CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Roxas' head pounded as he left the garden, a hot, steady throb. The bruises on his face seemed to possess a heartbeat all of their very own, and every pulse brought pain.
He hunched his shoulders, feeling the material of Axel's shirt scrape against the criss-cross of cuts adorning his flesh, already damp and clinging with residue sweat, with blood. His expression was firmly fixed, an emotionless façade covering the depth of his distress and confusion. The keyblades hung heavy in his grasp, slippery against his palms. He needed water, and bed, stomach burning slightly in sympathy with his skull, but his lessons with Zexion were to continue after lunch. He had several hours until then, to see Aerith and receive treatment for the numerous, Axel-gifted gashes. Zexion had apparently realised, too late, that Roxas shouldn't have been indulging in such strenuous activity the day after a concussion.
Axel moved silently beside the blond, insisting on walking him back to his room before fetching Aerith to tend to him. He stayed despite Roxas' strained lies that he could make it on his own. Sensing the lack of forgiveness in the air, Axel was not attempting to further explain the necessity of bloodshed in training. Roxas simply didn't want to know.
The door banged against the wall as Roxas thrust it open and stalked through, Axel hovering at the doorway. He watched uncertainly as the blond sat upon the bed, wrenching off his shoes, eyes fixed as slits as he refused to glance up at him.
"I'll go – get Aerith, I guess," he said awkwardly, hands sliding absently up and down the doorframe. He reached up to touch the thin keyblade slit along his cheek, the one blow the blond had managed to land. Roxas picked up his weapons from the mattress, threw them noisily into the corner of the room, crawled in his clothes and socks under the covers, and firmly turned his back on the redhead.
The door clicked shut, leaving Roxas alone with his anger. His teeth were gritted together, from pain, from sickness, the room swimming slightly, the wall in front of him seeming to sway. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw chakrams, and skin, and green blurred with red. With each blink, his heart quickened, as Axel once again launched himself across the clearing…
How could he have stood there so confidently while Roxas had claimed that struggle, struggle, had provided any measure of training? Was he being condescending, or just blindly faithful that the blond would deal with blood the same way that he and Hayner had compared bruises once upon a time?
Tears sprang forward, born of exhaustion and rage, frustration that Axel could ever be so stupid as to think that Roxas would calmly accept this situation with any version of aplomb. He rubbed the moisture away, berating himself for the weakness. Facts, right? Fact: he was… he just – he wanted…
He wished that it was a year from now already. He wished he had his friends out here with him, being normal and nice. It was such a conflict, wanting them, wanting freedom. Why couldn't he have just been content? Why would no one let freedom just – be the answer?
This day… it had been so long already.
He drifted slowly, eyes slipping shut against his will. He had to stay awake for Aerith, but every muscle in his body, his sore, aching eyes – everything was clamouring for rest. He tasted dirt, closed his eyes to see Axel, hearing vicious whispers in his ear…
The tears returned, unstoppable this time. His chest hitched, breaths becoming unsteady as slow trickles ran across the bridge of his nose to dampen the pillow, his hair. He curled slowly, arms holding his stomach, fingers digging in despite the cuts. Eyebrows drawn, he whimpered, "Mom." Hands formed fists, he lightly punched his stomach against the pressure welling within. "Damn it," he hissed. "Leave me alone. She's dead, she never existed." He pressed his face miserably into the bed, adding softly, "Get over it."
In this twisted, torn, broken state, Roxas fell into a doze, damp eyelashes flickering against his cheeks listlessly. His forehead grew hot, buried and covered as he was.
Get over it.
In his brief, swooning dream, he was a little boy with a boat. The boat was made of wood. Another boy was there, with red hair forced back into a hair-band, and acid-green eyes. He had a boat, too, different to Roxas', and was attempting to show the blond how one could tug the other… And there were voices in the background, soft and feminine, and a baby was coughing out the first needy sounds of a cry…
A cool hand touched his forehead, just as one of the voices whispered in his memory. His lips parted, he murmured, "Mom?"
"Roxas, it's time to wake up."
His eyes opened, focusing blearily on the woman bending over him, a concerned smile lighting her features. "Aerith…" He blinked, scraping at his eyes, sitting clumsily. "Sorry," he muttered. "Fell asleep."
"That's fine," she said gently. She straightened, feeling his cheek with her wrist. "How are you feeling?"
He sighed, crossing his legs, pulling the blankets into his lap, clearing a space for her to sit. As she did, he propped his elbows on his knees, catching his face, careful of the bruises. "I don't really know right now. I feel hot, and sick."
"When Axel came and got me, he didn't tell me what was wrong. I got the feeling he didn't want to talk about it… Is everything alright with you two?"
Roxas laughed harshly, a bitter noise. He pulled up his shirt, shoulders already stiffening from the new use of muscles, the blood drawing tight across his chest. "Does this answer your question?"
At first, Aerith didn't speak. Her skin went pale, her eyes wide, and for a moment, Roxas thought that maybe she was going to cry. Oh, fuck, he couldn't handle that. If Aerith cried, he would cry. And then she'd want to know why he was crying. And he'd…
He closed his eyes sharply, breaking off the train of thought. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He didn't need for that sensation to rise once again.
Aerith had a hand over her mouth, but the air waves rolling around her weren't unhappy or distressed – Roxas felt anger, and it wasn't his own. He looked up with surprise as the woman's bright eyes dimmed and darkened, brows pulling together, fingers trembling over her lips. "He did this to you? Axel did this?"
"It was…" Roxas eyed her uncertainly. "Part of training."
"I know what it was," she snapped, making him jump. Angry Aerith? Where was this coming from? He didn't think she was capable of anything beyond a stern but gentle reprimand. She glared at him, the hand coming down to press against her chest, mouth severe. "Roxas, what were you thinking? It hasn't even been a day since you were attacked! Do you realise that this time yesterday, you were still fine? This time yesterday, you didn't have a concussion, and those bruises weren't on your face. And now – now you're fighting in the garden? Did it occur to you, to anyone, that you need a restful day? A few days, Roxas!"
"I – no one told me," he defended, drawing his knees up, hopeless against the assault. It was too foreign for him to be able to protect himself. He felt every sharp word like a stinging slap. She wasn't even saying anything horrible – just – just telling him off. But damn it, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't stop the words from hurting.
Aerith's rage compounded, eyes becoming even wider. Any second now, steam was going to come shooting from her ears. "They didn't tell you? What do you mean, they didn't tell you?"
"I didn't know they were going to cut me… I thought it was just… teaching me how to fight," he explained, voice small.
"You shouldn't have been fighting at all!" she cried. "Goodness, Roxas, who on earth is mentoring you? The entire reason you were allowed to leave the Committee was because you kept getting hurt, you were straining yourself!" Her hands formed fists on her knees, eyes narrowed. "I am – ooh! I am so mad right now." She stood, smoothed her skirt, got her medical kit from its place beside the bed and unzipped it with quick, sharp motions. As she tugged out cotton balls and the small bottle of rubbing alcohol from only yesterday, she demanded, "Well? Who was it? Who's in charge of your technician training?"
"Uh…" Roxas fidgeted. "It's Zexion."
She nodded curtly. "Axel is lucky, then," she said tightly. "Zexion is very smart, but he has no idea how to condition a new trainee. I'll have to speak with DiZ about this. It's simply unacceptable."
"I – uh – " Roxas felt a flash of panic. "But, Axel already spoke to DiZ. It's the whole reason why we're allowed to be together now, instead of just at mealtimes. If you go and complain, he might change his mind and put me back with the Committee."
"Quite frankly, I think that would be best," she stated, sitting abruptly on the mattress, pulling the covers from Roxas' clutching fingers to expose his flesh from the hips upward. She unscrewed the cap, soaked one of the fluffy white buds, and started streaking the fluid across his chest. A trickle of it went dribbling down, coloured pink. The rust-red flakes were dislodged, the smearing polished away, until only the gashes were left, some of them gaping. She hissed softly upon seeing the full extent of the damage, while Roxas turned his eyes heavenward and absorbed the pain. He knew better than to try and argue with Aerith. He'd have a better chance once she'd calmed down.
Despite her obviously rising frustration, her care was as gentle as always, far different to Axel's angry ministrations upon learning of Roxas' attack. The blond wondered sourly if he would've felt better being the one to do that, too. It seemed that, in the redhead's mind, being the one to inflict made all the difference. Somehow, that was meant to make things okay.
It took almost an hour, as long it had taken for them to be gouged into life, for Aerith to finish cleaning each shallow wound. Some of them were deeper than he expected. Axel's control had wavered the further into the session that they'd got, the angrier Roxas' blows became.
"I'm glad," said Aerith at last, after such a long, tense silence, "that you at least got him back. I saw that cut on his face. Bravo." Her voice was cold. Roxas wasn't sure if she was being genuine, or caustically sarcastic. Aerith didn't seem the type to use sarcasm in any shape or form, but in her current incarnation, mother nature's fury, she had become an unpredictable force. He wouldn't have thought her capable of actually applauding him for hurting someone, either, no matter the circumstances. He decided it was wiser to keep his mouth shut.
Eventually, once the stinging burn of the disinfectant became commonplace, Aerith halted, gathering the soiled buds and disposing of them in a small plastic bag. She replaced the rubbing alcohol into the kit, and zipped it all back up. She placed it in her lap, hands folding gracefully across her knees, and closed her eyes.
"All right," she said quietly. "I'm calm again. I'm not happy, but I'm calm. So." She looked over at him steadily, lips pressed slightly together. "What are we going to do about this, Roxas? Because I'm afraid I can't let this happen a second time."
Roxas blinked. "But – if I don't let them hurt me, I can't become a fighter. I want to protect Twilight Town, Aerith."
Her gaze grew hard. "Roxas, it's really not necessary. Twilight Town is already well protected."
"But I want to help," he argued. "My friends are still in there. I'm not going to expect other people to do what I won't or can't. I can do this, Aerith, I just – I need to get better. Then Axel won't cut me so often."
"Roxas…" She took a deep breath, sighed. "I know you worry about your friends. That's natural. But – " Her eyes softened at long last, the anger truly leaving. "You need to consider the fact that Twilight Town isn't a part of your life anymore. Not unless you choose to make it so. You're out now." She bent forward slightly, peering under the bangs obscuring his eyes as he lowered his head. "You're free, Roxas, and that's what you wanted. Your friends might never leave – that's a possibility. DiZ is keeping Twilight Town going until it's no longer populated. He's not going to tear people from their happy lives to exist somewhere so much colder – not when they're content where they are. So, do you see?" She frowned, pushing his hair aside, tucking the spikes behind his ear. She tipped his chin up to meet her gaze, saw the uncertainty behind the grim expression. "Wouldn't you rather leave Twilight Town to those who have invested so much in it, and build a life all of your own? You don't need to hang on anymore. You're allowed to let that period of your life go."
"No." Roxas spoke instantly, not allowing the idea to settle and take root as an option. "I want to do this. I want to stay with Axel, and help take care of Twilight Town. I owe it to them – to everyone. I – I can't just go out and live happily knowing that my friends are trapped…"
"Are they, though?" the brunette asked cautiously, placing her hand over his and squeezing. "How do you know they're trapped, Roxas?"
"They're in there, aren't they?" he replied, frustrated. "That means they're stuck!"
"I'm sorry, but I think you're misunderstanding entirely," Aerith said firmly, straightening. "It's not a prison, it's a sanctuary. The entire reason you've lived a calm, happy childhood is because of Twilight Town. Yes, you found yourself growing restless, and I understand that you're appalled by the fact that your home all these years was just a simulation, but what's right for you isn't necessarily what's right for everyone else. That's something you need to learn to accept: your friends may very well exist in Twilight Town for another seventy years, and die happily in their beds." She curled her fingers around his, pulling his gaze to her face. Frowning, she asked, "What will you do then, Roxas? Assuming you live as long as they do. What will you do when your reason for staying here is gone?"
Roxas' heart thundered in his chest, sending fresh waves of pain through the various sections of his body. That this responsibility could last his whole life long hadn't occurred to him. All he wanted was to be with Axel, be worthy of the love he offered, live up to that opinion the redhead had formed of him, while protecting the same people he had already abandoned once… Could he really face leaving them a second time? And if he did, would Axel even want to join him, regardless of the emotion between them?
He'd already glimpsed that morning that leaving Hollow Bastion wasn't something Axel desired. This wasn't just about Roxas. This wasn't just – it wasn't something Aerith could just talk him out of, or – or into. This was bigger than one discussion, vaster and more important than the slashes marring his flesh. She was singing soothing songs of ultimate liberty, but how could Roxas ever cope alone in a world he hadn't known the existence of prior to the last few weeks? And besides – was he even really trapped?
"My reason for staying?" he murmured, eyebrows knitted. He closed his eyes briefly, saw Axel coming at him over the grass, shook his head sharply. "My reason for staying isn't Twilight Town. It's Axel, and – it's Hayner, Pence, Olette. I want to stay near them. All of them." He swallowed thickly. "If the day comes where I don't feel like my life is – is working out the way I want, I'll think about it, Aerith, I will. But until then – I'll do whatever I can to be allowed to stay. I'll fight," he added softly, "because they can't fight for themselves. It'll be worth it if they're allowed to die in their beds And – and maybe I'll die in mine, right here in the castle, but… at least – I mean, I hope – it'll be with Axel beside me. That – makes it all – okay. Don't you think?"
She watched him for a long moment, expression heavy, compassionate, sad but somehow with a glint of pride threaded through like gold. And he could – Roxas could imagine that same expression on Axel's face. And all of a sudden, that's all he wanted, or needed. He desperately wanted Axel to know that… he'd made the right choice with Roxas. His faith might be overblown in the blond, but it wouldn't be misplaced. Roxas would live up to this. He would rise to it, and make their lives okay.
"I understand," Aerith said quietly. She smiled slightly, worried, but allowing Roxas his decision, reassured at least by the openness of his thoughts.
"Thanks," he muttered. He drew his feet together, rocking awkwardly for a moment.
"Are you hungry at all?" Aerith asked softly. "I know it hasn't been that long since breakfast, but the rest of the Committee is eating earlier today. They're going out this afternoon, and won't have time to sit with everybody else. You can at least join us, can't you?" She smiled. "Everyone misses you, you know."
Roxas could imagine who 'everyone' was, but he found himself nodding. With his head so full, he could do with a bit of space from Axel, at least until the cuts stung less. He was still tired, but it wouldn't be bad at all to be around some cheerful, crazy company for a while. "Sounds good," he agreed, with a weary smile.
Successfully mollified, Aerith stood, went to the wardrobe, frowning at the sparse selection. "You have clothes of your own on the way, Roxas. I ordered them in town the other day. The deliveries are due tonight, so you'll be set up by the morning."
"Oh – thanks," he said, genuinely pleased. It was a step forward, if nothing else.
She handed him the last shirt on the hanger, eyed his filthy, blood- and dirt-smeared jeans with distaste, and, once he was fully dressed again, they left for the dining hall.
The first thing that came flying at him was Yuffie, calling his name as if they had been separated by years of ocean. Tifa whirled around, hair fanning out, a delighted smile upon her face, while Cloud, Leon and Cid glanced up from their places by the coffee maker.
The joy was short-lived, as Yuffie screeched to a halt, eyes narrowing suddenly, a foot away from the blond. Aerith had intervened, stepping quickly in front of him, keeping the girl from pummelling his new injuries.
"What's going on?" Yuffie asked, half offended, half suspicious. She peered past the pink-clad woman at Roxas, who stood awkwardly, trying not to look as pathetic as he suddenly felt.
"Roxas just needs some time to recover," Aerith said neutrally. Roxas was relieved – despite her anger, she wasn't ratting him out to the rest of the Committee. He could only imagine the witch-hunt that would ensue if Yuffie caught wind of the fact that he'd been injured again already. Of course, she'd find out eventually once she got his shirt off for his next massage, but he preferred that than having the entire room finding out right after the fact.
He sat at their table, ushered over by Tifa, Yuffie still glancing at him sideways, doubtful of Aerith's concerns.
"How are you?" Tifa asked anxiously, taking his hand and patting it while Aerith went to talk to Leon. Roxas watched nervously, wondering what the flower-obsessed woman was saying. He forced his attention to Tifa with a strained smile. "How am I? Uh, fine, I guess. I'm doing okay."
"Heard you've joined the technicians," Cloud said quietly, sitting down in his usual place on the other side of the black-haired woman. Roxas leaned forward slightly, looking past her to meet his gaze.
"Yeah. DiZ got rid of the punishment after what happened in the valley."
"I don't know why," he replied, taking a slow mouthful of coffee. "You could've still done some good this week. We could've found you something quiet to do, folding laundry or taking lists of the inventory."
"I guess," Roxas hedged. "But I'm glad I get to be – "
"We sure wouldn't have let you get cut up like that," the older blond interrupted in a low voice. Roxas' eyes widened, hands going instantly to his shirt, checking himself over with momentary panic. "Nothing's showing," Cloud said calmly, as Tifa frowned.
"Roxas? What's Cloud talking about?"
"Come on, Tifa," the man scoffed slightly. "You've been here way longer than me. You know how the techies fight."
"You mean dirty?" Yuffie interjected, having heard the last part. Cloud pointed a finger in agreement, drank more coffee.
Tifa turned to Roxas, hazel eyes large with comprehension. "Show me," she commanded.
Roxas sighed, chin dropping. He shook his head. "No." He glared over at Cloud. "How do you even know?"
"Saw you in the garden," he responded neutrally, before tacking on, "And here I thought you left us because you were pissed about getting hurt."
Yuffie realised what was being discussed, nodded sharply. "So they've started already?" She turned on Roxas, echoing Tifa. "Show me."
Roxas stubbornly refused. "It's not a big deal." He was regretting coming along, wondered if this had been Aerith's plan all along in a bid to further separate him from Axel.
"He's pretty bad," Cloud told them flatly. "I didn't even see the full extent of it."
"Damn it, will you shut up," Roxas hissed. "It's none of your damn business!" He clamped his arms over his stomach, as though afraid someone would try to force his shirt up.
"It is too our business," Yuffie insisted heatedly. "You're out friend, and I, for one, am not going to stand by and let those idiots hurt you!"
"I agree," added Tifa darkly, twisting sideways to face the teen more fully. "Their methods are ridiculous, Roxas!"
"I'm aware of that!" Roxas was overwhelmed by a sense of frustrated futility – all of these people said the exact same things, over and over! He understood – bleeding was bad. Training was fucked up. He wasn't happy about it, but neither was he going to back down.
"Leave him alone." Leon's voice cut through the friction, drawing the attention of the table as he approached. Not glancing at the teen, he continued, "Roxas has as much right as anyone to become a technician. Their methods are tough, but they haven't lost the Twilight Town core yet, and his addition can strengthen them. That's good, wouldn't you agree?"
"But we patrol sometimes," Yuffie argued, "and we never had to go through some bullshit pain resistance training!"
"We already knew how to fight," Leon reminded her. Her next irate comment was restrained by his cutting look. "Leave Roxas alone," he repeated firmly. "He's made his choice. If you want to be a good friend, support him."
Obviously, Yuffie wanted to continue, possibly slap the blond around until he changed his mind, but Leon's presence was absolute, his tone brooking no argument.
"All I'll say," Cloud muttered at length, "is I'm glad I didn't try to become a techie."
"Fine," Leon replied. He turned his focus to Roxas. "Are you feeling okay? Your head?"
"Yeah – yeah, I'm okay," the blond said, startled by the unexpected aid.
"I meant to come see you sooner," he added, with an implication of apology, though to listen to his tone alone, Roxas wouldn't have guessed it. "But you had already left when I got to Axel's room."
Roxas nodded slowly. "Well, everything's fine. Axel's – taking care of me." He ignored Cloud's snort, the echo of his inner self.
"I'm glad," said Leon, inclining his head briefly. He sat, unpacking his ever-present folder of papers, and started making notes, slowly drinking coffee. Cid and Aerith arrived a minute later bearing platters, setting them in the middle of the table for anyone to help themselves.
"Leon, eat," Aerith, ever the mother of the group, admonished. Leon grunted, already deeply absorbed in his work, or at least appearing to be. Roxas wasn't sure that this wasn't, beyond the initial show of solidarity, Yuffie's predicted ignoring of him. Leon hadn't mentioned the attack, for all he was supposedly torn up about it. Then again, neither had Cloud, directly. Cid hadn't even looked at him. The three men were acting as if the previous day had never happened.
To be honest, Roxas didn't mind. He was feeling… drained. He really was wishing he'd just stayed in his room and slept. He wasn't even hungry, and watching the group eat while his stomach was as uncomfortable as it was wasn't helping his overall wellbeing.
At length, he lay his head against the table, on top of his folded arms. A hand rested gently against his back, Tifa, the warmth a comfort.
"If you want, Roxas, you can go," Aerith offered softly. He lifted his head, blinked sleepily across the table. She smiled. "I'm sorry for not realising how badly you need to rest. You have until after lunch, right?"
He nodded. "That's what Zexion told me."
At the mention of the man's name, her expression hardened, but the sweetness never left her eyes. "Go on, then. You can eat with us when you're feeling better."
"Yeah, as long as we don't kidnap you for your own good before then," Yuffie scowled.
"You really want Axel kicking down your door looking for him?" Leon murmured.
"Hah! As if he and his spiky wheels are any match for my ninja powers!" She frowned, flicked her fork at Roxas' face. "You listen to me, though – if I find out you're getting hurt too bad, I'm coming along, hear me? I'll teach you myself if I have to, I've got a decent amount of experience. You're not alone, Roxas. You've got a whole bunch of non-techie friends here to make it easier."
Roxas dipped his head, smiled as he rose. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind." He meant it – if Yuffie really was some kind of ninja, maybe she could teach him some moves, at least speed him up a little.
He dug his hands into his pockets, feeling a little weak, and shuffled from the hall, back to Axel's room. As he opened the door, the redhead was waiting, sitting with his long legs crossed on the bed, shirtless again. He looked over quickly as Roxas entered. The blond hesitated.
"I was just… coming to take a nap before Zexion needs me again."
"Oh." Axel blinked, looked down at the bedspread. "I'll just – get out of your way then." He glanced up, eyed him. "Is that my last shirt?"
Roxas touched the material, tugging on it. "Yeah – Aerith said she got me some clothes, though. They're being delivered today I think. So… you'll have all your own stuff back."
He smiled slightly, unfolding himself, slipping from the mattress. "I don't know. I kind of like you in my clothes. Looks way cuter than on me."
Roxas caught sight of the slice along his cheek, studied it. "Does that hurt?" he asked abruptly. Axel frowned.
"Does what hurt?" Roxas touched his own face, tapping the area that mirrored Axel's. Axel reached up, ran a finger along its length. "Oh. Right." He shrugged. "Nah. It's not a problem, really. You don't need to worry about it."
"Never said I did," the blond replied shortly. He moved past Axel, pulling off his shirt, folding it messily and dropping it beside the bed for when he'd need it later. He felt the redhead's eyes upon him, ignored the burning sensation as he peeled back the covers, kicked off his shoes, climbed in and under.
"Did Aerith come?" Axel asked.
"Yes. She's pissed at you, and Zexion. I've never seen her so angry," Roxas added with a hint of spite, knowing that anyone who thought Aerith was mad at them would be upset. Indeed, Axel's face dropped, he looked worried.
"What did she say?"
Roxas toyed with the idea of stringing this out – torturing him just the slightest amount, making him squirm – but when he twisted, the tiny smirk leaked from his lips. Axel seemed – to really care. It was honestly bothering him. Then Roxas slowly realised: Aerith was a mother-figure. And, well… if anything, Roxas was luckier out of the two of them. He might have had to face the fact that his mother had never been real, but at least he'd grown up feeling loved. Axel had lost his family, and never had anything, false or otherwise, to replace that. Except for maybe Aerith. Momma Aerith.
Roxas was a lot of things, but he couldn't be deliberately cruel. He sighed, closing his eyes as he reclined against the pillow, the sheets cool against his skin. His fingers wandered over the valleys and peaks of the messy cover. "She was just mad that I got hurt again after yesterday. She wants to complain to DiZ, because Zexion doesn't know how to train someone, even if he knows all the theory." He opened his eyes, watched the green-eyed man think this through with a frown. "Did it happen to you, too? Did you get hurt learning how to fight?"
Axel hesitated. "Not necessarily… But I got hurt in a fight. I've got a scar on my thigh from it. Had it since I was fourteen. That was when I learned that – well, pain is part of fighting. It's not like I'd never bled before, but… it's only been the last few years that things have settled down. Back before it did, it was all still pretty rough around here. DiZ – isn't the one that made the rule about the force. That was us. We decided it was best. It teaches you faster, see? And… if you can't handle it, you can't handle… you know. A real fight."
"Well, I don't think I agree," Roxas said curtly. Then he shrugged. "But whatever. If that's how it's going to be, I'll do it."
"Roxas…" Axel sagged a little, expression desperate. "I hate hurting you. I really do. You've gotta know that, right? It's not like I was enjoying all that. In the end, you'll know it was worth it. It'll all come good."
Roxas shut his eyes again, more than ready for that sleep. "Fine, Axel. I really don't care right now."
There was silence. Then, "Will you come out with me tonight? I – I wanted to take you somewhere."
Roxas turned his face to the man, without opening his eyes, and said, "Sure. Whatever. As long as I feel okay. Where to?"
"Just… somewhere I think you'd want to see."
Roxas nodded, sighed. "Okay."
Another several beats of quiet, before Axel awkwardly said, "Sleep tight, Roxie."
Roxas didn't reply, and soon was alone again.
.o.O.o.
Zexion allowed Roxas an extra hour of sleep out of guilt, and when he next appeared, Demyx was on his arm, glowering. He marched into the room without bothering to knock, and tore the sheets from Roxas' torso, waking him with a yelp of fright.
The other blond cursed viciously, spun on his lover. "How could you do this to Axel's Roxie?"
"It was Roxie's Axel that did it," replied the man testily. "I didn't do anything except time them."
Demyx glared. "I told you already, Zexy, you're moving too fast. Roxas doesn't even know the basics of a fight!"
"He said he did that struggle tournament," Zexion attempted, but was cut off by a hand slicing the air.
"No. Uh-uh, no excuses. I'm taking over his training."
"What?" Roxas cried.
Zexion was less than pleased. "Demyx, I'm more than capable of this. As I recall, you hit me over the head with your guitar when we were training the first time, and you told me to suck it up."
"My sitar is rather different to Axel's chakrams," Demyx replied sharply. "As I recall, you didn't come out of that first session with enough scars to cover a war veteran."
"You're exaggerating," Zexion said.
"And you're not taking this seriously enough!" Demyx turned to the wide-eyed teen in the bed, blinking owlishly at the argument taking place. "Roxas, I'm so sorry," the blond said earnestly. "If I'd known what was going to happen, I would've come to supervise. Axel's never taught anyone before, and Zexy doesn't have enough experience to know what's right and wrong." He snorted briefly. "He fights with a book."
"That was one time, Demyx, and they caught me off guard. A good fighter takes advantage of his surroundings."
"Yes, dear," Demyx sighed. He looked down regretfully at Roxas. "Well, from now on, I'm co-mentor. I went straight to DiZ when I found out what happened, and he approved it."
DiZ was no doubt curious about the one boy who was causing so much conflict within his castle, after only a few short days. Roxas hoped the man wouldn't come to meet him officially. "Oh," Roxas croaked, throat still rough from sleep. "Okay." His stomach sank. "We're not going to do it again now, are we?"
Zexion answered, "No, Roxas, Demyx has informed me that the fighting will be postponed for a few days to allow you to recover from your attack… both yesterday and today…"
"Damn straight," the blond growled. He sat down heavily, bouncing the bed, making Roxas stifle a groan at the sharp motion.
"Thanks… Demyx," he coughed weakly. The other man brightened infinitely, his stern countenance melting back into its regular, happy self.
"Anytime, Roxie. It's great that I can be in on it!" He pouted momentarily. "I can't believe you guys didn't ask me anyway." Again, the sudden swing, he was grinning and bobbing slightly, fingers wriggling down at the half-naked teen as if going to tickle, but instead he demanded, "You're coming to poker night, right?"
"What?" Roxas asked blankly.
"Poker night! Me and Zexy are going!" He turned to the slate-haired man, argument completely forgotten. "Aren't we, Zexy?"
"Yes," Zexion agreed, for Demyx's sake as much as Roxas'. "Has Axel mentioned it to you, Roxas?"
The blond shook his head hesitantly. "Oh my God!" Demyx was overcome with excitement. "You have to come! It's tonight!"
"Oh… I think Axel wanted to take me somewhere tonight," Roxas said uncertainly. "He didn't tell me where, just said it was something I'd want to see. I don't know how long it'll take."
"Oh, that's okay," Demyx exclaimed. "Because poker night goes, like, all night! You guys can come whenever! Axel knows where to go!"
"I'm pretty sure you're the guest of honour, in fact," Zexion added dryly. "Didn't you say you'd never played?"
"Uh… I don't really…"
"You said in front of Luxord, that's the problem," Demyx interrupted. "See, now he's going to get you drunk and steal your clothes."
Roxas blinked. "He is?"
"We'll protect you, though," he added happily. Without giving the blond a chance to grasp this apparent threat, he bounced up again. "Come on, Axel's Roxie, out of bed, the day is calling, and we've got a techie to build!"
Roxas pulled himself up, crawled to where he'd dropped his shirt, tugged it over his spikes and climbed to his feet. Demyx instantly snatched up his arm, dancing from the room with the pair of them linked together, leaving Zexion to trail along behind.
"Demyx, be careful with him," Zexion called in irritation.
"Oh, like you can talk," the blond snorted back.
Roxas looked forward to the thought of getting drunk, even if it meant getting his clothes stolen. It would afford a while of oblivion... and at least it was Axel's shirt.
