don't know how much of it you have," Vexen said. "Besides. I'm old-fashioned. I like my bombast."
That got him to smile a little bit, at least.
"Come on," Vexen pushed his luck. "You don't have to worry. The house is going to be empty for a few days, so you'll have time to settle in. And they're nice boys. A bit rude, but they won't bother you, I know."
If this was the Zexion he knew, then right just now he was thinking, I don't need your pity. I refuse to be a burden.
"I could use someone with practical engineering skills, too. Really, they're all brawn. I don't think they got past middle school before the crash." True on all accounts. Zexion's work had been more theoretical than actual, but the boy had built a few solid things in his time, and they'd worked well enough.
The corners of Zexion's mouth twinged, and he blinked a few times. "Uh-huh."
"Zexion, please."
There was only so much nursing he could do for emotional cripples. Seifer was practically a lost cause already, but Zexion didn't even try to hide his quivering behind a wall of angry. Tending to his scars would only do for so long.
"What?" He breathed out through his nose and met Vexen's eyes. "What."
"Don't do this alone. This kind of transition is tough on anyone. Don't lower your odds of survival more than you have to," he said gently.
"What transition?" he said.
"Living on your own - or...well. Without them. Zexion, you're physically fine, but in a very primal sense, you've been separated from your...pack. Tribe. Colony. It's a very different lifestyle."
Laughter, hollow and sad, echoed off the walls. "People don't die of loneliness," Zexion said.
"You saw the cross on the lawn," Vexen said.
He inhaled sharply through his nose and looked away, hands tight fists on the table. "That was low," he said.
"It was the truth," Vexen said.
There didn't seem much to say after that. Not for a while, at least. Vexen pushed some more tea on him and watched him drink it, trying to separate the two Zexions in his head. Treating this one like the other wouldn't do. He was fragile, insecure, depressed. If he went on like this, if Vexen let it spiral out of control again, the boy'd never bounce back and he'd have to face that moment again: which two sticks do you choose for a grave? Which string do you tie them with?
Zexion would have to be coaxed back to normalcy, and that started with his feeling safe.
"One night."
"What?"
"Spend a night here, and if you're still determined that stumbling around, bleeding from your fingers like an idiot is a better alternative, then you can make that choice." Vexen scowled and drummed his thumbs together, one on top of the other. "It's a better life, Zexion. There are still bad days, but nobody's going to point a gun at you."
Zexion's eyes fell to his shoes, and he breathed out through his lips. Suddenly Vexen was watching himself as a child, being lectured by a parent, asked straw man questions: "If you hate the rules we give you, Even, would you rather move out? Do you want us to get you an apartment near the school so you never have to see us again, is that it?" The sorts of things for which there were no response. All he could do was wait for them to calm down.
"That's what he said, too," Zexion said. "That there would be bad days. But I'd be safe."
Vexen reached out a hand and touched Zexion's knuckles. "We both know I'm not him," he said, the softness in his gesture betrayed by his voice. Stern, and desperate to deny the connection.
Zexion pursed his lips and nodded. "He misses you. He doesn't always say it out loud, but everybody can tell he does."
"He misses an idea," Vexen said. "I seriously doubt he'd care for my current self."
"Yeah, you grew your hair out," he said. "He'd probably get really annoyed if he knew it was longer than his."
Vexen laughed big and gentle, and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, oh no. Does he still dye it that awful color?"
"No, he more or less just lets it be, now." He smirked. "He almost made it purple by accident. I think that's when he stopped."
"Oh, well. I would've liked to stick around for that." They shared a smile.
There wasn't much to say, after that. Vexen decided just to let him sit there for a while. He could just wait, and see if Zexion could think to the same places if left to his own devices.
Zexion stared out the window and laughed, high and quiet and insincere. What he was looking at, Vexen didn't know. Maybe he expected to see a flash of light, or hear a gunshot in the darkness. Maybe he just didn't want to look at this kitchen and all its wretched domesticity.
"Do you remember, uh," he said. "The first test you gave our class? It was mostly chemistry review?"
"Yes." Vexen sighed. "Shaky start to an otherwise decent year."
Zexion nodded. "I did below average on that. The average was bad enough, and I got lower."
"Did you?" He ran a thumb across a smudge on the table, but it was just a mark on the wood.
"Yeah." A nervous hitch in his breath brought Vexen's eyes back to his face. "I'd never done below average on anything before. I'd never done average on anything before. I was supposed to be the smart kid."
"Test scores don't necessarily correlate with intelligence," Vexen said. "There are many possible reasons for - "
"I know that, Vexen," Zexion interrupted him, which he took as a good sign. "I don't exactly care if you give me a higher grade now." He laughed. It didn't stick. "It was just - the first time I'd ever failed at something. I put all of my effort into schoolwork, and up until that point I'd always seen returns. So if I had a wilting social life, or the body of a malnourished twelve-year-old, at least - at least I was...smart. And then I didn't have that anymore, either."
Vexen reached out, fingers extended, but he aborted the gesture. He nodded.
"I mean. That's just...it's kind of the same feeling, right now. I can't be a good person, and I can't make a difference, but at least I can be important to the group. And now I'm not that."
There wasn't - really a good response to that, was there? Vexen could think of a few placating things about Zexion's intelligence, or his usefulness. But those would do little good. If anything.
He snorted. "I can relate," he muttered.
"What? You?"
"This place is good for that," Vexen glossed over it. "Once you've had all those crutches ripped away, when you've got nothing left. You'll never be happy, really, if you need other people to acknowledge you." He drummed the side of his head with one finger. "You've got to be alone."
He stared at him for a while, then at the finger, then the cup in his hands. Zexion didn't say anything. That's a childish thing to say, he must have been thinking, but the corners of his mouth twitched down involuntarily. He looked like a child who refused to pout in front of grown ups.
"It's all gone, though, isn't it," he whispered. His hands tightened around the cup. "Oh, God."
Vexen waited.
"Oh my God," Zexion said again, and covered his face.
The rain fell alike upon the just and upon the unjust, and for nothing was there a why and a wherefore.
- W. Somerset Maugham
Hayner woke with a start, and his dream thundered through his head.
He couldn't remember what exactly had happened - a military base or a school or something, with lots of people his own age, and he'd been told to do - something, something with a calculator or a ruler that should've been easy - and he couldn't and he kept trying but it didn't work, not with all these eyes on him, and when he tried to back out -
The details faded quickly enough. All he was left with was a deep-seated shame, and a sense of wrongness that he couldn't shake off.
The streetlights had been turned off in the early morning. Thin grey light dripped through the curtains, slinked into the shadows and curled up there.
They should send upper-class kids to Homeless Camp. It definitely got rid of any niggling sense of superiority you had left in you.
Homeless. Jesus fucking Christ. Homeless.
If he didn't connect it to hobos, it was kind of a romantic word, homeless, one without a home. No place to be alone.
Speaking of, Seifer hadn't told him how long he'd signed the room out for. Today was day two of the waiting, and they probably shouldn't stay a second longer than necessary. They would have to check in with that parts shop today, too.
Which brought him back to lying there on the bed.
He couldn't remember ever having to wake Seifer up, or Seifer really waking him up - the occasional nudge, maybe, "You awake? Me too." Now that he faced the issue, he realized he had absolutely no idea what the etiquette was. The fuck did married people do in the morning?
Hayner knew the best way to get rid of his funny dream feeling would be to get up, walk around, take his mind off of - things. Reality hadn't sifted all the way in yet. In a few minutes, whatever he'd dreamed about would seem silly, or laughable, but right now he just...
It was this mix of abject terror and crippling inadequacy. He'd known all along he wasn't right, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Whatever he'd been doing, he'd outed himself as a moron. He had fallen from the high place he had been sitting. He wasn't a good person, though he couldn't remember why.
He sat up in the bed, leaning the base of his neck against the headboard. Hayner breathed in through his nose, then out again in a whiny nasal whistle.
Man. Mornings were the worst. Not really, but still. He didn't usually wake up in the middle of a dream; usually the effect wore off in his sleep and he just woke up feeling sore.
Badum-badum-badum. Already, he was forgetting what had really happened in it. Something about a - classroom, maybe? With lots of people? There had been lots of people, and shame. The people were wearing off.
Seifer had the gall to still be sleeping like the graceless giant he was. He didn't take up nearly so much room on the bed as he should have. Before, Seifer had probably been the kind of guy who sprawled out over the whole mattress and hogged the covers. He probably looked like a freefaller, mid-jump. Hayner supposed there were some upsides to always being folded in on yourself.
He lay perfectly on his side, his shoulder blades two clean lines down the fabric of his shirt. His back was a triangle, broad in the shoulders and narrow at the waist. Not girl-narrow, not at all, but definitely not a block. He had runner muscles, and a runner back.
It was funny, too, because Hayner had always thought Seifer would grow up to be a wall of muscle. He had the face for it, but his neck wasn't thick enough. Maybe he'd be a block, normally. But they didn't really have a lot of protein in their diets. Hayner supposed it was whippet or nothing, at least for now.
He wanted to reach out and trace those muscles, thin tight strings under skin, wrapped with capillaries. Vexen had said, in that offhand way he had, that most of your body got replaced every few years. Except maybe for parts of your bones and your nervous system, your body was rebuilt, so almost every inch of Seifer had died and regrown during their time together.
Almost all of his parts had Hayner stink all over them.
So, you know. Suck it, Fuu. He was Hayner's now. Even if he didn't want to be.
Hayner decided not to wake him up; he'd just get out of bed, maybe go take a shower. Doing much else in this state of mind was a bad idea.
The bed groaned when he slid out of it and his toes touched the floor. Winter didn't bite too terribly around here, but it made tiles cold as fuck in the early morning.
The bathroom sink was unmarked; the nickel knobs on either side were identical. One for hot, he supposed, and one for cold, but which was which? There was a standard for these things. Hot was always one side. Cold was the other.
He flicked the left one toward himself and watched the water rush out of the tap absently, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He looked - awful, and slightly pimply. Like a tired rich boy who'd eaten too many Twinkies. His eyes reddened at their edges and pinked in the middle. His pupils were swimming in sting.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," he said, as calmly as he could, and grabbed the hand towel next to the sink.
He'd picked right; little puffs of steam rose from the water column. He nearly burned his hand when he stuck the towel under the stream.
He scrubbed his face until it was as red as his eyes, then he got the towel wet again and scrubbed his armpits, then his chest. He took off his shirt and scrubbed his belly and the tops of his hips. He took off his pants and scrubbed his legs, all the way around, especially the backs of his knees where sweat started to sting if you left it too long. He scrubbed his feet.
And after he was as clean as he was going to get, he ran the blackened washcloth under the tap and watched the water go grey for a second before turning clear again.
He snuck back into the room. Seifer was already up.
"Did I wake you?" Hayner said, fishing out a pair of clean socks. "Sorry."
"No, nah, it wasn't you," Seifer said. "Just after you got up the bed got cold as fuck. That woke me up."
Which actually if Hayner decided to read too much into it was really, really nice.
Seifer stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, pushing his head against the pillows with a yawn. His bent knees made a mountain in the covers.
He had very nice arms. Actually. Not that Hayner was thinking about that.
"Been thinking about what you said last night," he said. "About how you're some virginal Disney princess."
"Um," Hayner said.
"I figure we could fix one of those today, right?" Seifer said. "After we find out about cost so we know how much we have left to barter with?"
"You're not buying me a prostitute, Seifer," Hayner rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed.
"Hey! Of course I'm not! I literally gain nothing if I get you a prostitute," he said. Seifer yawned again and pushed the covers to the side. "...fuck are my boots," he groused.
"Foot of the bed," Hayner said without looking.
"Oh. Yeah."
Seifer slid his feet to the floor and reached for his boots, unlacing them. "Shouldn't you put on pants first?" Hayner asked.
"What? Yeah. So, but, you're not listening to my idea!" Seifer said distractedly.
Yes, because it's stupid o'clock in the morning and you're probably horny and you're going to suggest that we have sex, Hayner thought, when we established seven hours ago that that will make everything worse.
"What," he asked, in a way that didn't sound at all like he wanted to know.
"Your genitals are your business, but we can totally get drunk together," Seifer said.
"...oh." He tried not to make the relief too apparent. "Oh that's fine then."
"Yeah." Seifer said. "What?"
"What?"
"What's with you?" He picked up the pants piled gracelessly on the floor and stood up to pull them on. Hayner had the sudden, weird thought that his boxer shorts were probably older than he was.
"Nothing's with me. It's just a weird thing for you to say."
Seifer scowled. Hayner winced. "Is it?" Seifer said. "I guess. Sorry. I just figured..." he looked down at his belt buckle, tapped his thumbs against it. "Whatever. If you don't want to, I mean - ."
"It's okay," Hayner said. "It sounds like fun, I just didn't expect it to come out of your mouth."
"Oh, I'll put anything in my mouth," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows. "For I am a saucy witch."
Hayner just stared at him for a second, then threw a clean shirt at him. "Someone fucking roofied you," he said, grabbing his own shirt. "Go to the bathroom and don't come back until you've sobered up."
With a cackle, Seifer left the room, still just holding a shirt in his hand.
"Free of charge," they'd said. The fuck?
Nobody gave you things for free. People didn't even do that when there were enough things to go around.
Not completely free, of course - but as close as anyone could ever get to it. "We owe Vexen a lot," Cid had said, "He's a smart guy. We'd like him to owe us a few. Rather be able to call in favors from the magic man than take some of your pickled peppers or whatever shit he gave you to barter with."
And Hayner and Seifer had looked at each other and then at Cid, and one of them had gone "...thanks."
So, well, now they had a day and a night to spend in the city with nowhere, really, to go, and no desire to be anywhere at all.
Hayner was pretty sure there was a rule about getting drunk before noon. Or...five o'clock. Or just during the daytime, maybe?
"We could go to the city center," Seifer said, rolling his feet over the ground and nodding toward the street. "It's not that different from before the crash, apparently. I mean, they get energy from different places now and there's not as much, but it's still one of those places where the people living in it don't have to worry about survival. There's like. Paintings and shit."
"Culture?" Hayner supplied and started off down the street. He hoped Seifer knew where they were going, because he sure as fuck didn't, and it wasn't like there were road signs anywhere. People stole them, he supposed. People were funny.
"Sure. Culture. What the fuck," Seifer said. "All sorts of exciting shit happening in the middle of the city."
"Yeah. We can get scarves and uh - " he faltered.
"Indigenous paintings?" he offered.
"Yeah. Indigenous fucking paintings and scarves," Hayner said, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Like real tourists."
"Fuck you, you've never met a real tourist."
"Mm," he laughed and closed his eyes, then squinted at the sun. There were no clouds, but it was still cold and dry outside and smelled like clean and not-life, which was probably appropriate for the city.
It smelled like hot asphalt, bitter and black ooze.
Like the playground in September.
So they went into the heart of the city, and the whole time Hayner kept his eyes on people's shoes; he finally realized they'd wandered into the affluent part when the brand names disappeared and instead there was polished leather, and boots and nylon, meticulous tiny hand stitches over the seams of clothing.
Hayner wondered if there was anyone left who made armor.
"Hey, whoa buddy," two fingers in front of his face. Hayner shook his head and looked at Seifer, who tugged him onto the sidewalk. "Don't get in people's way. They're all uppity about that here. You with me, chickpea?"
"What?"
Seifer scowled - or squinted, maybe, in the bright sunlight. He wasn't wearing his beanie. Had he brought it? Hayner was used to him both ways.
"I dunno, why did I say that?" he said. "Rhymes, I guess. Whatever. Let's go."
Hayner laughed. The laughter stayed his his throat and fought his heartbeat.
They kept walking.
Brightness. Even the streets, like the sidewalks here got less wear and tear, the edges of the curbs were still sharp, the streets even instead of warped. And the people wore unnecessary clothing. It was perverse, almost. Somebody in a fancy silk scarf. Ruffles on the edges of someone else's sleeves, fabric that could've gone to fix the wholes over his knees or around the edges of his collar.
Not that everyone was dressed that way - there were plenty like them, in musty hand-me-downs and everything, walking quickly and purposefully and with their heads down. He recognized that look: I do not want to be here but I have to, I'm sorry.
"Seifer, why are we here," he muttered, grabbing his elbow.
"What? Because we have cash to spend. They'd be stupid not to trade." He pointed to a craft store with open doors, lined with burlap paintings and jewelry, little charcoal sketches of people. Somebody was honest to God perusing it, too. Like you could afford to trade food for beauty.
"I'm not getting you a ring, Seifer," he said and turned his nose up. "I don't want to settle down yet."
"What?" Seifer clutched a hand to his chest. The thud was dulled a little by all the padding in his jacket, but the point was there. "You mean you kissed me without intending to marry me? I'm a soiled woman, Hayner."
Hayner snorted and pointed down the street with a finger that only shook a little bit. "There. Bar. Let's go get drunk so I can forget how insane you are."
Trade.
Like Pokemon cards or pieces of Halloween candy.
Trade.
I would rather be a coward than brave because people hurt you when you are brave.
- E.M. Forster, as a small child
One jar of pickled cucumbers, which did not grow in this climate unless you were Vexen, bought you five watered down wine glasses or three shots of vodka apiece. A fresh onion, farm grown, no chemicals, not from a rich man's land? More. Bless you boys.
In typical fashion they each went with the wine - it lasted longer, after all, even if it got you drunk slower; and the important thing was always to draw it out. Make it last as long as possible.
Hayner hunched over the round table in the corner of the room, inhaling a strong whiff of rotting cedar and body sweat. Seifer drained the last ounce of wine from his glass.
"This is the dumbest fucking thing," he said. "Do you feel drunk? I don't. I feel like somebody gave me rotten grape juice."
"Isn't that what wine is?"
Seifer tipped his empty glass to Hayner's head. "Exactly. Very good, detective."
"That sounded a little drunk."
Seifer snorted. "I sounded more drunk five hours ago when I complained about making an honest woman out of you."
He sighed.
So they were in this bar, only it was a nice bar. The floor had checkered tiles. The lighting was adequate; there were candles for ambiance. No loud thumping music or anything.
There was an upper floor, the stairs roped off, where men in shining tailored business suits rose and made bland jokes. Some of them stayed on the lower floor later, their hair slicked back, perusing the colorful bottles lined up behind the bar. Smooth jazz, bland and inoffensive, came through the ceiling just loud enough to ease awkward conversations. Hayner had almost been surprised to be let through the door.
To his credit, they'd been ushered to a back table away from the windows, but they were hardly the only underdressed people there - plenty like them in old, too-tight shirts from charity events, walks for cancer and regional marathons.
In boots made to last one cold winter and nothing more.
"Seifer," he said. "Uh."
"What?"
"This isn't a hooker bar, is it?"
Seifer stared down at him. Hayner had flopped over the table, but Seifer was turned, faced the room with his legs sprawled and his arm resting on the back of the chair. "Are you kidding? You've already asked me this."
"But it's night and there are like..." he gestured. "Fuck. Guys in suits talking to guys not in suits."
"Yeah, they're hiring workers, dude," Seifer said, and swirled the glass around a little. "I told you, that's what this part of the city is for. Skilled workers meet up with rich dudes who need shit done. Weren't you paying attention to the waiter?"
"No."
Seifer laughed and put down the glass to ruffle Hayner's hair, which he would have resented more, probably, without alcohol. He didn't purr or anything, but he didn't complain.
Hayner looked straight ahead, at the buttons on Seifer's jacket. At Seifer's chest, which rose and sunk underneath his jacket.
He wanted to say, I love you too. But it would come out wrong and he could tell. It would come out I'd kill for you.
He wanted to say help me.
He was drunk. A little. Or at least - that was a good enough excuse for it.
Seifer hadn't taken his hand off Hayner's head; his fingers brushed the tips of his hair with a childish tactile fixation. They tickled a little, carrying down to his skull; shivers went straight to his spine. "Hey, Seifer," Hayner said with his eyes far away. "Let's say drunkenness is a good excuse for this."
"For what?"
"Can we talk about what happened yesterday?"
The fingers in his head stopped.
"Why? What happened yesterday?"
"Mmf," Hayner groaned and rolled his head to the side, into the crook of his elbow on the table. "You know."
"Lots of shit happened yesterday," Seifer said.
"Yeah but I mean - most of it was standard shit." He sighed. "And then you left me alone for a while, so I, you know. With my mouth."
"Really?" The hand drew back under the table, but Hayner, oh, he was too scared to lift his head up.
"Fine. Kiss. Whatever. But I mean - "
Seifer just laughed at him, too. He laughed full and loud like something was funny. "Ha! Hahaha! God, Jesus, Hay, are you fucking kidding me!"
Oh.
Okay. It was funny to him.
Hayner sighed and rolled upright with his eyes on the floor. His head buried in the sand. They were back here again - back here, where Seifer responded and made no sense. They were on different wavelengths entirely, now, but they always had been.
It wasn't healthy. It was not okay.
That's what Hayner thought, sitting across from the table listening to Seifer laughing at him.
Oh, are we talking about how you stuck your tongue in my mouth? Jesus fuck, dude, and here I thought we weren't gonna mention it, I mean I was gonna save you the embarrassment - but nope! No, Hayner, Hay-hay, I cannot contain myself. You're too funny. Did you think it meant something? You're adorable, really you are.
Seifer laughed for a few seconds at most. That was it! Two seconds of laughter but it crashed the delicate spider web of safety Hayner had around his insides.
Something was seeping out of his linings. A sad grey ephemeral something, wispy, lonely as fuck and so, so tired, curled into his throat and around his belly and covered his eyes.
He breathed it back in.
"Quit laughing," he said, and tried for a smile. He couldn't see himself but he knew it was all wrong. "Come on, drunk! I'm an emotional drunk."
"What? No, it's just - that's what you choose to bring up?"
"How - " Roxas.
Roxas, Roxas hair, and the right color this time, washed and fresh and stepping in the door in a clean shirt and clean pants and clean shoes Roxas, or someone like him.
"Whoa, check it out," he said and patted Seifer's shoulder. "That guy looks just like Roxas!"
"What?" Seifer swerved strangely in his seat. His spine curved and through the slit of the coat Hayner could just make out - but, anyways. He watched Seifer's face eagerly. "Are you sure?" Seifer said. "I guess he's...kind of similar."
"Well, his hair is the same," Hayner said. At least being corrected by Seifer was familiar territory.
"No, no," Seifer said. "You might have a point. I guess he would be older. Did you say he lived around here?"
Hayner shrugged. "It's not like he left a map." He swallowed. "It's not like I cared."
A hand came to rest on his knuckles, just for a second before Seifer drew it back like he'd touched a hot stove. Hayner watched it happen with a detached funniness and watched the grey fog come back to choke his throat. He snorted. "Okay," he said. "Yeah, I get it."
"Get what?"
"I'll meet you at the motel, okay? Sorry for making you so uncomfortable. Really, I am."
He headed for fake Roxas, contestant number three, and tried not to burst out laughing halfway to the bar. Because it was just so awful, wasn't it?
It was so awful.
"Excuse me," he told the guy, and hopped up onto a stool.
Ah, he thought when the man turned to him, those baby blues. He realized he hadn't missed Roxas at all, until he smiled at Hayner.
"Oh my God," Roxas sat up and his smile was so, so bright.
Roxas.
Minus the baby fat, plus a few years.
Hayner lived a one dimensional life. Everyone followed the river. They followed it, Vexen followed it. He'd chased Roxas without even knowing.
And here he was with a shining plastic smile and an invitation home.
A/N: Shit happens next time! Really. I promise, guns will be involved again soon.
Why is that a good thing.
Shh, just tell me what you thought. It means a lot to me.