CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cloud sat in the dirt, leaning against his bike, oblivious to the brightly burning sunset except to study the way it lit up the dog-tags dangling from his hand. Small bursts of light blinked as they twisted slowly, his face set into a pensive frown. Blue eyes slid in and out of focus, switching between the present and the past, memories floating up and subsiding into darkness.

"Found you." He jolted, swaying forward, blinking owlishly up at the black-clad woman approaching from the castle side of the little hill his shed resided upon.

"Hey, Tifa," Cloud greeted quietly, gaze already falling away, returning to the invitingly glinting metal.

She smiled hopefully, hands folding behind her back, rocking on her heels slightly. "Can you stand some company?"

He shrugged a shoulder, grunted. Taking this to be her invitation, Tifa lowered herself to the ground beside him. She crossed her legs, resting her hands upon her knees, and took a deep breath of the cooling twilight air. The breeze tousled Cloud's spikes silently, sending threads of Tifa's hair drifting to the side. "I can see why you like it out here," she said after a while. "It's peaceful." When the man didn't respond, she turned her head, watched him. "Cloud – how've you been?"

She settled her elbows on her thighs, leaned forward in the answering silence, reached out a finger to touch the necklace. Finally, Cloud reacted, jerked it with a jingle out of range. "Don't," he said shortly. He wrapped it up into his fist, hiding it away, irritated that she insisted on disturbing his peace. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere with Yuffie?"

The brunette shrugged lightly. "She's not speaking to me at the moment. I keep taking your side when she gets angry about the soldier business."

Cloud's impatience faltered. He lowered his face, twisted it to one side. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You shouldn't have to defend me."

"It's okay," the woman smiled wearily. "She'll come around in her own time. I can understand the shock. I'm being patient. It's not worth losing a friend over."

Cloud scowled faintly. "Try telling her that."

"I have," Tifa replied simply. "Several times."

The blond sighed. "You shouldn't be fighting my battles for me."

She snorted. "I'm not. You're a big boy. I just say what I want when she starts steaming all over again." A small smile stole over her features, sly, eyes twinkling. "I can think of someone who would fight your battles for you, though, if only you would let him."

Cloud's chin came up from his fist, expression blank with incomprehension. "Him?"

Tifa sighed, rolled her dark eyes heavenward. "Could you be more clueless, Cloud, dear?"

His eyebrows rose slightly. "You're talking about Leon, aren't you?" He shook his head with mild frustration. "Believe me, he's the last person I want fighting for me."

She pouted. "You let Zack," she pointed out. Cloud smiled wryly.

"That was less about 'letting', and more being steam-rolled by good intentions." He shook his head. "Besides, I don't need taking care of. Zack's one thing, but Leon…"

Tifa cocked her head to the side, tucked some hair behind her ear, knees drawing up to her chest. "Is it maybe that you don't want to look weak in front of him?"

Cloud rolled his eyes. "Since when do I want to look weak in front of anyone?" He grimaced, looking at the dirt, shifting against the bike. "You know, Tif, I'm not totally dense. I can see what you're trying to do. You and Yuffie kind of made yourselves clear when you kept trying to get me and Leon to make-out…"

"Psh, trying? No. That was not effort you saw, Cloud. Just the merest suggestion. No, once we start trying, you'll find yourselves locked in a cupboard together."

"I'd like you to leave me alone," he said quietly, making her blink. She frowned.

"Cloud?"

"You need – to stop. Leave me alone. Go satisfy your little fetishes elsewhere, Tif, I'm serious." He sighed heavily, lifted his fist, loosened the fingers and together they watched as the dog-tags came tumbling back out to swing against the backdrop of the lowering sun. Streaks of golden and pink tainted the horizon, darkening quickly. "You know about Sephiroth now. That should be enough to make you cut that sort of behaviour out," he said calmly. "I'm not a doll for you to dress up. You can't just giggle and push me at Leon like we're in the middle of some high-school dance. I'm a grown man, with a hell of a lot on my mind, and I'd – I'd appreciate it if you just let the Leon stuff go."

She was silent for a minute, an unhappy look upon her face. "I suppose then," she said at last, in a small voice, holding her shoes and rocking slightly, "that this isn't the best time to tell you that Leon wants you?"

He huffed in annoyance. "Tifa, what did I just say? You don't know that at all, you're just being – "

"No!" She ceased her movements, brought her hands up urgently to wave in front of her body. "I mean, Leon wanted to talk to you. He's been looking for you – I was helping, when I found you… here."

Cloud pinched the bridge of his nose. "You couldn't have told me this right at the start, could you?"

"Well, you've been gone a while anyway," she replied defensively, "and I wanted to know how you were doing. It's not like we talk anymore."

"Tifa – " The necklace twisted with his agitation. "I have got – so much to think about right now. Please don't make this worse by making me feel guilty."

"I'm not trying to," she said, voice lowering to become soft. "I just get worried about you, is all. I want you to be happy, Cloud."

He scowled. "Happiness isn't just something someone can do for me. You all want me to be happy, but you're forgetting that I'm not just some blank slate you can pump the emotion you want into. If I'm going to be happy, properly, I'm going to do it by myself. No one fighting my battles for me, no one bugging me, no one trying to get inside my head. Okay?"

"Well, maybe if you showed a little more of what was going on inside," the woman argued, flaring up once more, "we wouldn't have to go digging and upset you. It's hard to just stand by when someone you care about is obviously having trouble, Cloud. Don't blame me for wanting to know, or anyone else, for that matter! It's all your own fault. If you want to be left alone, just say so. Don't wait for us all to figure it out based solely on the sound of your silence!"

Cloud's hands dropped to the dust. The necklace got dirty, making him hiss, snatching it up to hurriedly polish. "Look at you," continued Tifa more calmly. "You're acting like that thing is some kind of sentimental keepsake. It belongs to a dead man, Cloud, one that didn't treat you well enough, and you're so busy fawning over it, you're completely missing the lives that are still going on around you."

"I'm not missing out on anything," he said sharply, not looking over. "And it is a sentimental keepsake. What the hell else would you call it? Why does no one get that I'm in mourning?"

"You don't seem so sad," she replied, lips pursing, eyebrows rising, expression daring him to correct her. She rested her chin on her fingertips and waited.

"Do I need to be crying to be sad?" he muttered after a beat. "That's not exactly my style, Tif."

"No," she responded sarcastically, "your style is to bottle it all up and let the world pass you by while you sulk off into a corner." She stood abruptly, brushing off her pants crisply. "Well, Cloud, there's only so long that you can get away with that sort of thing. I don't know why you were so adamant on staying when all you do while you're here is mope around. You could have left with Zack if that's what you wanted, and he'd have been there to comfort you and put up with your misery." She fixed him with a hard look. "There's nothing wrong with being sad, Cloud. There's nothing wrong with getting depressed, and there's certainly nothing wrong with mourning Sephiroth's death, no matter how terrible he might have been as a soldier. But if all you're going to do is wallow, then sooner or later, all this sympathy being thrown your way is going to dry up, and when you eventually do decide you want to wake up again, there won't be anyone around to help you celebrate." She planted a hand on her hip. "Leon's in the library when you're ready for him. That is, if you can tear yourself away from that trinket."

Snippy final comment imparted, she swung around and left, sneakers quietly crunching through the dust and rocks. All too quickly, she was gone from sight, and Cloud was alone again. Before she arrived, the solitude had been all he wanted. Now, it just felt hollow. The sun had left the face of Hollow Bastion, leaving deepening darkness, the spread of lights pricking and sparkling down the mountain. The bike felt warm against the back of his zip-up sweater, heated by his own energy. The dog-tags jangled softly as he lifted them into the dying light and stared.

At last, after several minutes, he scowled. "Don't they think I want to be happy?" Grimacing, he climbed to his feet, hooked the necklace over his head and tucked it under his shirt. He wheeled the bike away, and went to meet Leon in the castle.

.o.O.o.

Vincent's steps were quiet, his motions quick and graceful, a hand on the butt of his pistol, the other hanging loosely by his side as he traversed the castle halls. So far, nothing untoward had occurred, a miracle almost in itself with the young blond around, and theoretically sleeping, no less. He had checked on the teen twice already, in the hours leading up to midnight. Both times, Demyx's room had remained untouched by the slumbering madness, the door whole, the boy sleeping. Perhaps it was the pills that Aerith had made him take, or simply the exhaustion finally catching up to him, but Roxas had been silent and still, chest rising and falling with steady slowness.

His path took him by DiZ's study. Vincent paused and knocked lightly. From within, the thick, "Come," was issued. He pushed the door open, entering the circular room. DiZ was seated at a large desk, a scatter of pages littering its surface, mostly filled with illegible scrawling. He glanced up, visible golden eye flashing briefly. "Ah, Vincent." He returned his attention to his work, pen moving quickly. "How goes the patrol?"

"Everything's fine," the man replied quietly. "So far. Roxas is sleeping soundly."

"Hmph. About time," DiZ muttered. "The boy has caused more trouble in the few short weeks he's been in Hollow Bastion than Demyx has in an entire year. And that's counting the incident in my personal laboratory. I can see why Vexen ended up leaving. The idiot is maddening."

"Roxas' troubles, at least, are out of his control," Vincent murmured. "When the day comes that he can exist without anything going wrong, I'm sure no one will be more relieved than he."

"Yes, I'm sure," the other man sighed. He paused, massaged his forehead with his fingertips through the bandages. Vincent wondered idly if he could actually feel it, or if the motion was merely automatic. "However, whether he means to be or not, the boy is trouble."

"How are things going with Twilight Town?"

DiZ pursed his lips in displeasure. "I have Sora and Luxord looking into it. I've even employed some of the junior technicians to run scans on each item in the dark room before they are inserted into the network. It is worrying. I am not happy."

"It sounds complicated," Vincent observed. "Are you sure it isn't one of the full technicians causing the disturbance?"

"Well, of course it's one of the technicians," DiZ scowled. "It certainly isn't Zanarkand sneaking in whilst we're asleep and fiddling with the simulation. However, there isn't a single person I want to even consider accusing. It's far too delicate at this stage. It would be impossible to track the culprit down if I alerted them before I was prepared to take action."

Vincent inclined his head. "I'll just continue my rounds, then."

"I assume this means you haven't run into anyone?"

"I saw Naminé out of bed. She claimed to be going to the bathroom, but was in an awkward location to be doing so."

"You don't suspect her of anything problematic?"

The thin man shrugged. "It's difficult to say for sure. I've seen her several times at night since I arrived. It's possible she wanders around frequently, but unless I stay for a longer period of time to watch her, there's no way I can draw a conclusion."

"Hmm." DiZ placed his pen down, folded his fingers together, touching an index to his lips as he considered the information. "I will have to keep an eye on her myself, then. You are still leaving tomorrow?"

Vincent nodded once. "I want to find him. Once Axel has settled back in, and Roxas is being taken care of, I'll go."

"Very well. Continue for now, then. Return to me if anything develops before you leave. Otherwise, I shall see you the next time you grace us with your presence." He lowered his face dismissively. Vincent turned, left the room, continued on his way.

.o.O.o.

Roxas sat in the sand, building castles shaped like domes, the earth cold like ice, his breaths puffing out gently. He wished for gloves and longer sleeves, but his flannel pants and an old t-shirt of Demyx's were all he had. His nails grew steadily filthier the longer that he played. He hummed softly to himself, and for a long time, the ghost of the little blond-haired boy resided within him. There was nobody in the playground as this time of night, no mothers, no friends, no children, not a single soul to be seen. Roxas contentedly patted the sand to form a tight round roof, fingers casting about idly for a leaf, or a stick, to mount as the castle's proudly flying flag, while the other hand continued to compact the dirt harder.

A hand touched his shoulder, startling him briefly from his child-like state. He glanced up, but saw no one. He frowned, twisted his body, a foot riding up to rest against his inner thigh. He pouted. "Hey, where'd you go?" He cocked his head to the side, eyes scanning the area. "Mommy?"

"Mommy?" A voice, alien to him in this hidden realm, surprising him. "Your mother is dead, Roxas."

Roxas frowned, pushed back from his sandcastles, leaving tracks. He stood, brushed away the clinging granules of white, stuck his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle. "I don't see you. Who's there?"

A ripple, off to one side, suggesting motion, but when the blond turned, there was nobody there. An uneasy feeling nagging at the back of his mind told him that this was familiar, this scenario, and fear came bubbling from out of nowhere. He shivered, crouched down. "Leave me alone," he said petulantly, reverting to the little ghost.

"Why do you sit here, playing in the sand?"

Roxas twined his fingers into his hair and remained stubbornly silent. Another swell in the nearby air, and he closed his bright blue eyes, face scrunching up into a fearful scowl. "I said leave me alone. I don't wanna talk to you!"

A hand seized the top of his head, yanked it back, forcing his eyes back open with a gasp of pain. There was nothing to be seen, but he felt the person in front of him, kneeling between his legs. He pressed his lips together. "I'm not gonna talk to you. I want my mom."

He was studied for a moment. There was a short, humourless laugh. "Fine, then. Return to your castles. Is your mind always this juvenile?"

Roxas was released. He flopped onto his back with a startled squeak. When he next sat, he couldn't remember quite what he'd been doing, or thinking. However, there were some mounds nearby, one with a twig jutting out, and Roxas felt the urge to go play.

.o.O.o.

It was on the other side of midnight that Vincent checked on Roxas a third time. He approached the door, stood outside and listened carefully for a long minute. No sounds issued forth, nothing to suggest activity from the slumberer. Hoping for the boy's sake that this night would continue as undisturbed as it had been, he brought out the key that Aerith had lent him and inserted it into the lock, clicking the tumblers aside, twisting the handle and entering.

It was silent within Demyx's room. The blond musician's belongings remained in the same state that Vincent had seen them earlier, some clothing belonging to Axel piled into one corner much in the same way that he operated within the confines of his own mess of a room. The bed itself, however, was empty. Vincent's eyes shifted slowly, knowing that Roxas was still here, instincts calm and collected, nothing warning of imminent attack. When at last his amber irises rested upon the boy, it was in the tucked-up corner between the wall and the wardrobe. Head tilting to one side, Vincent walked over to him, watchful. Roxas didn't respond to the movement or sound of the footsteps. Not even when the tall man crouched down in front of him did he lift his gaze from its fixed position, emptily focused at the stone floor some feet away. Vincent passed directly through his line of vision, but the blond didn't even blink. The hollows around his eyes were dark beyond even the remaining bruises, a deep, bone-level exhaustion obviously tugging at him physically, though his eyes remained unswervingly open. Vincent frowned, peeled off his glove and reached forward to press his forefingers against the teen's throat, pushing the chin to one side without resistance. Roxas' state was – catatonic. He was like a rag-doll some errant child had discarded for the night, waiting for someone to come and make him live again, if only inside a pretend world.

Vincent was beginning to form doubts about the boy's sanity. Perhaps the only way Roxas could properly function was within a false reality – namely, the creation that was Twilight Town. There was a very real possibility that the mental stress was simply too much for his subconscious to handle, in which case, they would all quickly find themselves with a troubling problem. He was certain that the boy wanted to stay, wanted to be with Axel – but whether or not his mind could survive the transition was another matter entirely. He was sure that DiZ would have no compunctions in thrusting the boy back inside the simulation, just as he done to all the frightened children those many years ago, in the name of solution.

Roxas' pulse jumped strongly against his fingertips. Vincent withdrew his hand, returned it to its glove, bent closer, trying to engage the boy's focus. The eyes stayed trained, seeing straight through him, as if he'd never entered the room at all.

"Roxas." His voice was low, prodding. He snapped his fingers sharply, knowing from the previous night's attempts that the boy could be roused with enough external stimulation. "Roxas." He grabbed the blond, squeezed his upper arms, shook him slightly. At last, Roxas responded, but not to wake up. He hitched in a breath, eyes still blank, dull, unmoving, and jerked himself tighter into the corner.

"I don't wanna talk to you," he muttered. Vincent stood, bent down to hook his arms under the blond's. Although Roxas didn't resist, neither did he try to help, and the tall man was forced to drag up every limp, awkward pound.

"Roxas, you need to wake up," he insisted quietly, but it seemed the boy's repertoire had been used up. There were no mumblings this time, no accidental speaking, no proper acknowledgement that he was even alert or present. Vincent grunted, hefted him up and carried him to the bed. He lowered Roxas carefully, frowning. He glanced around, found nothing immediately helpful, shrugged one shoulder and proceeded to try and stir the boy. Roxas' face changed slowly, going from its expressionless state into something more – pouty, Vincent supposed would be an apt description. With one curl of his lower lip, Roxas managed to look half his age and then some. It was like dealing with a child.

It was only when Vincent graduated from cautious shaking to a more aggressive shove that the blond made any positive sign of awareness. His face screwed up, eyebrows drawing together, head snapping from side to side briefly. It was when the dark-haired man decided to cut his losses and simply push Roxas off the bed that the teen woke up.

He hit the ground with a resounding thud, left elbow and wrist cracking against the ground, sending a stab of painful buzzing straight through his entire arm. The sharp yelp informed Vincent that he had got through to the boy. He straightened, circled around to where Roxas lay in a stunned heap, the sheets caught around his shoulder. "Are you awake now?"

Roxas blinked rapidly, gaze rolling in confusion, before coming to rest on the man. Bewilderment seized him, he sucked in a frightened breath and glanced quickly around. "Where am I this time?" he croaked hoarsely, already halfway to panicking. Seeing Demyx's room come into focus, Roxas frowned. "Is – is Axel back yet?"

"It's still too early," Vincent replied. He stood at Roxas' feet and offered a hand down to the blond. "I came to check on you. You were sleep-walking, but you didn't do anything bad. You just sat in the corner. I thought you might prefer the bed."

Roxas reached up slowly, wincing as he sat. Vincent clasped his forearm, pulled him with strength, and in no time at all Roxas was standing in the middle of the cold room, shivering and dazed. His eyes scoured Demyx's belongings uncertainly. "You're sure I didn't do any damage?" he asked. Vincent shook his head.

"Do you remember anything, this time?"

Roxas hesitated, answered negatively. "I never remember. I – I think I might have been dreaming, but… I just can't recall it." He wrapped his arms around his chest, feeling lost and small. "Did I…" He lowered his head. "Did I say anything?"

"Nothing important. Only that you didn't want to talk to me. You weren't very responsive this time."

The boy inhaled through his nose, closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay. So – I mean, now what? Do I keep trying to sleep…?"

"Do you think you can?" Vincent countered. Roxas grimaced uneasily.

"I should… try. I'm still so tired. I can't keep going like this…" He lifted his blue eyes, filled with worry, a sliver of fear that couldn't be kept at bay. "Will you keep checking on me?"

Vincent nodded. "I'll make sure nothing goes wrong."

Roxas pressed his lips together, gazed over at the bed like it was some dark, unknown foe. "Okay, then," he said softly. "I guess… I'll go back to sleep."

"Take care of yourself in there." Vincent pressed a finger to his own head, amber eyes steady. "It can be a war-zone."

"I think I've had enough of that for one lifetime," Roxas mumbled. He sighed, scraped his fingers through his hair. "Axel's coming back. He'll be here soon. In the morning. Everything's going to be fine."

"He can't save you," the dark-haired man murmured, moving over to the door and pulling it open. "Don't be too hopeful."

Roxas glared. "He'll make me feel better, at least. I know he will. Right now – a little comfort is really all I want." He bent, picked up the spilled sheet, pushed it back onto the mattress, trying to keep his growing unhappiness and frustration at bay. "Good night," he said shortly over his shoulder, climbing back into Demyx's bed. Vincent inclined his head.

"I hope so." He pulled the door shut, and left Roxas to his restless unconsciousness.

.o.O.o.

Roxas was left to sleep late the next day. When at last his door pushed open, it was done quietly, so as to not wake the slumberer. Footsteps passed over the stone floor, a bag placed down in one corner. A weight sank one side of the mattress moments later, legs lifting up, head lowering back onto Zexion's empty half of the bed. Green eyes stared, minutes passing, and Roxas slept on, exhausted body snatching up all the respite that could be had. He was on his stomach, the side of his face pressed into the pillow, mouth open slightly, breathing slowly. One slender finger reached out and, unable to contain itself, drew a slow line down his cheek. Roxas' eyebrows twitched, one leg hitching up a little, the flannel pants riding from below his knee to above it. The finger found his kneecap and drew small circles, nail scraping slightly at the skin.

Awareness began to weave through the teen, creeping on slow tendrils into his lungs to draw a deeper, quicker breath, into his brow to form a faint frown, into his eyes to pry them open, gummy and fluttering. The finger had shifted slightly, stroking the side of his thigh. He coughed weakly, blinked, and saw red. He squirmed, eyelids dropping low again, and lips came forward to press against his own, warm, thin and soft. The frown smoothed from his features, his grip loosening around the pillow. When a tongue came questing, entering his mouth to touch against his own, he scowled, stiffened. Around the sliding muscle, he muttered, "Axel?"

The tongue withdrew, and a soft chuckle filled his ears. "Who else would be kissing you in bed, Roxie? Is there something you're not telling me?"

His eyes struggled open, bleary, head thick and fuzzy, heart jumping. "Axel?"

The pale face came into view, whiter than it had been the last time they were within the castle, tattoos more stark against the skin, lips curled into a half-mocking, half-affectionate smile. "The one and only, kid. You got it memorised?" He lowered his face to Roxas', pressing their noses together. "How's it going, Roxie?" he asked softly.

His response was a pair of arms winding around his neck, fast and clumsy, tugging him down, chests flush against one another. Roxas buried his face into the joining between Axel's shoulder and neck and breathed deeply. The redhead fought back the grunt of pain that fought to be loosed, motions careful, cautious, eyes lowering uncertainly to the boy, who quivered silently in his grasp. "I missed you, too. It's been too long, huh?" Roxas could only nod, making Axel frown. "Hey, you know, I was kidding," he said gently, shifting the blond's grip slightly so he could lay back down comfortably on the mattress, shoulder rigid from all the dressings the nurses had forced upon him before allowing him to walk away from the world of white walls and metal beds.

"I'm not," Roxas replied hoarsely. He drew back slightly, allowing Axel his first decent look at his face. He watched the redhead's expression fall slightly. A hand came up to cup his face.

"What's wrong?"

Roxas' smile was worried. "You sure this isn't just a dream? Because right now, the phrase 'too good to be true' is running through my head."

Axel was blank for a moment. Then, an eyebrow rose, thin and crimson, mouth twisting into a smirk, muscles relaxing as he lifted his head to hover over the blond, voice lowering. "You often have dreams about me, Rox?"

Roxas blinked, once, twice, then burst into sudden, relieved laughter. "It is you!"

Axel was taken aback by the strength of the reaction, but was grinning seconds later, poking the teen in the hip. "Of course, Roxas. You don't think anything could mimic me, do you?" He grew cocky. "Not even your wildest dreams could come up with half the reality." He settled his chest carefully onto the blond's. "So, I guess I'm just good enough to be true, then."

"Better," Roxas gasped, wiping at his eyes, giggling faintly. He took a deep breath, regained some composure, and smiled broadly. "Definitely better than 'just good enough'."

Axel scrunched up his nose. "Aww. He's so cute. It's why I love him so." Before Roxas could respond, Axel planted a hand beside his head and leaned down for another kiss, deeper than before, with the blond's fully conscious participation. As they settled into familiar patterns and rhythms, the touch of flesh on flesh becoming once again something to expect and delight in, Roxas felt the hard knots that had built within him over the last week melt away, swept clean by the fire that Axel willingly shared. They hadn't been alone together since that first night in hospital, and hadn't kissed like this since that last night in the castle. A tingling set up beneath his skin, spreading warmth to every cell of Roxas' existence, and he couldn't help but destroy their lip-lock with a large grin that couldn't be fought off. Axel resigned himself to the side of his face, leaving tiny, light kisses along the skin, while Roxas' eyes slipped shut and the smile grew and grew.

"Wow, you're happy to see me," Axel muttered, "and that's not even innuendo-boy striking again."

"I'm – happy," Roxas agreed breathily, as the redhead's mouth slid down his throat.

"Hm, I wonder if I could make you even happier…" Roxas raised an eyebrow, turned his had slightly to where Axel eyed him with a mixture of hope and desire. In response to the look, Axel shrugged. "I've been Roxie-deprived for far too long. I need to make it up somehow, all in one nice boost."

"How – romantic," the blond replied wryly. Axel's face split with his grin, as he pressed his forehead back against Roxas'.

"And there's the Roxie we all know and love. Hard-to-get, right til the very end."

"End of what, exactly?"

Axel's lips lowered to his ear, voice a husky whisper. "How about we begin, and you find out?" Roxas' eyes closed of their own accord. He bit his lip, the tingling spreading to his fingertips. He nodded jerkily, very suddenly not in control anymore. Axel grinned with lecherous joy, and lowered back down to choose a section of throat to begin sucking with abandon, sending bolts of pleasure mixed with happiness through the blond. Low, breathy moans filled the room, soft in the silence, Axel's fingers working their way under the hem of his shirt, circling his naval, caressing, careful of his ribs, up along the side of his body. Roxas let out a weak, contented sigh.

Which was when Demyx burst in.

"Roxie! Roxie! Axel's – " He screeched to a halt, eyes springing wide at the sight of Axel half-draped across the teen's sleep-rumpled form, sheets shoved down, the redhead's hand halfway up Roxas' chest already, a large section of stomach revealed. Both heads had swung around, startled by the entrance, though Axel's expression was quickly darkening to something more murderous.

Demyx blinked. "That's hot," he informed the kiss-swollen duo. He wheeled around. "I need to be alone now."

Roxas' eyes went round with panic, mind snapping back from his flesh and into itself. He struggled to sit with the redhead weighing him down. "W-wait, wait! We're coming! I mean, we're coming out! Like – it's breakfast time! We're not staying!"

"However," Axel growled, releasing him and crawling quickly to the edge of the bed, one leg already slinging down, "you will be, in many bloody pieces across the floor."

"No, no! Stay!" Demyx backed away swiftly, fumbling for the door handle. "Stay!" He winked. "I won't tell anyone, I promise." He slammed the door and took off running, giggling hysterically as Axel lunged. The man wrenched the handle, stalked out several steps and bellowed, "You think he's going to let me touch him knowing you know what we're doing?! Demyx, you ASSHOLE!"

Roxas groaned, still on the bed, sitting with his back against the wall, drawing his knees up and burying his face into them. Axel returned sheepishly. "I'm right, aren't I?" The blond nodded, embarrassed beyond anything he'd yet discovered. The redhead sighed, scratched the back of his neck. "Well, you can tell I'm back, can't you? Demyx goes instantly back into jacktard mode."

"We are in his room," Roxas pointed out. Axel tilted his head to one side, glanced around.

"Well, that's true… which brings me to my next question..." He frowned, met the blue gaze, asked, "Why are you sleeping in here? What's wrong with my room?"

Roxas lowered his gaze, stuttering, "O-oh, well, it was just that…" He thought quickly, forced a smile, attempting coy. "Why? Jealous I'll like being between Dem's sheets better than yours?"

Axel hesitated before smirking, climbed back onto the bed, left hand curled against his stomach to protect his shoulder, crawling slowly, seductively up towards the blond. "Well, if you do, I know plenty of ways to convert you."

Roxas gave a small smile, having victoriously reignited the redhead's libido, internally rolling his eyes and storing away the fact that the best distraction was a lustful one. Axel's expression grew smug, as he drew Roxas' legs out flat, climbed along them and settled back to sit on his thighs. The blond folded his arms, tilted his head to the side wryly. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Mm, it's fine, you've helped enough already," Axel murmured. He leaned forward, licked the side of Roxas' nose, grinning wickedly at the slight, involuntary shudder that shivered briefly through the boy. He pushed a hand through the flaxen spikes, cupped the back of Roxas' head and pulled him close, kissing him hard. When he pulled back again, licking his lips, he added, "Aerith and Leon already told me what happened since you came back. I sort of wanted to hear it from you, but… you being the sly dog you are just gave me a great excuse to make-out with you some more." He looked positively gleeful at his cleverness and gain, while Roxas' eyes gradually widened with realisation.

"You tricked me!"

"Aha, did I? Or did you trick us both?"

Roxas fell into confusion. "You – that doesn't even… but…" His expression sank, eyes growing wary. "So, you know? About – what I did?"

Axel tipped his head to one side in confirmation. "They let me know, showed me the damage in my room, that sort of thing." He grew stern. "No one blames you, Roxie, you know that, right? This isn't about you doing bad things, it's about you not having control over yourself at night." He gave a half-smile. "And while I completely advocate that in certain cases… I know that this is upsetting you." He raised an eyebrow, hooked a finger under the blond's chin, forcing him to look up again. "Ah, Roxie, you look ashamed… There's nothing wrong with you, okay? This is just a technical glitch. We can fix it, I already told you that, remember? So cut out the beaten-dog look, and help me start thinking of some answers." He took in the petulant expression, pressed his nose against Roxas'. "I know you've been trying, but this time we'll try together, okay? We'll find the heart of this, and stop it." He sighed, wrapped Roxas up in his arms, drew him unresisting to rest against his chest, hand wandering up and down his back, pushing under the shirt to draw patterns on the skin. "You know I'll take care of you."

"I don't want taking care of," Roxas mumbled, not entirely truthfully. "I'm not a child."

"Mm, good thing, too. I wouldn't want to be pedo," Axel agreed. Roxas smirked, nudged him with his forehead.

"I already think you are. I know what you were doing, watching me all those years. I think we both know you didn't wait for me to be legal to have dirty thoughts about me."

"Ahaha, he's sharp like a whip," Axel responded dryly. "Well, at least you're legal now, riiight? My big eighteen-year-old?" He chuckled as Roxas rolled his eyes, before returning to their embrace. "I know you're tough, Rox," he said quietly, directly into the teen's ear, the vibrations of his throat passing into Roxas' shoulder. "But everyone needs taking care of. Not by the world, like some charity case, but by someone that cares." He smiled gently, kissed the boy's temple. "And I think we've established that I fit that role perfectly."

Roxas nodded slowly, frowning, turned his head slightly to rest more comfortably against the bone of Axel's collar. "I'm glad you're back," he said softly. "I was going stupid without you around."

"Of course you were. I am the brains of this pairing."

Roxas squinted up at him. "Oh, really? What does that make me?"

Axel pretended to think. "Well, I'm the pants, without a doubt. I'm the sex. Definitely the charming one. What does Roxie get left with…? The cute? I don't know, I'm pretty cute myself… all those nurses seemed to think so…" Roxas lifted an eyebrow, shooting him a warning glance. "Okay, okay, you get to be the cute." Axel sighed heavily. "And the adorable. And the sensible one, that's for sure. You're way nicer than me, and you've got this sweet little way of torturing me over Naminé…"

"Who?" Roxas asked blithely. Axel ducked his head, tongue darting out against the blond's cheek.

"That's what I like to hear," he growled approvingly. "I left you two alone for two whole days, you know. I even saw her this morning, and refrained from asking if you'd impregnated her in my absence."

"Oh, the strength that must've taken," Roxas said sarcastically.

"Well, that and the fact that she's as sick-skinny as ever, which made it pretty obvious…"

"You never studied sex-ed in school, did you?"

A leer. "I learn better from experience." As his mind caught up with the statement, he froze. "I mean…"

"And you call yourself the brains…"

Axel grinned guiltily. "Maybe we can… share that one."

Roxas considered, then leaned up to peck the man on the lips. "Deal." He rolled his eyes. "Now, how about we get out of here before Demyx tells the whole world we're having sex?"

"Well… we wouldn't want Dem to be a liar, now, would we?" Axel replied hopefully.

"Oh, no, not a liar," Roxas reassured, patting his chest. "Just grossly misinformed."

One pouting, the other smug, a whole range of other emotions swimming within each, contentment coming up as the winner both times, they climbed from the bed, and went arm-in-arm to ruin Demyx's fun.