Author's Note: This is my foray into exploring the worlds and concepts of two of my favorite speculative fiction stories. You don't have to be familiar with either to understand what's going on in this fic. Anything that isn't overtly intuitive will get explained as we go along.
Fandoms: Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and World Ends With You characters, with character references from the YA book "A Tale of Time City" by Diana Wynne Jones, which is also the universe in which later parts of this fic will be set. Additionally, a few temporal concepts (strings, mostly) come from book one of Daniel Price's "The Flight of the Silvers". Credit where credit is due, yo.
Rating: M. Warnings for violence, sexual situations, and emotional / traumatic flashbacks of both historical and fictional crises. Trigger warning for an alternate depiction of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in Manhattan in an upcoming chapter.
Credit: Lyrics and quotes that appear throughout this story are credited to their respective artists/authors and are my not-so-subtle way of recommending music and literature I personally love.
Disclaimer: I own neither the world nor concepts referenced above. Or the Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or World Ends With You Characters, come to think. Pretty much the only thing that's one hundred percent mine here is the obscene amount of caffeine I ingested while writing this. Isn't that depressing? Awesome.
"I'm in need of the answer, in search of the question, in love with being broken-hearted
Days race by faster, it's a made-up lesson and I'm lost before I've started
A little white lie, a big black sky, and emptiness open on the dashboard
You feel a lack of self and it's someone else telling you to try where you failed before..."
"Time Go" - Caught a Ghost
Part I: Premonitions
September 7, 2012
Brrrzt!
Alarm blaring, Roxas opened his bleary eyes to pitch darkness, twisted onto his side and flailed an arm to shut the offending timer off. His arm had fallen asleep overnight, and his fingers felt fat and clumsy as he blindly tried to feel his way to the correct button. The noise stopped abruptly as a finger found its intended mark.
With a heavy, labored breath, the teen flopped onto his back, stared at a spot on the ceiling where he knew a crack that snaked halfway across the room originated, even if he couldn't see it in the room's current inky darkness. He concentrated on sharpening senses dulled from the last remnants of sleep. Pulling his arms to his chest, he grimaced a little as a static tingle of circulation began to return to one side.
Eyeing the clock with unconcealed spite, Roxas sighed, blinked his eyes repeatedly to try to force his body into a more acceptable level of wakefulness.
4:32. Hayner owed him so hard right now.
He stretched, the arch in his back taking on a cat-like quality, felt the joints in his elbows and knees crack, soft pops muffled under the sheets of his bed. Throwing the covers back, Roxas slid out of bed, thankful for the plush shaggy rug that met his bare feet. Even though it was still warm outside, the tail-end of summer's heat stickily clinging to every corner of the city proper, the concrete floors in his little apartment perpetually maintained a bone-chilling frigidity year-round.
Especially if it was four in the fucking morning. The sun wouldn't even start peeking over the rooftops of his Manhattan neighborhood for at least another hour.
Padding to the efficiency kitchen at the other end of the room, Roxas ran a hand through his hair. After a night of tossing and turning, his head was a tousled mess of blond, spiky tresses sticking out at odd angles that he could only hope water and some strategically styled hair product would adequately tame. It wasn't that he didn't have time for a shower so much as he didn't see the point in cleaning up only to have to do the same thing after he got home later, exhausted and sweaty from rushing around on his feet all day at work.
He grabbed a pot hanging from a silver hook on one wall, filled it with water from his sink, then set it on a 1950s-style stovetop to boil, bleary eyes traveling across the small area that encompassed almost the entirety of his living space while he tried to decide on his morning meal.
Coffee was definitely out. Although he loved the oversized french press his friend Olette had gotten him for his birthday last month, Roxas didn't think he could stomach even the smell of the drink with a full day of barista work ahead of him.
He did need caffeine if he was going to survive halfway through the cafe's morning rush though. Opening a nearby drawer, Roxas rifled through a selection of teas, some in individual bags, others loose-leaf, before settling on gunpowder green.
Emerald green eyes.
He blinked, surprised by the image his mind had formed. Had he been having that dream last night again? If so, he hadn't realized it before now.
Sprinkling a handful of tea pellets into a spherical steeper, Roxas reached for an insulated mug. He dropped the steeper into the container, then moved it to the sink so he could pour boiling water into it without worrying about spills.
It was possible he'd been dreaming again, he conceded. The counselor he'd been seeing last year at his school's mental health services center had said it was a natural response to grief, that he had to be content to just let it run its course.
He still didn't understand why he saw himself as a young child in the midst of what seemed like nothing short of a cataclysm. His mother didn't even feature in the dream outside of his own childish desire to be saved by her. He always just saw red, and an indistinct face, a foreign voice.
Red hair. Green eyes. Sometimes silvery walls encircling them both.
His counselor had suggested that the odd-looking man might be a surrogate for his mother. Maybe that'd make sense to a Psychology major. It didn't to Roxas. He preferred the subjects studied in his dual majors of Political Science and History, personally. Which is also why he preferred not thinking about his dreams at all most of the time. History was tangible, concrete. It spread out in a linear direction from present to as far back as people had been recording it, memorializing everything from significant events to shopping lists on electronic disks, parchment, even clay tablets and cave walls.
The human mind though? Roxas was sure there was some measure of absolute knowledge about how it worked on a physiological level. It was his subconscious and the way it opted to manifest concerns he hadn't even realized he was worrying about that confused Roxas, turned him completely off, interest-wise. For Roxas, it inspired a healthy dose of skepticism whenever anyone claimed to be able to understand how that part of a person worked with any real accuracy.
Because he sure as hell didn't. He had more important things to deal with. Like keeping up with all of his new college classes this semester. Paying his bank account-crippling New York City rent. Getting to work on time too, come to think.
He turned off the stove, capped the mug, then plodded back to the bedroom area to get dressed. Despite the austere environment in which it was located, the cafe's dress code was relatively simple - pressed, dark pants and a crisp, white polo shirt. Roxas grabbed his last clean pair of both, making a mental note to get to the laundromat this weekend. This was how his semester was shaping itself up to look like, he thought a bit grouchily - Doing homework and washing dirty clothes while others his age were going out on the town. He was really spending the final year of his teens in style.
He supposed he could've asked one of his friends what they were up to this weekend, but if Roxas was being truly honest with himself, he was too tired to want to hang out lately anyway. He had a full schedule, usually worked thirty hours a week at the cafe alone. And, because he was certifiably crazy, he'd also applied for a research assistant position that had opened up in the History department during the first week of school. If he got that, he could tack another fifteen hours of work to his schedule, at minimum. All for a shot at getting into a good law school, maybe even making something of himself.
It was probably safe to say he was running on empty in terms of energy. And the school year had only just begun…
Throwing on his clothing, Roxas grabbed his wallet and keys, stuffing both in alternate pants pockets, before retrieving his mug and making his way out into the dark streets of New York, heading toward the nearest subway station. With luck, today would go quickly, and he would be grateful that he'd agreed swap shifts with Hayner so he could be done earlier. Or he could just end up wanting to strangle every complaining customer in sight hours before he usually did. One or the other.
Time, he guessed, would tell.
o - o
The World Trade Center's food court, located on the 107th floor of the South Tower, was styled in a subway theme, something Roxas found considerably ironic. As with most longtime Manhattanites, the subway system was no novelty for Roxas; he rode it every day to get to work and school. But the people who generally visited this floor of 2 WTC were tourists, the floor on which Roxas worked having been set up as one of the few spaces open for public viewing. So, a subway theme it was then, apparently iconic of the Big Apple, plus an observation deck that overlooked the span of the city along with a few kiosks where tourists and workers could buy food, including the bakery-themed cafe where Roxas himself worked.
And lots of running, screaming kids. Every-freaking-where. Clinging to their parents. Shrieking for food. Pulling their siblings' hair. All the damn time, without foreseeable end. It was really too bad security didn't screen out the seriously noisy ones, for the sake of everyone else's sanity.
It was enough to make Roxas beyond jealous of the regulars, those who actually worked in the South Tower and patronized his kiosk in the mornings before work and in the evenings prior to leaving. These people had real jobs, work that didn't involve all too often having to play mediator with children too small to be effectively reasoned with while their parents faked obliviousness or — worse still — thought their kids' antics were cute.
By the time Hayner showed up to start his shift several hours after Roxas himself had arrived, Roxas was starting to understand on an intimate level why some animals chose to eat their young rather than raise them through to adulthood.
Noticing Roxas' dark expression, Hayner didn't bother with pleasantries as he ducked under the kiosk's divider and joined Roxas behind the counter. Surveying the floor with a quick scan of his eyes, the teen snatched up a clean work apron and proceeded to tie it securely behind his back.
"I'm guessing just saying thanks for swapping shifts with me isn't enough to make up for this shitstorm," he said, voice rising to speak over a boisterous yowling nearby that sounded to Roxas more like an otherworldly banshee than an actual toddler. How something that small could make noises so …just, not… surpassed Roxas' current patience levels and ability to comprehend.
"You guess right," he said testily as he moved to refill a cup of coffee for a waiting patron. Passing the steaming cup back across the counter, Roxas turned and took a deep breath.
Be calm. Find your zen place …and other inefficacious bullshit like that.
"I'm going to have a migraine for a week after today," he groaned. "I thought it'd get less crowded once school was back in session."
Hayner took the next customer's order, retrieving a muffin with a pair of silver tongs, then depositing it in a small oven to heat up at their request.
"The weather's still nice, so maybe that's why," he said. "And, I dunno, maybe the school year's different in other countries or something."
Roxas nodded distractedly, noting the myriad of languages being spoke throughout the floor with minimal interest. Hayner was probably right.
The oven timer went off, a shrill sound that was nothing short of soothingly melodic compared to the other sounds Roxas' poor ears were having to endure at the moment.
"Speaking of nice weather," Hayner said as he pulled out the muffin and handed it off to the waiting patron on the other side of the counter, "it is way too nice to not have plans this weekend, and I haven't seen you outside of work in, like, forever. Are you doing anything?"
Roxas shook his head. Beyond homework and laundry, he hadn't really thought much past simply trying to survive this current shift. The things he did for a minimum wage paycheck…
"We should all figure something out then. Who knows how many more nice days we'll have before the weather gets shitty."
Roxas shrugged a little. "I'm up for anything," he said. "What did you have in mind?"
Hayner scratched the back of his neck, looking momentarily contemplative. "I was kinda hoping you had a good idea."
Roxas moved to the register as another customer approached. "I can hardly hear my own thoughts right now," he called out over his shoulder before turning to take the newcomer's order. Once he'd rung them up, he returned to Hayner's side to complete the order. "I'll think about it when I get home later, how about?"
He really didn't have any intention of giving it much thought, in honesty, but Hayner didn't need to know that. With luck, his friend would find other plans and he'd be off the hook with having to be social for the foreseeable future.
"Yeah, cool. Just text me if anything comes to you. It'd be fun to meet up."
Roxas nodded, hoping the action didn't come off as too unenthused. "Ditto."
For the next two hours, both boys fielded various orders, and somehow survived noise levels on par with a death metal concert. During a relative lull in business — and, mercifully, also in noise levels — Hayner turned to Roxas.
"Cover me for a sec? I need a bathroom break."
"Okay." Roxas nodded his assent, watching his friend duck out of the kiosk and over to the nearest restroom as he moved to wash his own hands in a sink along the kiosk's back wall.
Out of the corner of his eye, Roxas saw two more customers approach. "Be right with you," he called, reaching for a towel to dry his hands with.
"No rush," an accented voice replied back. Its resonant tone sent a prickle of nebulous sensation up Roxas' spine, making him pause and glance at the newcomers out of the corner of his eye.
They were a pair of men, both tall but starkly different in appearance from one another. One had shaggy, sandy blond hair, buzzed short in what to Roxas seemed like random places on his head. His overall expression had a good-natured quality to it, from the looks of the unconscious hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Leaning forward, the guy was surveying the offerings within the kiosk's glass case of baked sweets.
The other man gave Roxas more of a pause.
He was taller than his companion. Tall and thin, although Roxas noted the supple line of an outer arm muscle before it disappeared beneath the sleeve of the man's shirt with concealed appreciation. The man's hair was dark brown, tied back in a ponytail at the base of his head. Matching brown eyes moved upward, as this second patron read the kiosk menu above Roxas' head, then traveled slowly downward until they fixed themselves on Roxas himself.
Then he turned, looking out at his surroundings for a moment before returning his attention to Roxas. "Nice view you've got up here," he said.
Roxas nodded in agreement. Yeah, it definitely wasn't bad, especially with the guy standing in his direct line of sight…
The two looked at one another for a prolonged moment before the man offered him a polite smile and turned to speak to his friend.
"Do you know what you want?"
That accent. Roxas quirked his head, trying to place it. There was such a familiar quality to it that he had to stop himself from asking the pair if they were Swedish. While it felt like he'd heard a similar speech pattern somewhere, someplace, from someone before, it wasn't quite like the way he remembered his grandfather's voice sounding when he'd spoken to others in English during Roxas' childhood.
His certainty only grew when the blond replied.
"The blueberry filled scone, probably."
Yeah, definitely not Swedish, Roxas silently confirmed. And, now that he'd had the chance to get a better look at the pair, he realized they couldn't be more than a few years older than he and Hayner. It'd been their tall statures that had initially made him assume they were older. Their faces hinted at early adulthood though, no longer filled with the roundness of adolescence but neither sported the haggard expressions he was so familiar with seeing on adult customer faces throughout the day either. And, although both sounded vaguely British, it didn't quite fit since neither sounded totally fluent in the English words they were speaking. In a way, it was kind of weird they were even speaking English to one another, Roxas thought. Most foreign customers generally just ignored him, speaking among themselves in their native language right up until they actually placed their order with him.
The second man met his eyes again, this time expectantly. Roxas knew that look well. He stepped forward toward the register to take their order just as Hayner reappeared.
"A blueberry scone for him," the man repeated, inclining his head toward the sandy blond.
Roxas nodded, both at the man and toward Hayner to indicate he had this one as he made his way back into the confines of the kiosk. Skirting around his friend, Roxas moved toward the shelf housing the scones. "And for you?" he asked, simultaneously speaking and retrieving the requested pastry as he looked up toward the register.
Brown eyes almost seemed to sparkle in response. "Your name would be a good start."
It'd been so unanticipated, such a surprise, that Roxas faltered between the dueling actions of maintaining eye contact with the man and handing the scone over to his companion. He failed miserably at both, first fumbling the scone, which tumbled out of his hands and made an audible, squelching thud upon impact with the floor, then dropping his gaze at he stared at the mess he'd just made in wordless embarrassment.
Behind him, Hayner snorted. "His name's Roxas," he offered, "and he's usually not this big of a klutz."
Oh god. Shoot him dead now. Or, better yet, shoot Hayner for finding this amusing.
"Sorry," Roxas said, voice cracking slightly just to add insult to mortifying injury. "I'll get you another one."
Sidestepping the sugary mess he'd just made, Roxas practically dove head-first back into the sweets case, making a stabbing motion with the tongs as he secured another scone for the blond guy.
"Roxas," the second man said, expression contemplative, a smile playing subtly across his lips. "That's an unusual name. It's Latin, right?"
"I ...don't actually know." Roxas offered the man a sheepish look as he carefully transferred the scone into the blond's waiting hands across the counter.
The man's grin widened as though he found the admission somehow humorous. Off to one side, Roxas noted Hayner's gaze moving judiciously between the two of them, like he was working through something in his head. That was generally never a good thing, in Roxas' experience.
"Just a small coffee for me," the man said, forcing Roxas' attention back to the matter at hand. "And," he continued, resting his forearms on the countertop as he leaned toward Roxas, "I was hoping you might have some suggestions for things to do during our visit. We've only just arrived." Nearby, his friend was already taking the first bites of his scone, back half-turned away from the kiosk as he took in the view out the area's floor-to-ceiling windows.
"I've got the coffee!" Hayner jumped into action, snatching up a cup before Roxas could even think to slink away to complete the order himself.
Freaking Hayner. Seriously. What had gotten into him today?
"Uh..." Roxas stammered. "I mean, there's the Empire State Building and, um, the...Statue of Liberty?"
God, why was he at a loss for words now when he'd had zero problems answering questions of a similar nature all day? It had to be sleep deprivation, or something related.
It couldn't be because the guy who was asking happened to be incredibly, undeniably fucking gorgeous...agh.
The man's blond companion turned back toward the kiosk, apparently keen to join the conversation. "We were kind of hoping for a more authentic New York experience, if you know what I mean?"
Hayner practically skipped back up to the register, coffee cup contents sloshing perilously close to the rim. "We both have the weekend off," he said, looking meaningfully at the taller of the pair. By his side, Roxas felt his entire body heat up as he realized what his friend was planning to do. He attempted to elbow the boy into silence but Hayner adeptly sidestepped, sliding the coffee toward the man before continuing on, determinedly ignoring the warning look in his friend's eyes.
"And Roxas is about as close to a native as there is. I mean, I think he was born in Jersey but there's no reason to hold that against him."
Both men seemed to be watching the exchange keenly, while Roxas bit the inside of his cheek to avoid acting on the homicidal thoughts now directed at his friend.
"We don't want to impose," the darker haired man said, a ghost of a smile still present on his features. As he spoke, he slid one hand into his pocket, pulling out a bill and laying it next to the register in front of Roxas. Grateful to have something - anything - to do apart from look like a stammering idiot in front of a hot pair of guys while he was supposed to be working, Roxas hurried to ring up the order, unable to help himself from stealing another glance at the taller patron in the process.
Real smooth.
He handed over the receipt at the same moment the man resumed speaking. "But if you both do happen to be free," he said, looking from one barista to another before taking his receipt, turning it over, and reaching for a pen on the kiosk's countertop, "consider giving us a call." He jotted down a string of numbers in elegant, curving script before straightening, and watching as Roxas retrieved the slip of paper, eyes scanning the provided number.
And, he realized, also a name.
"Axel," Hayner read over Roxas' shoulder.
"And Demyx here," the blond raised his hand and offered a small wave, which Roxas hesitantly returned.
As Axel stepped away from the register, another customer took his place, calling out a rapid-fire order that had Roxas hurrying to fill. By the time he looked up again, the pair was gone, and it was just him and Hayner, and another hour to burn before his final shift for the week came to an end.
His weekend though? Contrary to what Roxas had first assumed, it seemed like that, at least, was going to begin with something different. Someone new...
...whether he wanted it to or not.