Chapter 5: Losing Terms

Their apartment was on the other side of the city from me but in a building that was pretty much a carbon copy of the one I resided in. My heart was pounding as I pressed the button to be let in and I realized I hadn't thought this far and they might not even be home or, much less, let me in. The door buzzed a few seconds later though, and after a brief fantasy of turning around, walking out, and dropping the whole thing, I pushed open the heavy glass door and climbed the three flights of stairs to the third floor. Apartment 318 was at the end of the hall, near a grimy window that looked out onto the street. The carpet was frayed and stained, but so was the carpet in my building. I took a deep breath and knocked.

I waited for a few moments, glanced nervously around, and was about to leave when the door suddenly swung open. There he was. Much less pale in warm, non-fluorescent light and wearing much the same attire as I had first met him in. He was also extremely startled- but that goes without saying.

"You. What are you doing here?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I...can I call you Roxas?"

His eyebrows went up at this. "Um, yeah, okay, but-"

"I think we can both agree that calling you Mr. Mneme was a little awkward last time we talked."

His lips quirked into a slight smile at this. "You can say that again," he paused, then spoke more quietly, almost to himself. "Looks like the jolly green giant does have a brain."

"Oh, do I have a story about that, Roxas."

"Really? But, is that why you're here, Mr. Lea? Strangely, I wouldn't doubt it," he grinned and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Nope. And, the name's Axel," I returned the grin, relieved. This was going much better than I thought it would. "Namine was absent today and I came by to drop off her homework and see how she was doing."

Startled again. "Oh. Thanks."

"Um, can I come in?"

His eyes drifted to the side, focused on a point I couldn't see, and seemed to consider this very seriously. "Yeah. Okay, sure," this seemed to distress him more than it should have though and I stepped gingerly into the apartment as he closed the door. It wasn't what I was expecting. His and Namine's apartment was laid out like mine. Tall, white walls and one room with a loft, which wasn't surprising from the outside appearances, but this wasn't what arrested my attention.

Paint drenched drop sheets covered the carpet from end to end and about a dozen canvases were propped against the far wall with more sheets draped over them. The kitchen held more evidence of a clean-up area of an art classroom, rather than a place where one would prepare food. One of the canvases was exposed in the middle of the room. I stopped immediately, tethered to the spot and my eyes glued to what had been added to the previously taut white space.

Sweeps of red and brown met each other from opposite ends of the canvas. Red, hot like fire and drawn with much the same attitude, erupted from the left bottom side, while the brown, twisting and stubborn and so very alive, flourished from the opposite corner. The two met in the center, twisting and twirling in and out of each other and, together, approximating the shape of not the symbol of the heart, the one seen in jewelry lines and pop art and Valentines decorations, but the anatomical one, full of all its impossibilities and fragility and strength. It looked like fire and tree roots chasing each other, but not destroying each other- intermingling. All the while they were both reaching towards the same point- the top of the canvas, some point above them both, like fingers reaching towards the sun in a strangely human stretch. I could almost see phantom human hands and bodies in the heart, intimately embraced. It wasn't finished, and it sure wasn't Namine's- I had come to recognize her touch on paper.

I looked to the side where I knew Roxas had moved since letting me in, my purpose for the visit momentarily pushed aside. That's when I took in what I had missed at the doorway. His ripped jeans held evidence of red and brown smudges that were still glistening wet, his ratty t-shirt having a few as well. He was wiping his hands off with a rag that should have been consigned to the trash long ago and there was a smudge of paint on the underside of his jaw.

"You're an artist," I breathed.

He didn't look at me, a smile that was tinged with something darker pulling his lips. "Only in the loosest of terms."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "When you asked what I was, I figured you meant my job. I'm a waiter. This," he nodded his head to the canvas. "Doesn't exactly pay the bills. Actually does the opposite. Gonna yell at me for not being responsible and supporting Namine?"

I shook my head 'no,' speechless, and moved towards the painting to get a closer look. I hunched down and leaned forward.

"Don't touch it!"

I turned and saw the alarm on his face. I smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not going to touch it. I just wanted a closer look," I returned to the painting and traced the intricacies with my eyes. Up close, I saw there were other shades of brown and red and a few other colors inside the broad strokes, weaved together like the finest spun thread, bits of green in the brown like sap. It reminded me of the twisting nature of veins. Fire and veins and roots and sap. My smile grew bigger. It was like a whole story without words, filled with longing and unlikely meetings and secrets. "It's beautiful," I breathed.

There was a snort across the room, amused. "It's not even finished."

"Doesn't stop it from being beautiful, Roxas," I insisted. "You're amazing."

"Aren't you here to drop off homework?"

I could have stayed there much longer, but I clapped my hands and stood up. "That's right! Where is the invalid?"

I heard a chuckle behind me and another voice call out to my right. "I'm over here, Mr. Lea."

I turned and saw the area. One section of the room had been blocked off by pretty paper space dividers, soft flowers and vines meandering across the smoky fabric. It had the same feel as the painting- he must have done it for her. Namine was right behind, her shoulders draped in a blanket and the space beneath her nose angry and red. Her eyes were glazed and she seemed to teeter.

"Hey, don't get up on my account," I directed and strode over to her. She nodded and sat back down on her day bed which was set against the wall. I hunched down, eye to eye with her. "Hey kiddo, how you doing?"

"I'm alright," she assured me, but quickly turned her head in a fit of coughs. "Okay, maybe not so much."

"You can say that again."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry I missed class today."

"No no no, you don't even worry about that."

I watched her nod and the smile fade, her eyelids drooping. I looked over and noticed an empty bowl with the remains of what looked to be chicken noodle soup and definitely not the canned variety. A mug of tea was there, too, and a bowl of Clementine oranges. "I see your brother's taking good care of you."

"Yeah," the smile resurfaced with a yawn. "Roxas is a good cook."

"Is he now?" I chuckled and glanced behind me. Roxas was still standing near the kitchen, leaning against the island and still fingering the rag. His pale features were tinged with red across the bridge of his nose and his upper cheekbones. Marluxia had been right- there wasn't really any reason to worry, it seemed. Roxas, despite his bouts of apparent PMS, seemed to have things under control. I looked back to Namine and fully acknowledged the extreme flush of her cheeks against pale, clammy skin.

"Do you have a fever?" I asked, suddenly serious.

"A bit."

I got on my knees and stood up straighter, completely level with her, and held her bangs back with my hand. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against hers. Startled, she jumped back, her eyelashes fluttering. I could hear her brother behind us, equally surprised.

"What-"

"Relax, I'm just taking her temperature," I said.

Namine nodded and relaxed, allowing me to press my forehead against hers once more. I closed my eyes.

"She does have a pretty good fever going. Has she been resting?"

"Yeah. I've kept her in bed all day and insisted she drinks several cups of tea every hour."

"Roxas doesn't seem to realize this is a slight contradiction since I have to get up all the time," she paused, blushing. "Well, to go to the restroom."

I laughed and ruffled her hair before standing up again. "Some contradictions make sense. Your brother's right, Namine, you should listen to him." I pulled a book of poetry out of my pack. "Here's what we did in class. I just had everybody pick random pages and we read from there. Don't try and push yourself. Just read when you're feeling better."

"What is that?"

I turned. Roxas was right beside me and yet, by his eyes, he seemed like he was much farther. "Book of poems by Charles Burkowski. We were listening to him in class the other day. It's the poet we're studying."

Roxas picked up the worn copy and arched an eyebrow. "'Pleasures of the Damned'?"

"Ever heard the one about not judging a book by its cover?"

"Yeah, but never by its title."

"Touche."

Roxas started flipping through it.

"There's one about an artist in there," I said.

"Is there?"

"Uh huh," I smiled and leaned in closer, watching the well known pages flick by.

"Is this your own copy?" he paused on a page filled with my spidery chicken scratch.

"Yup."

"Isn't that…" Roxas paused. I watched his eyes scrunch in thought. "I don't know, kind of like cheating since you're the teacher? Can't she just parrot back whatever interpretation you wrote down?"

I shifted my weight and shot a knowing grin towards Namine. "Perhaps. Granted, if she can manage to decipher my chicken scratch; and if she does, I'm still not worried. Namine's disagreed with me before on the finer points of poetry."

Namine blushed at this. I turned back and continued watching Roxas flip through the pages. "I can read it just fine," he murmured. When he got to the last page he shrugged and gently put it back on the nightstand. I blinked, and noticed for the first time that rain had begun softly knocking against the window. Namine sneezed.

"Well, if that's all, Namine needs to rest, so you should probably go."

"Yeah," I said and glanced down at my watch. It was already eight o'clock. Walking back towards the door was surprisingly hard- the apartment was warm and Roxas wasn't being, well, what I had thought to be Roxas. I turned back and found my reluctance increase two fold. He was hunched back down, paintbrush in hand and making gentle strokes across the canvas. His eyes were intense, mirroring the look in Namine's when she sketched, and his lips partly open. Suddenly, his brows came together with displeasure and he deftly twisted the paintbrush's end away as he brushed his bangs back with his palm. I couldn't hide a slight smile as I saw how a trail of paint followed his palm, smudged across his brow. I felt the sudden urge to ask to stay, but before I could even think of an excuse, he had noticed my presence.

"What? Did you forget something?"

"No, I just…"

He stopped, looking longingly at the work, and sighed. "Listen. I…don't really like working with someone watching me, and Namine needs quiet to rest."

"Of course," I made a move to turn back, but paused again, quiet.

Roxas kept staring at me, his eyes telling me in no uncertain terms he was more than a bit exasperated. "Don't tell me your brain died again."

"No, exact opposite- I was thinking about how different you two are."

This was obviously not the answer he was expecting and his irritation turned to puzzlement. "How so?"

I took this as an entry to stay a bit longer and stepped closer to him. "You both are ridiculously talented artists, Roxas, but with very, very different styles."

It was my turn to be surprised. Roxas looked suddenly troubled, his hands intertwined and tensed. The knuckles were growing very quickly white. "Is she?"

"What? Don't tell me you don't know?" I exclaimed.

"Please speak quietly. I think Namine just fell back asleep."

I nodded. "Sorry," I whispered. "But what do you mean you don't know?"

He glanced up at me. The overhead lighting glanced across his pupils like streaks of lightening and seemed to hold much of the same implicit danger. "And how is it that you know?"

Things were very quickly and quietly going out of control; I could feel it like watching some slow motion video of a car crash. But I had no idea why. Marluxia's advice was screaming in my head to back off, not push it, but I had to know.

I shrugged and took the time to weigh my options. "I let her draw in class. It doesn't hinder her focus and she draws some of the most absolutely incredible things."

He wasn't looking at me anymore. I didn't understand why he seemed to have trouble breathing. Was it something I had said?

He stood up and suddenly grabbed my arm. He was close enough I could feel the warmth radiate off his skin and felt my own heat rising unbidden to my cheeks. "We'd better go outside."

I nodded. My eyes narrowed and the calm, warm feeling our last encounter had held was slowly seeping away into a cold kind of wariness. I had a very strong feeling our next conversation and what he had to say was not something I was going to enjoy. At all.

It was chilly in the hallway. A crack in the murky window let in tendrils of damp, cold air. I crossed my arms and watched him shift his feet, then run his hand through his hair, the one without paint. He seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say next. "Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked.

"What? That your sister's a talented artist?"

"Yes. You're not an art teacher, Mr. Lea-"

"Axel," I insisted.

"Fine. Axel. As far as I know, you're just her English teacher. So I don't really see how what she does other than poetry or reading or writing is any of your concern."

"I like to know what my students' passions are. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," I had been right. I didn't like where this was going. "It's actually what I wanted to talk to you about at the conference. Namine's so quiet and secretive, I figured there was a good chance you had no idea how much she loved to draw and how good she was at it."

"And I'm still wondering what the purpose of you telling me this is," he continued, but based on his tone I figured he already knew.

It would have been best to wave this off with a generic comment and take my leave. It would have been the smart thing, the professional choice. I knew it was what Roxas was hoping for. Too bad I tend to disappoint and not make the best decisions. Doesn't mean I don't have a damn good reason for flying in the face of decorum. So, I threw caution to the winds and ended our stupid little tango. "She's graduating soon and I thought the best place for her would be an art school and-"

"She's not going."

There it was. That bad, nagging feeling given form. The reason he had brought us out to the hallway. And even though I had had a feeling about it, it still knocked the wind out of my gut. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know where she's going yet, a liberal arts college somewhere, but she's not going to an art school, no way," he seethed.

"What? Why?"

"None of your business." He was angry but also uneasy, that much I could tell. That was fine by me. Let him be uncomfortable. Let him know he was being a senseless jackass and that he was really starting to piss me off.

I didn't say any of this though. We just stared at each other for a very long time, waiting for one of us to speak. As far as I knew, there was nothing much to say at this point. I finally knew where he stood. Anger was twisting my gut into a thousand knots, each that had a life of their own; if I started speaking at this point and if we decided to take this conversation any further, it would end up being loud (undoubtedly among a few other unpleasant things). The door wasn't thick enough to hide that from Namine and she didn't deserve it.

"All right then," I said softly, my voice taut and dangerous. "Take care of her." I turned on my heel and left, taking the stairs two at a time and pushing through the doors to the outside rain. The rain had turned into a downpour and managed to get past my coat, soaking my shirt completely. Puddles drenched my shoes and pants. None of this cooled me off. It just prevented me from smoking and had probably drenched the pack in my pocket. Oh, and to top things off, the damn migraine was back.

"And now, see, this is exactly why I was so worried about you taking this job. You're an emotional basket case and you're being a bigger drama queen than me. And, no offense to myself, Axel, but that's saying a lot."

I probably shouldn't have slammed the door upon my return to the apartment. It did nothing for my headache and alerted the "all-knowing Demyx" to the fact that I was a smidgen less than a happy camper.

"It's also killing brain cells. You've been trying to light that soggy cigarette for the last seven minutes. At this point, Axel, I don't care how good you are with fire, it's not going to light."

"Dammit!"

I could feel Demyx's eyes on me. He was sitting on my bed, watching me stew in my own self-imposed misery. Great. I had an audience.

"Really? You're going to bang your head against the wall? That'll also kill brain cells, too, you know."

I stopped. "You have no scientific proof of that."

"You're being a child."

The statement slapped me in the face harder than his hand would have. I grimaced. "You just don't know what I've been through these past few days."

"Yeah, I don't, until you tell me. So stop being a goddamn drama queen and come over here and talk to me. I'm your friend, Axel."

I sighed. He was probably right. And I was pretty sure I could feel a bruise developing on my forehead. And the migraine? Imagine, if you will, hitting a beehive with a stick. Yeah. That bad.

I shuffled over to my mattress and plopped down, cross-legged across from Demyx. I sometimes forgot how mature he could be. But the way he was staring at me with calm, concerned eyes made it clear enough. It wasn't the norm, but it was still very much Demyx.

"The cigarettes, too, Axel. There's no point in keeping them."

I glanced down at the sorry state of the carton and its contents. He was right, of course. I lobbed the pack with expert aim. It soggily hit the inside of the trash can and plopped down.

Demyx's lips quirked. "And what made you think you could light those to begin with?"

I couldn't help but laugh a little. "I don't know," I murmured, placing my head in my hands. "Desperation, I guess."

"Desperation about what? Students actually being hell spawn? I thought that's what inspired you."

"No, it's not any of my students. Well, not directly, at least."

"Really?" I looked up to see Demyx's brow furrowed. That's right. I hadn't really told him anything.

"No, I just got back from Namine's apartment."

"I thought you liked her..."

"I do. It's just her...legal guardian is driving me up the bloody wall."

"The 'rent? I told you, Axel, you open that door with parent-teacher conferences, you're screwed."

"Yeah yeah yeah," I waved him off and continued. "I did meet him for the first time at the conferences, but he's not a parent. He's her older brother."

"Oh," Demyx replied, his voice quiet. I didn't have to say anymore for him to get the general gist of that part of the equation.

"He's actually just a year younger than I am."

The eyebrow went up again. "And how did you find that out?"

"He asked me so I asked him."

"You're sure he wasn't hitting on you?"

"Positive. And even if he was, which I doubt, that's all over because of tonight."

A groan went up. "Okay, if the great and all-powerful Axel sees fit, can I please know why my best friend and roommate was reduced to banging his head against the wall and trying to catch fire to soaked cigarettes?"

"Well, when you say it like that..."

"How else should I say it?"

I made my serious business pout face.

"And, um, yeah. That's disgusting. So stop it."

"Fine," deep breath in, exhale out. I rolled my tongue over my teeth, stalling. Part of me didn't want to tell him, because he would probably agree with Marluxia in how dumb and unprofessional I had been regarding the whole thing. Eventually he flicked me on the head. Apparently, I wasn't going to get away with waiting it out either.

"Namine's a ridiculously good artist," I started. "She loves it, too. Like how you love music or I love poetry."

"Okaaay," Demyx prompted.

"Well, her brother's an artist, too. I found that out tonight. And kind of prone to bouts of PMS," I paused, rubbed my temples with my hand. Even saying his name caused the migraine to rear its ugly head. "Let's just say that I brought it up that Namine loved art and was good at it, and sort of brought up how she should definitely go to an art school."

"All right, not too out of bounds for a teacher, honestly. So you told him what you've noticed about her talents and possible careers after high school. Axel, I'm still not understanding the reason for your tantrum."

I took another deep breath. The snakes in my gut had begun to writhe again. "He refused."

"What?"

"Demyx, he heard one word about Namine going to art school and he outright refused. And I quote: "she's not going. No way. I don't care where, but she's not going to art school," I paused, trying to get a hold of myself. It wasn't working. "It's not his decision and what the hell is he even thinking? Because there cannot be a reason good enough to keep her from her dream. No way in hell," my voice had gotten angrier and the words tumbled out faster and faster. By the time I stopped, I was out of breath. I also knew now that just because I had avoided the conversation in that hallway tonight, did not mean I was going to let it go. I had only postponed it. Maybe it would be crossing the line, but I didn't care at this point. I kept thinking of Namine and the look on her face when she drew. I had fought like hell to be able to go to school for poetry and for someone to deny her a passion of hers when it could be so easy...it wasn't fair.

Demyx still hadn't said anything. "That's it, then."

"Yup," I made a face.

"Wow, he is being a dickwad."

"I know, right?"

"But," Demyx shifted his position, leaning back on his hands, and looked up at the ceiling. "Have you actually talked to Namine about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, does she really even want to go to art school?"

"Well, I figured...just by looking at her when she drew-"

He started laughing. My best friend, the jerk, was laughing at my plight. "Axel, you need to talk to her about this first. I mean, she'll be turning eighteen soon and he can't do a damn thing about what she does. Well, not legally, I mean. She can run out and go to an art school, wherever the hell she wants," he stood up. I didn't mention that I could never see Namine doing this. "So, just talk to her about it first. She might not even want to go to school for art, and you would've made an enemy for nothing," with that, Demyx wandered over to his guitar and plopped down. "Sometimes you make things way too hard. And not the things you should be."

I ignored that last bit and rubbed my thumb and forefinger against my temple. Yeah, maybe I should have asked. That would have been the smart thing. And maybe she wasn't even planning on going to art school. But, the whole situation still made my hair stand on end. Demyx's advice hadn't really alleviated any of it either. It wouldn't be fixed just by Namine not wanting to go. The problem was that if she wanted to Roxas wouldn't have let her.

"Was he hot?"

I stopped, my brain short circuiting with Demyx's sudden, though not entirely unexpected question. "What?"

"I said, was he hot?"

I dug my forehead into my palm. "Only in the loosest of terms," I muttered.