Chapter 004

September 9, 2012

Compared to weekdays, Penn Station was veritably empty when Roxas got to it early the next morning and, from the looks of things, primarily encompassed families with young children visiting the city on what promised to be one of the last weekends of nice weather this season.

Or maybe they had ended up being guilt-tripped into heading out to neighboring states to visit relatives for the day. One or the other, Roxas thought grouchily.

He purchased his ticket to Penn in Newark and headed to wait at his train platform with considerable distraction. He'd woken up this morning feeling dizzy, headachy. From the plugged ears alone, Roxas assumed he was suffering from more than a simple souvenir hangover from the night before.

Just what he needed - a head cold, laundry in dire need of washing, homework still incomplete. And all the while, his mind still pretty much exclusively wanted to replay the conversations and actions of one alluring tourist he'd only just met for the first time two short days ago.

Man, did he ever need to get his freaking priorities in order.

Nearby, an infant began crying in its mother's arms, an earnest, keening wail ringing straight through his ears. It was usually something that'd set him on edge in short order. Today, in the fishbowl haze of his steadily forming congestion, Roxas hardly noticed. Eyes down at his checker patterned sneakers, Roxas kicked at a scuff in the yellow rubber flooring making up the divider passengers were supposed to remain behind until a conductor had cleared them to board.

He was having difficulties making sense of his thoughts, despite expending considerable effort on trying to sort through his feelings about the events of the night prior. In his current state, rational thought seemed an achievement bordering on virtually impossible.

Okay, so he thought Axel was hot, full stop. At least he'd figured out that much. And dancing had been surprisingly fun, despite Roxas' general aversion to social outings just like the one he'd been somewhat unwillingly commandeered into last night. Thanks, Hayner. Demyx's bubbly enthusiasm had also contributed to the light atmosphere, making it a lot less awkward to be out clubbing with a pair of strangers than it probably otherwise would've been. Even Pence had seemed to start enjoying himself with the help of Olette's patient guidance and encouragement.

Amid the lights and noise of music and the writhing movements of other dancing bodies, there hadn't been much time to chat. Not with Axel or anyone. And with the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his system, Roxas couldn't be sure he'd have said anything substantive anyway. Instead, he'd just let Axel set the tempo, copying his movements with what he hoped was an acceptable level of precision. Roxas had never really felt like he had much sense of natural rhythm, which, given his mother's former profession, was kind of ironic as fuck. Gym had been one of his least favorite classes in high school, and he'd been more than a little relieved to discover his college didn't impose any physical education requirements on students. Hayner had always been the most athletic one in their group.

And Demyx had been dancing with that pink-haired guy, Roxas remembered, as he readjusted the backpack strap on one shoulder, then glanced up at the overhead ticker closest to where he stood. It was cycling through a few lines of pre-set text, offering safety information and informing those on the platform that they had five minutes before the train arrived and travelers could board.

His thoughts returned to the night prior, still lingering on Demyx and the person he'd been dancing with. Despite the crush of people and overwhelming noise, Demyx hadn't seemed to have any difficulties chatting with the guy he'd chosen to dance with. Or flirting with him either, come to think. As their group snaked their way off the dance floor, heading out of the club and onto their next destination, Roxas had been more than a little surprised to see that Demyx had chosen to tag along, rather than disappear with his dancing partner with whom he'd seemed so transfixed.

They'd headed out for food, Pence this time more clearly in his element and happy to lead the way over to a nearby Kashmiri restaurant that was still open despite the late hour. That's when things had gotten more interesting, at least in Roxas' mind.

The familiar sound of a train approaching drew Roxas' attention across the platform, eyes squinting at the approaching transit headlights. A moment later, it was rushing past him, brakes squealing as it slowed to a stop in front of him. Roxas watched the flow of departing passengers, waiting at the side of one of the train's sliding doors. He slipped in a moment later, traveling down an aisle until he located an empty seat near a window. Depositing his backpack between his legs, Roxas unzipped its main compartment and fished out a college textbook, determined to do at least a little bit of reading over the next half an hour.

He flipped to the second chapter in his early twentieth century political science text, began skimming the opening paragraph. He made it to the third page before realizing he wasn't retaining anything he'd just read.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned back a few pages, intent on starting over. It was just so hard to concentrate when his head felt like this, when his mind kept stubbornly wanting to return to something else.

Someone else, if he was being truly honest with himself.

Roxas pursed his lips, eyes traveling back over the second chapter's first sentence. Yeah, he thought, annoyed. Someone who might've been super cute, but who didn't even live in the same country as him, let alone closer by in New York City. He sure knew how to pick them, he thought with a hint of irony. Or Hayner did, actually, come to think.

Axel had certainly surprised him with his knowledge of American politics though. As the train announcer's voice crackled to life through the intercom, the vehicle lurching forward a pregnant moment later, Roxas found his mind hopelessly wandering again, back to the restaurant, the food, and the more interesting parts of the conversation he and Axel had shared.

"So," Axel had said after a quick sip of his bottled beer, "history and politics, eh? Are you planning to run for office when you graduate or something?"

With a mouth full of spiced mutton and fragrant saffron rice, Roxas had almost choked mid-scoff. You kind of needed a shit-ton of money to go into politics, he figured. Plus there were all those disingenuous promises, and he'd never been very adept at lying. "I was thinking about going the law school route, actually," he said. When Axel didn't immediately respond, Roxas found himself supplementing. "You know, becoming a civil rights lawyer or something similar."

Oblivious to the chatter from the rest of their group at the next table over, Axel reclined, the cheap plastic material of the booth chair making a crinkling sound against his back. "Oh, I know what you mean, yes," he said, sidling a few subtle inches closer to Roxas' right side. "Law just seems a little dull in terms of professions for someone as interesting as you."

...because security and compliance sounded so much better in comparison?

Or had he said finance? With the alcohol still exerting its dizzying, liquid hold on him, Roxas was having a hard time remembering the finer points of their earlier exchange.

Roxas might also have bristled at the comment, taking it as an insult, if not for Axel's current proximity. In this current, inebriated state, he was more inclined reach out and touch the angular jawline of the face that was now so close to him. The realization that they were in public and that his friends were a mere half table away kept the potentially embarrassing urge in check. Thanks to the alcohol, the impulse still lingered, needling away at the edge of his thoughts.

Instead of acting on urges he might regret just as soon as he was more fully sobered up, Roxas took a swig of the glass of ice water in front of him before responding, trying desperately to clear his muddled thoughts. "Because candidates for public office are so much more fascinating…?"

A smile crept onto one corner of Axel's mouth. "The political science student doesn't agree? Now that's something I do find interesting."

As Demyx let out a raucous laugh nearby at something Pence had apparently just said, Roxas felt a flush begin to creep into the corners of his cheeks. "I mean, I obviously think politics is interesting," he said, struggling to find the words to clarify while his mind still felt so sluggishly slow. It was a little annoying to think his current awkwardness now was all thanks to a few inadvertently consumed drinks of vodka. "Like, the next presidential race," Roxas forged onward, determined to prove his ability to hold a coherent line of conversation for more than a few short minutes. "That kind of stuff is definitely more up my alley."

Axel raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his beer, demeanor nonchalent. "But only if it's not such a lock as your upcoming November election, I'd imagine."

Now it was Roxas' turn to look skeptical. "A lock? How is it in any way a lock? The polls are pretty neck and neck, last time I checked."

He watched as his companion's eyes rolled, expression turning momentarily smug. "Trust me on this one," Axel said, tone light and good-natured. "Some parts of history are just set, regardless of the goings-on around them."

"All of history is set," Roxas interjected, flashing Axel a playful grin, "since it already happened. The future though? That's totally wide open." He was feeling pretty satisfied with what he assumed was a clever, somewhat snarky little response.

Take that, dumbass alcohol. So much for getting the complete and utter better of him. Ha.

Axel said nothing at first, simply leaned forward to grab a bite of their shared dish. As he forked a piece of food into his mouth, Roxas noticed a hand come to a rest on his knee beneath the table, felt his leg being squeezed lightly between long, slender fingers. As Axel finished his bite, he straightened back up, offering Roxas a toothy smile in return. "Well," he said, looking practically lordly in his expression, "I guess it won't be that long before we all find out for sure."

"Tickets out, please."

Roxas looked up from his once again forgotten college textbook. One of the train operators had appeared at the end of his car, checking passengers' proof of payment. As he got closer, Roxas fished the roundtrip ticket he'd purchased out of his pocket, holding it up as the operator paused in front of him. The man made a punch through the bottom of the card, then handed it back over to him. "Your stop's next up," he said before moving further down the aisle.

Roxas didn't reply, simply folded his ticket back into a jacket pocket. For a moment, he looked back down at his assigned readings, found himself slightly sniffling as a result of his newly formed head cold. It was just too hard to focus right now, and Roxas was intent on connecting the blame of his present distraction directly to the way he currently felt. It couldn't be the fact that he'd received the verbal promise of another meet-up with Axel next Tuesday, just a few days from now. It totally also wasn't that, this time, it'd be just the two of them alone. Sure, that was way more fun to think about than his homework, but it was this gross, congested feeling that was driving his decision to delay studying further. Definitely not hormones gone entirely freaking haywire. Sure.

Finally coming to the inevitable conclusion that he wasn't going to get anything further productive done, Roxas sighed, stored away his textbook, and prepared to endure the shitty New Jersey bus lines that would promise to get him closer to his ultimate destination this morning.

o - o

His grandfather's apartment was located in a modest, middle class neighborhood of Newark. Since Roxas' grandmother had passed away a handful of years earlier, his grandfather lived alone, busying himself in his retirement with hobbies that encompassed everything from daily morning walks to hours of constructing incredibly detailed, tiny model ships at a desk near his apartment's only east-facing window.

At one time, Roxas and his mother had come to visit every other weekend. They'd all chat for a good while, then help cook various meals together. Over the past year, Roxas had still tried to visit on a semi-regular basis. Between work and school, it had gotten increasingly difficult to make the trek out to Jersey from the interior of his own urban island, however.

"Roxas," his farfar greeted him, arms outstretched, engulfing his only grandchild in an affectionate hug, "det är jättekul att se dig igen."

Roxas returned the gesture, offering a smile, determined to keep the finer points about the current stresses in his life concealed behind a more carefree expression. "Likaledes, farfar. I'm sorry it's been so long since my last visit."

The man was quick to brush off his grandson's apology, unfazed. Ushering him into the living room, Roxas dutifully followed closely behind, eyes passing over the familiar shapes of furniture and other items that encompassed the totality of his grandfather's living space. "Come, sit down," his grandfather said, beckoning to a nearby chair as the older man shuffled over to a window, opening the shades to let more light in. Doing as he was instructed, Roxas slid his backpack off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor beside his feet at the same time that he moved to sit in the referenced antique armchair.

Still looking around, Roxas felt his chest tighten, shoulders tensing in an unconscious bodily response as he tried not to let his thoughts wander too far astray. There were so many childhood memories from this place, none of them necessarily bad. It was the simple reminder of the people he'd formed them with, those no longer here, that threatened to turn his mood on its face and remind him of all of the reasons he had to still feel unsettled. Totally alone.

Still shuffling around the small space, his grandfather paused momentarily to regard him. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice," Roxas replied, still mindful of his newly acquired sinus misery, as well as the hint of a raw, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat. It was very possible that tea could help soothe these physical aches, by virtue of its calming, comforting warmth alone.

His grandfather began to head toward the kitchen, a small galley space with a window cut-out into the living room on one half of the wall. "Okej då, I'll boil some water."

"How are your studies?" the man called out as he turned to retrieve a teapot.

"Alright so far, I think," Roxas said, fingers pressing reflexively over the pocket of his jeans where his father's wallet remained nestled. "Fall semester's only just started."

"Good good." There was a pause in their conversation as his grandfather turned on the sink faucet and began to fill the teapot with water. He could hear his grandpa ambling around the kitchen, movements slowed by the man's advancing age. Suddenly, a thought came to Roxas, unbidden. Idly, he wondered how long he had before he'd be saying a permanent farewell to his farfar Sorenson too.

Way to be a serious fucking killjoy, Roxas thought. And completely macabre too, just to top it all off.

But still, the thought lingered, that when the time inevitably did come, then he'd really be alone. Except, he conceded, maybe for his dad. Although they were technically on speaking terms, calls between father and son were infrequent, and, when they eventually ended up taking place at all, trended toward awkward, also usually short. In the beginning, right after his parents' divorce and the man's move out West, Roxas had visited his dad at least a few times a year, usually on holiday breaks during high school. His father was generally pre-occupied with running his successful business though and, as the years went by, Roxas had found himself left in the historic Edwardian row-house his father had subsequently occupied, more often than not, entirely on his own. It'd seemed such an increasingly obvious decision after each successive visit, as he observed his father continually ignoring his presence, rushing from one business-related meeting, some important client lunch or whatever, to another. So, when given the choice of visiting his father at any point during high school senior year, Roxas had found himself choosing, quite simply, to opt the hell out in favor of spending more time with the parent who actually seemed to give a damn or more about his life. Even the court fee to change his surname to Sorenson, effectively erasing any trace of ever having even been connected to his father... well, it'd been worth every penny, every extra hour he'd had to work to afford it a few months back, as far as he was concerned.

The teapot's high-pitched whistle brought him back, pulled him away from his troubled thoughts. Roxas looked up as his grandfather re-entered the living room, two ceramic teacups balanced on a small food tray between both hands. He continued questioning his grandson where he'd left off, unaware of the nature of Roxas' underlying thoughts. "You're still living in that closet-apartment in Svea's old building?"

Reaching for the offered cup of tea, Roxas settled the drink on his lap between both hands. "Yeah, the studio" he confirmed, bringing the cup to his lips and blowing on the steaming liquid in an attempt to cool it to an appropriate drinking temperature. "I'm still there."

His grandfather made a disapproving, tutting sound at the back of his throat. "It's such a shame you moved out of the two bedroom, to lose something that nice, and under rent control."

Taking a first, careful sip of his drink, Roxas initially responded with the mere hint of a shrug before looking up. "I couldn't afford to keep it, farfar," he said, patiently reciting what he'd told the man on several prior occasions. "Not even if my name had been on the lease."

Under the circumstances, his landlord had been surprisingly understanding. A two bedroom apartment in his neighborhood would have cost an absolute fortune at the current market rate. And, with only his mother's name on the lease, Roxas had had no right to remain in the apartment once his landlord knew he had been effectively all but left alone. But the woman had taken a somewhat diplomatic approach to the whole situation, had offered him an available studio in the same building, no credit check required, at a slightly discounted rate to make it feasibly realistic for him to afford. He'd just needed to pick up the coffee shop job, work as many hours there as he could convince them to put him down for, and budget carefully pretty much everywhere else. His landlord had received a prime multi-room apartment, previously rent controlled for years, that she had been able to re-list on the rental market for nearly three times its original price.

And Roxas? Roxas had been given an opportunity to stay in his neighborhood, to keep living in the building he'd grown up in as an offered exchange. It might not have been totally fair, he conceded, but given the drastic, unexpected change in his circumstances last September, he guessed it had worked out well enough in the end.

Across from him, Roxas' grandfather placed his tea mug on a side table, then sat back, crossing his legs one over the other on an oversized couch. For a moment, he silently regarded his grandson, a thoughtful look flickering across his expression. When he did speak, it was at a volume that left Roxas initially straining to catch each word. "The life insurance policy could have helped you live more comfortably, älskling. It can still help you now."

Before he could suppress the reaction, Roxas flinched, shoulders tensing, fingers clenching at the cup in his hands, as he quickly dropped eye contact with his grandfather.

Älskling. Darling. That's what his mother used to call him. And, as much as he didn't want to admit to it, hearing the word, even as different as it sounded in someone else's tone, still had the ability to claw at his vulnerable psyche with surprising ruthlessness.

Roxas' gaze traveled from one corner of the room to another, eyes not really looking anywhere in particular, brows unconsciously furrowed.

He heard his grandfather shift his weight in place, then let out a heavy sigh.

"It's been almost a year, son," the man said, his voice still low, tone steady and level. "You deserve to move forward and get on with your life."

"No." The word was out before Roxas had realized he'd intended to say it, throat constricting as if even just the act of discussing this subject was an egregious, unforgivable betrayal.

He looked up, into his grandfather's sympathetic gaze. "How can you even say that?" Roxas asked, trying his hardest to keep his voice and expression neutral. Even cognizant of the topic's sensitive nature, it didn't seem like the greatest of ideas to snap back at the only one of his relatives who seemed to still care about his continued well-being.

"I miss her too." The last word lingered, sentence feeling incomplete to Roxas as his grandfather reached for his mug and took another sip of tea before returning to complete his thought. "But traveling to the city is a challenge for me, and you have school to focus on, such a bright future ahead of you."

He didn't want to hear any of this, not even one fucking hint of what his grandfather was implying.

Empty mug in hand, and with considerable effort, the old man rose.

Roxas soon followed, moving quickly to lend some help. "Let me do that, grandpa," he said, reaching for the cup, silently grateful to have something to focus on other than trying to form a response to what his grandfather had just said.

He was waved off. "Pah, no," the man scoffed lightly. "Sit back down. I'm not so far gone yet that I can't refill it myself." Still standing, Roxas nodded, backing off. His farfar had always refused to use a cane, could be considered stubborn in so many regards. Roxas supposed it had served his family well over the years. His grandfather's determination to see his only daughter succeed in dance, the artistic pursuit she'd had so much natural talent at, had served as the catalyst compelling a trans-Atlantic upheaval and the decision to immigrate the Sorenson family to the US in the first place.

Ultimately, the decision had paid off. Svea Sorenson had completed her training, then worked for years as a principle dancer with a respected Manhattan ballet company. His mother had made a name for herself in a way Roxas could only hope to achieve through academic means. For a moment, Roxas remembered how he'd needed considerable alcohol in his system before being comfortable even considering the dance floor with Axel the night prior. For whatever reason, his mom's effortless rhythm, her inborn athleticism, seemed to have completely, utterly skipped a generation. Somehow, Roxas figured, he probably had his dad to thank for that oversight too.

His grandfather returned to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea. "I'd like you to at least ask Dr. Havartin to walk you through your options tomorrow," he spoke up. "The entire process. So you'll know what to expect."

Legs feeling suddenly weak, stomach roiling uncomfortably, Roxas dropped back into the chair he'd just risen from. This was probably the reason his grandfather had wanted him here in person today all along, he suddenly realized. Why hadn't he just bowed out and saved himself from the awkwardness of getting so pointedly put on the spot, even if being avoidant ended up only working in his favor as a temporary solution?

"I don't think I'll be able to go tomorrow, actually," Roxas said, voice now noticeably less certain. He drew his teacup back up toward his mouth but hesitated, no longer confident it would be the wisest choice to add more liquid to the contents already sloshing around in his stomach. "I have school and a full shift at work as well."

Returning to the living room, his grandfather angled his way toward him. Roxas found himself looking away again, unable to meet his farfar's intense, shrewdly observant gaze. A moment later, he felt the comforting weight of his grandfather's hand come to a rest on one shoulder.

"Min pojke, you have every day of the rest of your life to learn and work," the man said, his voice unwavering, leaving no room for argument. Unequivocally firm. "Now, be a good boy tomorrow and remember to send my love to your dear mother."