CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Mother took Roxas over to the bed and lay down, allowing his body to rest after the ordeal of having his wounds disturbed yet again. The silver-haired man packed away the healing items into the black rucksack, tugged the bag into his arms, and settled down in the corner, hunched, knees drawn up, staring. His gaze was fixed upon the blond, unshifting, swallowing down every movement he made in an attempt to relax. At last, a frustrated noise came from across the room. "This sleeping arrangement is not sufficient for Roxas' needs," he complained. "You haven't catered to his physical necessities."
Sephiroth blinked slowly, didn't answer, lowered his face into his thighs, turning it to one side to gaze emptily at the wall. Roxas' head twisted around, features drawn with annoyance. "Are you ignoring mother?" he demanded. "I am about to make a request. I hope that you do not ignore me." Still no response. "Saviour that calls himself Sephiroth, I require an increased level of comfort for Roxas' body to recover sufficiently from its injuries. There is infection, and his temperature continues to rise. While his position is awkward like this, he cannot gain the maximum amount of rest, which leaves him open to further illness." Silence. "Are you listening? I am speaking to you directly. Is there a miscommunication occurring? Has there been a failure of some form which is rendering you incapable of hearing Roxas' voice?" Loud suddenly. "Am I not speaking with sufficient volume?" Sephiroth sank further into himself, didn't reply, didn't twitch except to nuzzle further into his bag. His eyes continued to stare. Jenova was puzzled. "I don't believe he is ignoring mother. He shows no signs of having heard her speak. Perhaps there has been a hardware failure of some form." She sighed. "I will have to discern the malfunction. Hopefully mother will not have to repair him, since her abilities here are few." Roxas sat up, gradually but efficiently. He stood, weight heavy on one foot, and hobbled over to where the silver-haired man sat. "Man that calls himself Sephiroth," Jenova said loudly, standing in front of him. "If you can hear mother, lift your head. Give some sign of recognition." She poked him with a toe. "Child, can you hear me?"
Sephiroth turned his face, buried it deeper, lifted the bag and placed it over the back of his head. Roxas frowned. "So you can hear me. Do you pretend not to because you are sad? Are you sulking?"
A high noise came from the man, tiny and faint. Blue eyes narrowed, Roxas stepping back a little to get a better look at him. The sound came again, shakily. Then again – and a moment later, Sephiroth was laughing. His face came up, mouth stretched wide, gasping in each breath and letting out a staccato burst of giggles on the exhalation. Tears built up quickly, streaming down his face, the sound growing wilder, more hysterical. Jenova stared blankly. Perhaps a minute passed, in which the man grew only shriller, before she commanded, "Stop this, you are acting foolishly."
He sucked in a screeching breath, reached up a hand to push the hair from his eyes, and suddenly yelled, "Shut up, you fucking crazy-ass bitch!" He shoved sharply at Roxas' knees, making the boy buckle with a gasp. He landed hard on the ground, scabs tearing in his thigh, howling out a curse before Jenova reclaimed things, muscled him back and glared at the snarling man, all humour dissipated. "Things were fine before you came along," he cried. "We were doing just fine. Roxas and I can live without you, he doesn't need his mommy holding his hand!"
"Roxas was unhappy with you," Jenova replied firmly. "He does not belong here with you in the middle of an undisclosed forest location. You need to take him home."
Green eyes widened. "Home?" He choked a little. "Home? Roxas doesn't have a home, lady, Roxas doesn't even have a mother, whatever you want to call yourself!"
"It is true that Roxas' birth-mother died, but I am mother to many that have lost their own," she argued rationally. "If you are unaware of the details, you should stop claiming that Roxas' mother is not in fact his mother."
"So – so – " He was back to laughing. "So, what? You adopt orphans, do you? Want to add me to that? My mom died years ago! How come I never got someone who wanted to be my replacement mother?" And again, rapid mood-swing, resentment pouring from every word, a poisonous gush from his eyes, his lips. "Why should he get one just because he's a war-orphan? Stupid little war-orphan, thought he was suffering because he was in a closed environment, huh? Stupid motherfucking war-orphan!" He bellowed the last part, lunged for Roxas, grabbed him by the ears and started shaking, Jenova gasping and pushing at his chest. "What I wouldn't have given! What I wouldn't have given for that sort of peace!"
"Unhand me!"
"I'll fucking unhand you, you piece of shit!" He threw Roxas to the ground, even Jenova unable to quite disconnect entirely from the shoots of pain stinging the sides of their head, the jolts that came from slamming down into the wood. She was dazed, blinking rapidly, attempting to reassert control over both Roxas' body and the situation. Sephiroth stalked across the room, black bag forgotten on the ground. From under the edge of the bed-sheets he snatched the long case of his sword, drew the shining steel out with a rough scrape against the hard leather, whipped around with burning eyes and advanced upon the struggling blond figure. "You really want to break this up, don't you? You want me to take your little boy home, let him just be happy, while I? I just rot, I sit here and think about the past and ROT!" Spit flew, rage spinning tendrils through the air, whipping and thrashing. "You want to go home, war-orphan? You want to run from me?" He brought the sword up in both hands, screamed, "Hold out your arms!"
"Enough of this," Jenova commanded breathlessly, affected by the adrenaline spearing through Roxas' veins, the thunder of his heart. "You will not hurt Roxas!"
"Give me a good reason," he hissed. "Give me one fucking reason not to!"
"He is my son," came the defiant response. "He deserves happiness. He has suffered enough at my hands – I will not let you compound this by punishing him for my own miscalculations. It is obvious to me now that you are not stable enough for statements that contradict the beliefs of which you have convinced yourself. You desire to harm mother for challenging your tenuous grip on reality, and wish her gone. Therefore, I shall leave. I will relinquish Roxas into your care, but only as long as you do not mistreat him – are we understood?" He eyed her wildly for a moment, hovering on a vital edge. His gaze narrowed, head tilting slightly to the side. The sword relaxed slightly.
"You'll go? You'll leave us alone?" he demanded.
"For as long as Roxas doesn't need me," she replied sharply. "Just like any mother."
His eyes became slits, hands tensing around the hilt. A moment later, he nodded. "Fine. Get out."
She paused, studying him. "You and Roxas are alike. Both have lost mothers. Mother has love for all her children, though they were not hers to begin with…" She pursed her lips. "Mother still believes you to be a good boy, despite your downfalls. She will think. She is thinking of how to make you better."
"Get out," he hissed. Roxas eyed him a few moments longer, before slumping over backwards, dead to the world. His head gave a thunk as it hit the floor. The one calling himself Sephiroth heaved a deep breath, hair sticking inside his open mouth as he did so. He licked his lips, spat, lifted one hand to scrape them away, sword dipping abruptly without the extra support. He stared at Roxas' limp form, a flurry of thoughts running through his cracked mind. The blond looked – young, and small. Weak. Vulnerable.
"That's not right," he muttered to himself, eyes dropping, flicking around restlessly. His brows drew together in a scowl. "That's – not right." He pulled the sword to his body, hugged the length of the blade against his chest, cheek pressed to the hilt. He took a few shuffling steps back, gaze emptying, seeing less and less of the unconscious teenager, the cabin. He turned, started over towards the corner, stopped suddenly, hitching in a breath. He spun around, snatching up the rucksack, clutching it along with the sword. He unzipped it, dug frantically through its contents for a moment, panic lighting his eyes. Whatever he was searching for, he touched a moment later. His posture sagged, legs almost giving out with relief. He hugged the bag tightly for a moment, took small steps over to the corner to sit, cross-legged, holding both objects awkwardly across his lap, as close to his heart as he could pull them. The sword stuck out at an uncomfortable angle, scraping the wooden slats. The man inhaled shakily, abruptly exhausted by the emotional turmoil of the morning so far. Things weren't meant to be like this. Cloud was supposed to be happy to be with him. Roxas. Roxas was supposed to be happy. With him. So they could… So things could…
Tears, one after another, eyelashes wet and clinging, a long, miserable sniff. "I hate you so much," he said hoarsely. "God, I hate you." He drew a breath, head tilting back, wailed, "I fucking hate you!" Still weeping, he drew the bag up to his head, using it for a pillow against his knees. "Sephiroth…"
Gradually his breaths slowed, and the man that called himself Sephiroth fell asleep.
.o.O.o.
"I have to go to the bathroom." Roxas' voice was ragged, quiet. He had slept most of the day away, held down by mother for his safety and recovery. Some part of her had obviously finally realised that no, this guy wasn't the pillar of goodness she'd at first assumed simply upon the retrieval of the core. Which, in the end, they still didn't really possess. Except for that first time, when Roxas had been allowed to carry it until eventually falling unconscious in the man's arms between the terminal and whatever godforsaken place he'd been brought to, his only glimpse of the core had been just before the near-rape. Roxas… still got shivers about it all. If it hadn't been for mother… But – she was gone now. She was silent. He only hoped she would come again, if he needed her. It was no small thing, giving up his body to this entity inside his skull, but lately, it had become… necessary. He was depending on her more and more.
Sephiroth looked up blankly, from his task of applying some kind of polish to the reaching blade of his sword. Up til then, he had completely ignored the boy's existence, not even glancing over when Roxas had started shifting his limbs cautiously around. Now the boy sat huddled in the sheets, cold despite the sweat on his face. His hands and leg itched, each and every slash throbbing with its own powerful little heart. His thigh felt as though insects had got under the bandages, were swarming, crawling, miniature legs pricking with every step.
He had drawn into himself slightly, watched the man warily, as if expecting his sudden breaking of the standoffish silence to send him into a fit of dismemberment. The way Roxas figured it, it was entirely possible. But damn it, he'd been holding on for over an hour. Two days of malnutrition were catching up, his body now attempting to flush itself of toxins in the face of its building lack of health and near-fasting state. Add to that the small amount of food and water he had ingested, while under mother's influence, and Roxas was an uncomfortable kidnap victim. He hadn't wanted to address the man, no matter the calm vibes mother insisted on exuding whenever he came to mind, but his need became too great. The last goddamn thing he needed was his bladder giving out. He wasn't going to suffer that indignity, not for a second.
He waited for the answer, which was, at first, not forthcoming. Sephiroth was looking at him as if he wasn't entirely sure the boy had spoken. Roxas stared back uncertainly, not wanting to ask a second time. At last, a small sneer appeared slowly upon the man's face.
"Can't your mommy take you?" Silence from Roxas. Green eyes narrowed. "You can use a bucket. Wait here." Roxas blinked, eyebrows rising slowly as the silver-haired madman stood, sliding the sword back into its long sheath. Buckling it around slender hips, his boots clomped, loud in the natural hush that surrounded the cabin due to the trees. Often, Roxas could hear them blowing in the wind, rustling and shushing. It would then hiss through the cracks in the wood, chilling the room, making him draw the sheets tighter.
Sephiroth reached the door, pulled it open effortlessly, sending the lifting blond brows shooting high. Roxas' eyes went wide, incredulously round. He sucked in a breath without meaning to, too astonished by the utterly negligible lack of lock to censor his reaction. Sephiroth noticed, paused. As the cool dusk air came sweeping in, gently ruffling the long stands of silver, he drew the sword back out of its cover, pointed threateningly in the blond's direction, snapping Roxas' attention abruptly back. "Don't. Move," he said darkly. "Don't even twitch, war-orphan. I'll know if you have."
They gazed at each other for a long moment, one set of eyes narrowed, the other wide. Sephiroth shifted slightly, lifted the great sword, stabbed it back into the sheath. The man's feet disappeared from the wooden planks, becoming a crunching of dirt and leaves before the door was slammed firmly shut. However, no amount of slamming would keep it shut indefinitely – nothing would. Had he not had time to install a lock before following Roxas to the airship terminal, or did he just – not expect him to try? Was it because of this – Cloud… thing? Would Cloud not have run?
Roxas shivered suddenly, a thrill racing through his veins, sickening, electrifying, heart slamming into overdrive. He went briefly dizzy at the prospect – there was nothing keeping him here. He – he wasn't trapped. He already knew the man was a reasonably sound sleeper – he'd managed to leave their bed last night, hadn't he? Managed to clean himself a little, without any of the stifled gasps stirring him? If he could achieve all that – how hard would it be to tiptoe out the door?
He sank down, clutching the lone blanket around his throat, chin lowering as his mind raced. The walls were thin – he could hear Sephiroth moving around outside, the steps growing further away, then pausing. Roxas strained his ears, eyes slipping shut, some part of him still finding a way to wish that a wild animal would come and fill its belly with the insane man's intestines, and not have room leftover for caged, injured blond. No growling, though, no screaming. Just footsteps resuming, coming closer again. Another shudder worked through, different this time, heart dropping just as suddenly as it had burst to life. The last time they had communicated, Sephiroth had ended up kissing him, groping him, basically getting ready to fuck him with a smile and call him 'Cloud'. It burned his stomach. Oh, hell, he wanted Axel. He wanted Axel bursting in, heroic, to grab him up and just get him out of here, away from the horror of it all. But again, he knew it wasn't going to happen – it was Axel who needed saving. And here was Roxas, all alone with an all but open door…
The door did open, at that point, and Sephiroth re-entered the cabin, tracking mud and leaves that clung to his boots. After only a few minutes out there, he was looking windswept. The breeze coming through the doorway was icy and strong, smelling of moisture. Roxas' eyes were drawn to the bright red bucket hanging from the man's right hand, deceptively cheery-looking. If only it knew its purpose.
Sephiroth stomped over to where the teen sat, ignored the instinctive cower, Roxas' ribs remembering him well. He thrust the bucket down. "Here. Do whatever." He looked distracted, glancing over his shoulder as Roxas reluctantly accepted the offering.
The blond took a breath, forced the words, "Can't I just – do it outside?" His heart was back to thundering. Sephiroth's gaze came back around, sharpening.
"No. You can't. Use the bucket." He went over to the black rucksack, pulled out his gloves, tugged them on rapidly, efficiently. "There's a storm coming. I'm going to go fill the generator and get it going while you're doing that." Again, his eyes found the teen, glinting hard. "When you're done, leave it beside the door. I'll take care of the waste. Don't touch the door, don't try anything stupid. I'm faster and fitter than you. You won't get far."
Roxas glared coldly. "You think I'm in any condition to try? What, you think Cloud would be that eager to leave?"
The man stopped abruptly, and Roxas panicked, calling internally for his mother without a second thought. Sephiroth's stare was piercing, pinioning. A tense moment passed, in which the madness seemed to flicker, deciding on an outcome. "Cloud already did," he said, a distant shake to each word. "He left, and we…" His brow creased slowly. "Shut up. Stupid war-orphan. You – Cloud – shut up." He was gone, door yet again slammed, leaving Roxas blinking.
.o.O.o.
Rain was already beginning to fall on the castle as Vincent trudged up the long last leg of hill. Straggly hair bound behind his head, cloak more ragged than ever, dirt and mud caking his feet. Dots of cold water touched his face, trickled down the back of his neck, ran unfelt down his metal prosthetic arm. His expression was fixed in place, amber eyes focusing on the path ahead, counting the steps to home. His feet clanged dully against the ramp leading from the rapidly dampening dust around and up to the castle entrance, a trail of wet footprints left in his wake, becoming thinner and lighter with each pace. The world was darkening, with cloud and twilight, lights coming on one by one within the castle, individually lit. As Vincent entered the dim interior, the automatic system blazed to life, snapping the halogens awake en masse. The thin man paused, grunted slightly. That was – different. Usually, the lights would have been on at least ten minutes previously, before it became necessary for sight. He thought the computer was meant to be in charge of things like that.
Eyes slowly sweeping the ceiling, as if it could open and give answers, he continued on, shoes clacking flatly. His first stop was his sometime room, whenever he was within the castle. He pulled off his one glove as he walked, scrunched it up in his metal hand and wiped the skin of the other against his cloak, the early rain having leaked into the leather confines uncomfortably. He reached up, sinking his fingers into the thick maroon cloth binding his forehead to keep the hair from his eyes, slipped it away, swept the resulting brunet strands back, shaking his head slightly. He reached his door, opened it up, stepped in to find Yuffie already there, an anxious expression on her face as she sat cross-legged on the bed. She looked up as he entered, blinked in surprise. "Vince?"
He frowned slightly, shifting to the wardrobe. "Yuffie, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out on duties?"
"Oh, Vince…" Her voice was heavy, making him pause. He twisted, arm within one drawer, eyebrows drawn.
"What is it? What's happened?" A slight beat, then, "Is it Roxas?"
The girl gave a short, harsh laugh. "When isn't it Roxas? Oh, but it's so much more," she sighed. He straightened.
"Tell me about it."
"Vince…" Her brown eyes were miserable. "Axel, Cloud and Sora are in hospital. Axel's hurt bad. And Roxas…"
Amber eyes narrowed. "What about him? Where is he? …Yuffie?"
The ninja's mouth trembled, lower lip curling with the effort of not bursting into tears. Voice shaking, she said, "He's not here, Vincent. He's gone." She swallowed hard, eyes on the bedspread, picking at it with her nails. "There was a raid by pirates. Vaan was in on it, and they got the core. But then, I don't – " She lifted her head, confused. "I don't really know what happened, or, or why, or how, but… Axel, he – Roxas… broke his leg. And he left, Vince. He left the castle."
Vincent's eyes were wide, shock written over every feature. "You can't be serious." His rough voice was heightened in stunned disbelief. "Roxas hurt Axel?"
"He hurt him bad," the girl murmured. Then she scrubbed at her head in frustration. "But that's not all there is to it. Vaan got shot. He… he died during the night, but he talked to Leon before he did, since Leon was already there and all, at the hospital I mean… And – he said something about it being the computer?" She shook her head with a low, exasperated growl. "I don't even know what I'm talking about. Leon called a meeting to tell us all about it, and I know it clears Roxas, but I still don't know what the fuck is going on."
"So then, where is Roxas now?" the dark-haired man asked intently. "Is anyone searching for him?"
She sighed again. "See, Vince, that's the thing. I'm – I'm guessing you didn't find the Sephiroth guy, right?"
Vincent went still, staring at the girl for a long, silent moment. "Where's Leon? I need to speak to him. Immediately."
Yuffie shrugged. "He's in the library, moping. Cloud doesn't come home til tomorrow morning, so… Uh, Vincent?" The man was already sweeping from the room. She huffed, called, "It was nice seeing you again, too." He returned almost as soon as he'd vanished out the door, startling her, strode over to the bed and planted a kiss quickly on her brow.
"I'm happy to see you," he said quietly, seriously. "But I have some information for Leon. There's every chance I know where Roxas is."
She gaped. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. I have to go. If I don't see you again before we leave – " He kissed her again, on the mouth, short but feeling, leaving her slightly breathless. "I'll see you again."
"Yeah… sure…" He left again, walking swiftly. "Good luck," she cried in his wake, heart pounding with sudden hope. Her fingers curled into fists, which she jammed into the sides of her face, gazing into space. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Hold on, Axel's Roxie. Help's on the way." She raised her eyes, closed them, voice a whisper. "Oh, please be okay. Don't for God's sake do anything dumb."
.o.O.o.
Roxas was waiting for Sephiroth to fall asleep, but tonight the man was restless. The generator was going, rumbling noisily nearby, though the single light-bulb guttered with each growing gust of wind. Each time it happened, the silver-haired man would look up, staring until the bulb resumed behaving itself. Then he would return to whatever he was doing at the time – polishing the sword, digging through his rucksack, occasionally just staring into space. His encounter with mother had obviously shaken his grip on the Roxas-as-Cloud fantasy he had been attempting to build, and it seemed the best way for him to cope was to stay on the other side of the room, not speaking to the blond – though Roxas sometimes caught him muttering to himself.
Roxas watched him, almost entirely certain by now that Zack had been correct – the real Sephiroth was almost assuredly dead. When he wasn't busy claiming to be the man, when Roxas quietly observed his actions, performed as if no one was looking, it seemed near to impossible. His features were too youthful when he was frowning in concentration. Perhaps in and of itself this wouldn't have ordinarily convinced him, but if Sephiroth and Cloud really had been together, he couldn't imagine with Cloud with someone so much younger. It could only be by a couple years, when he thought about it, but – Cloud was better suited to people of or above his own age. Like – Leon. He could easily picture Cloud and Leon together – had seen it – but separate them, place them with the approximate age-equivalent of this man – Axel, Demyx, Zexion, to name some examples – and Roxas' brain almost started to ache at the jarring quality of it all. He could no more imagine Cloud with this version of Sephiroth, no matter the knowledge of their intimate goings-on he seemed to possess, than any of those. Still, whoever this person was, he was just as dangerous as he'd been the first time he'd introduced himself to Axel in the castle halls. His relative youth changed nothing about their situation, except to maybe highlight just how delusional he truly was – not a comfort.
The wind blew, a powerful breath rattling the door, seizing the sheet-plastic nailed over the window, flapping whatever small amount of give it could. The little cabin was insecure against the elements – its temperature dropped steadily, both males beginning to shiver despite their coverings, the scent of ozone permeating and overwhelming as, outside, the first of the rain began to fall.
It wasn't long before drips began to appear in the wooden roofing, thin, shining strings of fluid threading through almost invisible cracks, pattering down. A slight stain spread around the plastic-covered square in the wall, in-between the thick staples. Every time a fresh leak began, the one calling himself Sephiroth would glare at it. Roxas could almost picture him whipping out that overcompensation of a sword and threatening the darkening patches of floor, commanding the rain to join its outside brethren, or else. He was more concerned about the light – exactly how sound was its wiring insulation? What would happen when one of the drips formed too close to it? Would it just short out, or explode, or what?
About an hour passed of this silence, broken only by Sephiroth's restive movements, Roxas huddled in what was becoming a common position, the bed-sheets hauled up around his torn clothing, body, trying to work some heat into his muscles without having to hunch too far and upset his ribs. The bruising along his side, no doubt in neat little fingerprint-sized marks, pounded with every heartbeat, along with his head. His mouth and throat were dry, but he refused to ask for anything from this man. He would wait, if necessary, and lick up the rain when he knew he wasn't looking.
But then, he wasn't planning on remaining here much longer, anyway.
The constant nearby growl of the generator started to flicker, bringing up both sets of eyes within the cabin. They met for a moment, before rising to the light, which dimmed abruptly, giving a low buzz, before jumping to overbright. The outside noises levelled out for maybe a minute, before the machine started labouring in earnest, the bulb again struggling to perform its duty. Sephiroth let out a sharp, impatient breath, green eyes narrowed. He set aside the sword, strapping it into its casing, and climbed to his feet. "Wait here," he muttered. "I'll go switch it off. It's out of gas."
"O-okay." Roxas felt a burst of dizziness at watching the door once again so easily opened. It was harder to breathe all of a sudden, harder to swallow. The heat, which had died down beneath his skin, flared back to life as his pulse increased. Sephiroth disappeared from the cabin, sealing Roxas in as he was briefly swallowed by the cold rainfall. Now? He eyed the door, measuring his physical capabilities, the amount of time it would take to get there before he returned, the pain and effort it would cost to go as fast as would be required… The man had even, for some reason, left his sword behind, either trusting Roxas, or confident of his inability to lift it, the latter of which the blond was inclined to agree with. No. Not now. Mother was silent in the back of his head, taking no part in the proceedings. Roxas wasn't even sure she was watching. Did she sleep?
The generator was coughing, the light sputtering weaker and weaker in sync with the awful grinding noises. Then, very, very suddenly, everything went silent, everything went black. Roxas blinked sharply, eyes straining, breaths quickening, before he realised that he could still hear the rain – it was louder now, it was hammering against the plastic. Crunching steps approached, and Sephiroth entered, bringing with him an icy gust, flecks of water. It was all locked out again as he closed the door, but having been invited in, the chill was loathe to leave. It didn't matter how tightly Roxas tugged the blankets, a finger of ice stroked up and down his limbs, working deeper, aiming for the bone.
The silver-haired man collected his things from the corner, leather creaking from the water trailing down in rivers, his wet hair providing a continual source of trickling. He set the sword and bag up more neatly, crouching down, taking a moment to arrange them. When at last satisfied with their aesthetic side-by-side appearance, he straightened, hands on hips, and stared for a moment. Roxas watched. Not turning, the man said, "Take off the sheets. We're sharing the bed tonight."
The blond hesitated. "I'm cold, though. If I take them off, I might get a chill."
A slight huff of a laugh, bitter. "Is that what your mom says? Would she prefer that I get a chill, and you stay perfectly fine? After all…" He turned, face obscured by shadow, just a shape in the darkness. "She is your mother, not mine. It's not like she'd give a damn about me, right?"
Mother stirred. Roxas hesitated. "I – I don't know," he lied, despite the whispers in his mind. Sephiroth was still for a long moment.
"Take off the blankets, Cloud." His voice deepened abruptly. Roxas hadn't even noticed when it had relaxed, become more natural, but he did now that the smooth bass quality had returned. It sent a frisson through his nerves. Things were getting worse again. Roxas was scared of being attacked a second time, terrified and disgusted at the thought of those lips anywhere near his flesh. But he had to trust that mother would step in again. She had stopped it once, he was sure she wouldn't let it happen no matter what. So, as alien as it felt to be pantomiming some kind of strip-show in front of this man, he shed the green and white sheets, spread them messily. Sephiroth sighed. "Not like that." He came over, said shortly, "Get out of the way." Roxas awkwardly fumbled to one side, gasping a little at the pain. The silver-haired man took the sheets, kicked the pillows, snapped the lengths of material straight, one by one, and lay them down in a perfect square. He did it all with quick precision, obviously not even having to think twice about each motion. So what, did the guy make beds for a living? Was he a maid in his pre-Sephiroth lifetime? Watching the discipline in his movements, Roxas ended up concluding that it was some kind of – military thing. There was no mattress, no sleeping bag, but – he could almost see an echo of Zack's bearing in the way he did it all. So, this guy was Zanarkand, too, then. Boy, didn't they grow the fun ones.
The bed was made in under a minute, pillows perfectly fluffed, everything pristine, looking fresh and clean even with the wrinkles that couldn't quite be smoothed away. "Well?" the man prompted testily, gesturing. "You said you were cold, didn't you?" Roxas crawled back, wincing and hissing through his teeth. Despair struck, as he lowered himself the few inches to the covers. If it was this difficult just moving a couple feet on his hands and knees, how the hell did he expect to be able to run from this place, this man, and hope to find civilisation before he keeled over and died? He found himself at a bad angle for slipping under the blanket, cursed himself anew. Obviously sharing in his exasperation, Sephiroth let out an intolerant breath, bent and ripped the sheets quickly out from under him, tugged them back up a bare moment later, pushing them around his shoulders. Roxas, stiff, eyes wide, just lay there like a wooden doll, too afraid to move, scared to even acknowledge that the man had helped him for once. He could almost feel the smug satisfaction in his skull, the faint murmur of good boy behind his own petrified thoughts and feelings.
The silver-haired man didn't try drawing attention to the fact that he'd all but tucked Roxas into bed, lay beside him, boots still on, hair still damp, locks of it falling across onto the blond's pillow, touching his face, making him flinch. It took several moments for Sephiroth to get settled, shifting around on his back until he reached a position comfortable enough to relax into. His arms lay on top of the blanket, fingers intertwined at his stomach, one elbow barely touching Roxas' arm. The teen fought the urge to squirm out of reach, stared at the ceiling, struggling to regulate each breath to sound calm. At last, the man said, "Good-night, Cloud." He turned his face when Roxas didn't respond, eyes only just visible at this proximity. The sound of rain increased around the cabin, hissing, hammering. "Please," he added softly, "don't leave me tonight." Roxas nearly jumped out of his skin, lips parting a bare second before he could screech some kind of defence. He caught the breath that wanted to burst the words free, locked it within his lungs, eyes like coins. A hand reached up, leather brushing fabric, a knuckle stroking slowly against the blond's cheek. "I want to see you when I wake up."
Roxas closed his eyes, teeth gritting together, relief melting through his entire being. Please, don't leave me tonight. He was referring to – to Cloud, sleeping elsewhere again. Because his mind was obviously just that far gone.
The blond didn't know whether to reassure him, or keep his mouth shut. He opted for – a nod. A firm, shaky nod, quickly lifting his gaze back to the roof, closing his eyes. Sephiroth's hand lingered against his skin, before gently pulling away, returning to his stomach. "I love you," he whispered. Roxas' eyes squeezed tighter. This was different to Axel, he knew it. He knew this wasn't the same thing. Axel had watched him his whole life, and fallen in love with him. This man thought he was someone else, someone that had obviously left him. When he said I love you, and Roxas didn't say it back – damn it, that was different to when Axel had done it. Two… completely different mindsets.
Unnerving, all the same.
The minutes ticked by, long, tortuous, tormenting. Roxas tried to find ways to pass the time while looking asleep, but nothing entered his head. Sheep counting trailed off at five, ninety-nine bottles ceased to echo at ninety-eight, reciting mathematic rules did nothing but bewilder and block his brain, making him, if possible, even more aware of the presence at his side.
And then, Roxas heard a snore. So faint, barely there, and that was how he knew it was real. This wasn't a trick being played, a test – the man was sleeping. He waited, heart-rate increasing, fingertips tingling, solar-plexus a churning of sensation, excitement, dread, horror, anticipation, and most of all, determination. He swallowed. Axel needed him. The redhead might like to think it was the other way around, but Roxas knew the truth. Like Aerith had once said: now that Roxas was here, Axel had everything he wanted. Roxas needed more out of life, though. This didn't mean he cared any less about the redhead, not by a long shot – but without Axel, he could survive. A world without him would be bleak and cold, but Roxas wouldn't die. Axel, on the other hand, would.
This was why, long before he was physically able to, Roxas sat up, slipped gradually away from the bed without disturbing the sheets too badly, and stood. This was why, long before he was physically able to, Roxas left the cabin in the middle of the woods, left Sephiroth to wake up alone.
Axel was why.
