So you finally found a way
To lessen all your pain.
I heard soft sobs from within the confines of the room with the door baring the title "XIII," the name "Roxas" scrawled underneath it in black cursive, bold against the pale white of the door. I pressed an ear against it, placing a gloved hand gently upon the door, just enough that the door wasn't going to burst open and I would spill onto the floor like a dropped bottle of wine. That wouldn't be a pretty sight, considering that I am the "oh-so graceful" Flurry of Dancing Flames.
What you'd give to feel again
For even just the day.
The sobs grew louder, and I winced, picturing the weeping blonde who was the occupant of this room, his legs bent, knees pulled up tight to his chest, lips pursed in whimpers, throat convulsing with every cry, his soft forehead resting against his knees, silvery rivers flowing down the porcelain rocks of his cheeks from the waterfalls of sapphire that were his eyes. I tentatively reached for the door knob, fearing that disturbing him in this state of unrest would only provoke him into one of the rages that would fly out of nowhere. Yeah, I've been hit with them quite a few times right in the middle of a decent conversation. I still have those scars from when he hit me with that scorching hot frying pan; now THAT, my friends, was not pretty. If you've seen him wielding a Keyblade, you definitely did not want to see him wielding one of those.
And as you search to find the words
For someone to relate.
I swallowed the apprehension and grasped the doorknob, turning it until I heard it click. Leaning my muscular weight against the door, I nudged it open just enough for me to peek in and see what was going on. Yes, I know many of you think that I am an anorexic, pardon my language for a second, manwhore, but I will have you know; I have a fast metabolism; it's relates to fire burning quickly, I believe, from what Zexion told me when I asked him about the subject of metabolism. So shut up; I wield fire and I clearly, know how to use it.
You realize all your faults
Were never their mistakes.
As I squeezed through the slit I had made in the cage that was Roxas' room, I saw him there, blonde, normally spiky hair in a complete mess, as though he had shoved his head in a washing machine and run his head through the "spin" cycle. Thanks to the meager light slithering into the room hit his eyes, I could see that his normally jeweled eyes were dull, deprived of sleep. As I stepped closer, however, I saw that his eyes were ringed with black powder; most likely eyeliner. He blinked twice, sniffling and running a hand through his hair in a weak attempt to replenish it of its golden splendor. His other hand was no where in sight, but I could see that in just the way that he was positioned, it was laying against his velvety stomach. I calmly raised my arm and waved the hand that belonged to it slightly, greeting the boy with; I definitely should have used a better greeting than this, "Yo."
And everything starts to fall apart
Covered in ink to hide these scars.
I watched Roxas lift his head, tears spitting from his eyes and landing on the hand that had rested itself on his knee. He brought his missing hand up to rub them away. I stiffened as I saw a few crimson streams running into his palm and walked over, softly saying "Roxas, Roxas, Roxas…what did you do this time?" He did not move until I reached out to grab his bloody hand, scooting towards the wall. As I hopped onto the bed in an attempt to get closer, my knee brushed against something; something sharp, by how it painfully scratched against the fabric of my coat. Lowering my head, I found a small blade resting among the checkered blankets of his bed, the area surrounding it a crimson crater.
And everything ends the way it starts
I just wanna feel like I belong.
I swiftly picked it up, examining the object with the light from the hallway that was now flooding into the room. The blade was small, not even as large as the smallest finger on my hand, ebony on the top, and fading to a fresh paint of red. I sighed again and tossed the blade aside, staring at the floor. There was a soft sound, like a kitten mewling, and I heard Roxas' gently saddened voice trickle into my ear "I just…" I looked at him, emerald eyes wide, focusing on his eyes with a questioning look. He opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing, scooting back towards the wall again.
Could this be the one last time
That brings about the change.
"Roxas…" I breathed out, my voice hanging dead in my throat. The sound of my own voice, in its current state, frightened me, and I bit my lip, my teeth gritting into the soft flesh just enough for me to sense pain.
The moments in your life
When you know it has to change.
He did not respond, but he resumed his original position, the one that he was in when I walked in on him crying his eyes out.
Another waste of time
Another dream in flames.
I shuffled towards the boy, the fire in his eyes reflected in Roxas' own as the teen looked at me from between the mountains of his knees. He had a fragile frown replace the vacant look on his face, the blissful tips raised in the most sacred of half-smiles.
And once you feel the fire
You'll never be the same.
He didn't seem to back away, so I continued my little march toward him, reaching out towards him with a free hand, my other maintaining the little balance I had on the bed. If you really were wishing me to fall off the bed right now then I have a little…remark for you. Me, fall? In the words of Number Two, as if. There is absolutely no chance of me falling for a bunch of nitwits like you.
All my life, I've done nothing but hide from myself
Over and over again.
I watched Roxas lift his head up, his lips pursed again. Inside, I could feel the roar of fire course through my shell, racing through my fingertips and toes with the slightest effort before retreating back to where it originated. I licked my lips in anticipation and leaned closer, closer and closer, until our lips were mere centimeters from meeting, and my breath whisked out of my mouth to mingle with his. Mine smelled of smoking wood, like beech, cedar, or pine, and his, his, now, I couldn't exactly pinpoint his. His breath was a mix of everything, and it always smelled sweet, always that scent, all the time. It drew me in like a moth to flame, and our lips met in petal soft brushes of strokes, leaving nothing short of a hair on the paper of our mouths.
All my life, I've done nothing but lie to myself
Over and over again.
"…I just wanted to…feel…"
I clasped his hand with both of mine, wrapping my heated fingers around the clammy flesh of his and responded, allowing him to snuggle up against me like a cat snuggles its waking owner "I know…" I tenderly nuzzled a few strands of his hair out of the way of his forehead and brought my lips to hi, heating the flesh with just the simplest of breaths before pulling away, saying "I know…"
