Chapter 009

He'd resolved to stay awake, to keep his wits about him. Just in case Axel returned, Roxas wanted to be prepared.

Prepared for what, he really couldn't say with any level of certainty. He was just …scared. And, without a doubt in his mind, the exclusive reason for that unmitigated fear was Axel.

His body had been fatigued though, his mind craving the bliss of unconsciousness. Even if Roxas couldn't summon the finer details of the day back into his immediate thoughts, he was nevertheless exhausted from the emotional and physical traumas he'd experienced. Despite his best efforts to remain vigilant, to stay alert, Roxas eventually ended up falling asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, his body warm, face still cold from whatever sleight of hand Zexion had performed. If he'd had any control over the matter, Roxas might have slept forever, or at least until he could be assured of waking up back in the comfort of his own bed, alarm blaring, alerting him that the start of another normal day had arrived.

He wouldn't even have minded being disturbed back into consciousness by the otherwise annoying vibration of a call from one of his friends. Hayner, Pence, or Olette — any one of them would have been fine, a welcome reprieve from the confusing situation Axel had somehow gotten him tangled up in.

His friends hadn't come to his rescue. What Roxas got instead was a wet spongy tongue, first to his hand, then, mercilessly, straight to the side of his face.

He jerked awake, muscles protesting at the sudden movement after hours of complete stasis, eyes a rapid flutter of blinking as he tried to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings.

A soft whine sounded. It was the only warning Roxas was offered before a large dog launched itself onto his bed.

With a yelp of surprise, Roxas covered his face with his arms, knees drawing up in front of his chest as he tried to protect his most vulnerable body parts from an anticipated mauling.

The dog pawed at him, dull claws scratching against his forearms before settling onto the bed next to Roxas and resuming its enthusiastic regimen of slobbering all over him. Its long tail stung as it whipped side to side, hitting various parts of Roxas with a nearly bruising impact.

"Agh, stop," Roxas said. He was feeling better but wasn't strong enough in his current state to push the over-sized animal completely away. Instead, he eyed it out of a gap in the barrier his arms had formed in front of his face. What the hell kind of dog was this, a Great-fucking-Dane? He'd never seen one with a coat this shade of orange-yellow if that was the case. While large, it also seemed a lot more agile than any Dane he'd ever encountered.

"Pluto!" A familiar voice called out. "Down, boy. Get down! Time alive, pup, get off the poor kid's bed."

Looking up, Roxas saw Demyx framed by the door at the far side of the room.

So much for waking up and determining an escape route before anyone returned to check on him.

The dog hesitated only a moment, seemingly torn between following Demyx's command and remaining to continue drooling down Roxas' leg. With a reluctant whine, it hopped off the bed and plodded over to the blond newcomer, gait off-kilter, tail wagging something furious.

"Shev, you rascal," Demyx said, hands coming to a rest on his hips over his black coat. The dog settled onto its haunches, head upturned toward Demyx, tail still whipping back and forth with such rapidity it was a blur of orange against the grey stone floor. Apparently satisfied, Demyx grinned and reached into a pocket. "Nifla! See, it's nice when you actually listen." He tossed what appeared to be a dog treat into the open jowls in front of him.

Recognizing the word as the same one Demyx had used during their first phone conversation a few days ago, this time Roxas found himself understanding the expression as one of delight. It was like his mind, while noting that the term was foreign, had translated it automatically without any prior knowledge required on his part.

Baffled, Roxas shook his head. He realized an instant later that no pain accompanied the movement, not in his ear or head, not in his face where the sinus pressure should have been. His body was still sore, no doubt bruised in a few places. But he felt no pain above his neck. It wasn't that it was numb so much as it just simply didn't exist anymore at all.

His motions seemed to serve as a reminder of his presence, drawing Demyx's eyes away from the dog and over toward Roxas' bed. "Sorry about that," Demyx said, hand reaching back to twist a long strand of hair between two fingers. "He's just excited. We don't get guests all that often."

"Guests…" Roxas echoed the word, voice carefully neutral. Was that some sort of euphemism for a hostage?

Demyx bent down, fed the dog another treat and scratched behind its ears with clear affection before tilting his head up to regard Roxas again. "Well, yeah. We don't have much interaction with visiting students, our tourists are pretty boring, and the diplomats are more part of Chronologue's scope. I guess the Observers get to interact with people out in history, but I'm not an Observer, so…" Finally seeing the incredulous look Roxas was shooting him, Demyx trailed off, brows furrowing. "What?"

Roxas raised a hand up to his face, gingerly brushing it against his left ear. Still nothing. No pain or ringing. Perfect hearing. It had just occurred to him that he'd been listening to Demyx's rambling explanation without any difficulty. He wasn't a doctor, but recovering from whatever had happened to his ear seemed like it should've taken longer than a few short hours.

…shouldn't it have?

Instead of responding to Demyx directly, or even asking him what half of the words he'd just rattled off meant, Roxas changed the subject to something he considered a higher priority. "Where's Axel?"

Because I'd like to fucking throttle him right about now.

Demyx's happy expression faltered, replaced with a look that was much more cautious. Uncertain. He stood up straighter, picking at a loose dog hair on the arm of his jacket. "I dunno. Probably getting debriefed or something." he said, voice lowering close to a mumble. If not for Roxas' restored ability to hear, he might not have caught every word with such clarity.

Debriefed…just what exactly was that supposed to mean? Weirdest abduction ever.

Or maybe just a very organized one, pulled off by people who knew what they were doing. Roxas wasn't horribly surprised that the possibility didn't make him feel any better.

The thought lingered, a mocking reminder that he didn't know shit all about his current predicament — at least not beyond what he could get someone like Demyx to potentially divulge.

He looked over at Demyx, still not sure how someone acting so outwardly friendly could be a part of this whole mess. At the very least, this guy didn't seem particularly dangerous. After a moment's pause, Roxas steeled himself and decided to take his chances with another question.

"Is Axel really an assassin?"

"Er…" Demyx hesitated, still looking uncomfortable. "I'm actually not supposed to be talking to you about this stuff. I just remembered." A sheepish look passed over his features. "Don't have the clearance. I was just instructed to see if you wanted some food."

Clearance? Like some sort of security measure? What had Axel said he did again before he'd gone off the deep end and started claiming to be a contract killer? Roxas could only remember it was something about compliance. Was that related to what Demyx had just mentioned?

The second part of Demyx's response registered with him an instant later.

Food. When was the last time he'd eaten? What time even was it now? Roxas wasn't sure he felt like eating, although the telltale signs of an empty stomach were present now that he stopped to take notice of them.

When he didn't initially jump in with a response, Demyx stole a glance his way again.

"Well…do you?" There was a hopefulness to his tone that seemed out of place, especially in someone who seemed up to his neck in the act of kidnapping him.

Seeing no other way to keep up his strength or any legitimate reason why he should refuse, Roxas finally nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice quiet, resigned. "I could eat."

Demyx's smile was back in an instant. "Cool," he practically chirped. "I'll go grab something from the automat."

He turned to leave, the dog trailing closely at his heels, before grinding to a halt so sudden it nearly had his four-legged companion knocking him straight off his feet. He recovered quickly, checking his balance and then turning back toward Roxas on the ball of one foot. "I think the one in this building only does Twenty Century stuff. That okay?"

"Um…?" Roxas stared at Demyx, shot him a look that conveyed just how clueless he felt about what the guy was going on about.

Expression turning contemplative, Demyx began reciting a list as if he had it memorized. "Pizza, bubblegum, cola-something-or-another. I think that might be it, actually. It's also got coffee, but I think that's from Sixteen Century so it might taste a little different from what you're used to."

Coffee.

One simple word, and Roxas' stomach was roiling, the mere thought of the substance for some reason becoming quickly nauseating. If he hadn't been sitting down on the bed, he might have lost his balance in the first symptom of dizziness he'd experienced since waking.

"Just pizza," he managed to say. "And water. That'd be good."

Still offering up an eager smile, Demyx saluted. "Can do. Back soon!"

He turned again. This time, the door slid open, closing as soon as he and the dog had ventured beyond it.

Just like that, Roxas was alone in the room once again.

He was off the bed almost immediately, making his way toward the door through which Demyx had just disappeared. Three-quarters of the way there, Roxas stopped, realized he should probably exercise a bit of caution. For a moment, he held his breath, trying to discern if anyone was outside the door.

He heard nothing, just the stagnant weight of silence.

Exhaling, Roxas crept forward, anticipating making a run for it the moment the door slid open, or at least taking a peek outside his makeshift cell and trying to get his bearings. Just like the room where he'd first arrived, this space had no windows, just stone floors and walls. Apart from his bed, there was no other furniture aside from a small table and a few chairs, all of which were solid pieces of weathered looking timber like their cousin, the office desk.

He crept forward, one step, and then another, until he was just about the same distance as Demyx had been before the door had opened, allowing him to exit.

Nothing happened.

Perplexed, Roxas made up the few remaining feet between the door and his current location. He reached a hand out, noted with a sense of cerebral discomfort that the metal band was still encircling the wrist above his right hand. It wasn't doing anything anymore, not even gently pulsing. Just the fact that it was still there, that he didn't know of any means to remove it, was sufficient to set him on edge.

With a surge of determination, Roxas forced himself to ignore the thing, to reach out and place his hand on the frosted glass of the door in front of him.

Unlike the enclosure that had previously confined him, the door was cool to the touch. He ran his hands across the glass, then around the frame, feeling for some kind of clasp, maybe evidence of a lock. In the end, he was forced to concede that this new room was just as secure a cage, despite the difference in physical dimensions this new space provided.

Feeling defeated, Roxas let his arm fall to his side, not so much brushing against his pants as slapping his palm roughly against his thigh, a sign of his growing frustration. He froze as his hand connected with something solid in his pocket.

Could it be…? Would they really not have taken it off of him?

Stuffing his hand into the pocket of his pants, Roxas pulled out his cell phone. For a second, he just gawked at it. How could they have forgotten to search his pockets before leaving him alone? These people had orchestrated an abduction, were responsible for his injuries and maybe even the explosions still teasing uncomfortably at the edge of his memory. But they hadn't thought to check if he had a cell phone somewhere on him? That made no sense what-so-freaking-ever.

Roxas clicked past the lock screen, still not completely believing his good fortune, then pulled up his texts. He'd call the police in a second. First, he needed to get a message out to someone he knew would react, just in case Demyx returned before he could explain his situation to an emergency responder.

Fingers moving rapidly over the screen, Roxas shot off a message to Hayner, then copied it, first to Pence, then Olette. At this point, he wasn't willing to even try a group chat on the off-chance that it'd glitch out.

Next, to make the call that would get him the hell out of here.

As he dialed the emergency number, Roxas tried not to think about the fact that he didn't have a damn clue where here even was. He could only hope the 911 dispatcher would be able to trace his location through his mobile's integrated GPS.

His heart leapt as the phone's speaker clicked. A moment later, the call dropped.

Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit.

He tried again. The same thing happened. Looking at the status bar on the top of his screen, he noted the lack of signal with increasing agitation. It wasn't a weak signal; there wasn't one at all. It wasn't even on roaming.

With a sinking feeling, Roxas returned to his text app. A quick look showed all three messages hadn't sent.

Wherever this was had no cell service. He was in a windowless room, with stone walls and floors, and a door that only opened for redheaded assassins, goofy looking dogs, and a dude with an idiotic '80s mullet.

It fucking figured.

Increasingly anxious, he tried to regulate his breathing in an effort to keep calm. If Demyx was concerned about him getting food, it didn't seem like he was in any immediate danger. Roxas turned his back to the door, taking in his surroundings with weary eyes, fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline. A totally useless gesture, yeah, but at least it was something familiar. His head wasn't foggy anymore, thoughts no longer clouded, but it still felt like there was something he was forgetting, something waiting to well up and spill over at the edges of his consciousness, if only given the appropriate opportunity. It was like trying to remember a vivid dream after hours of being awake, something you knew you'd experienced that was nevertheless failing to come to the mind's forefront, despite every best effort expended.

Eyes moving restlessly around the small space, his gaze came to a stop at the bed across the room. Roxas blinked once, twice, then squinted, tilting his head a little to get a different perspective. This was the first time he'd gotten a decent look at where he'd been resting. Under the bedsheets, beneath a thin mattress a few feet above the floor, the bed looked very much like it was …floating. On nothing.

He took a few steps closer, convinced his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Even as he approached it, Roxas couldn't see any evidence that the bed was being held up by anything.

It was at that moment the door slid open again and Roxas heard the padding of feet advancing his way. So focused on the physical anomaly in front of him, Roxas started badly, a second later attempting to shove the cell phone back into his pocket and get it out of view. To his horror, it snagged on the top of the fabric, his fingers fumbling as he lost his tenuous hold on it.

The phone clattered to the ground a few inches from his feet, its raised case the only reason the screen didn't end up shattering. Panic welled up in his throat, suffocating in its intensity. Roxas whirled around, prepared to defend himself against the anticipated assault once it became clear he'd been trying to contact someone.

Demyx eyed the phone with a curious lack of concern. "Oh yeah," he said mildly. "I forgot to tell you that thing's not gonna work here." The words were spoken matter-of-factly, without the hint of smugness Roxas assumed would follow the realization that his attempt at seeking help had failed.

Behind the man, Roxas noticed a movement, something smaller than the dog. A person emerged, features obscured by a large, floppy hat and oversized cloak. The figure was carrying an armful of dishes and glassware, moving toward the table. He was small enough to be a child, Roxas noted, but the movements were skillful, precise.

"It'd be really cool to put it on display in the Annuate though. Elio would probably be thrilled," Demyx continued, oblivious to Roxas' distress. "I don't think we have one from Twenty-One Century. Ours were just passable knock-offs. And Marluxia never brings anything cool back when he gets time off, just greens and other boring junk."

Before Roxas could protest or make a grab for his phone, Demyx had moved, quick as lightning, and snatched it up. The only thought that kept Roxas from trying to wrest it out of his grasp was the lingering concern that this happy-go-lucky attitude was really a cover for unfettered insanity and that saying the wrong thing might just make the guy snap completely. At least Axel and that Zexion guy hadn't been smiling like idiots the entire time they'd been around him. With Roxas' growing concern over his current situation, Demyx's giddiness and his carefree nonchalance were both unsettling as fuck.

"Anyway," Demyx said, moving toward the table, "let's get some food into you. It'll just be something light though since dinner's not that far off," He beckoned to Roxas, who made his way over to the offered space, still cautious and observing everything. The person who'd arrived with Demyx had arranged two place-settings without a word, then had scurried off. The door opened at his presence, almost seeming to mock Roxas' failed attempt to traverse it just a few minutes earlier himself.

Demyx took a seat, indicating Roxas should do the same. Roxas did as instructed, hands resting on his thighs. For the first time, he noticed the raised square indicating his wallet had been left on him as well. What a small, sad little consolation prize, under the circumstances.

Roxas watched as Demyx studied his cell phone, light blue eyes shining with interest. "We can probably find a way to charge this," he said, seeming to consider the prospect. Then, with a shrug, he set the phone on the table and, placing two fingers against the screen, slid it back toward Roxas.

Roxas just stared at it, then glanced back up at Demyx. Was this some sort of trick? Or was the guy having a bit of fun at his expense? Unsure how to react, Roxas slipped his hand into a pocket, fingering the worn leather it found there, seeking the reassurance of a familiar object.

The door opened again, the small figure reappearing with Demyx's dog trotting happily by his side. Both made their way over to them and, as the man placed a rectangular metallic container and a pitcher of water at the table's center, Demyx leaned sideways, encouraging the dog to lie down at his feet.

"Thanks, Vivi," Demyx said, straightening up and reaching for the pitcher. The man inclined his head just slightly, the tip of his hat quivering minutely with the movement. Roxas' eyes returned to Demyx, watching as he poured them both a glass of water. When he looked up again, the tiny server, Vivi, was gone.

As Demyx reached for the container in front of him, he continued chattering. "I'm glad we could get that time-forsaken automat working. Sometimes it can be a little touchy." His tone was conversational like he was having lunch with a friend. "I think this variant of pizza even comes from New York so it should be pretty familiar." Roxas watched as he pulled a square slice of pizza out of its container and onto his plate, then looked up, apparently expecting Roxas to do the same. Without a word, Roxas copied Demyx, then eyed the food that he'd just set on his plate. Still suspicious, not entirely convinced anything he'd just been offered hadn't been laced with another potent sedative, Roxas kept an eye on Demyx, observing as the man started to eat his own slice, before reaching for his glass to take a long sip.

Roxas finally took a bite of his own food. He hadn't realized just how hungry he'd been until he actually started eating. He finished his first slice almost as quickly as Demyx. Then, before losing his nerve, he reached out and grabbed a second slice from within the container.

Despite Demyx's apparent contentment to just chew on food and smile benignly in his general direction once in awhile, the silence was unnerving to Roxas. It was making his mind wander to darker, more worrisome thoughts about his purpose for being here, not to mention what might end up being his ultimate fate once it was realized that this was a major case of mistaken identity.

His eyes traveled away from Demyx, around the room, returning to the floating bed. He was just about to ask Demyx what the crap was up with it when the dog shifted by his feet, whined quietly, its attention directed up at the slice of pizza in Roxas' hand.

"So…" Roxas started, deciding on a different tactic, voice still hesitant as he watched Demyx and tried to gauge how the man was reacting to his attempt at initiating conversation. When Demyx simply redirected his gaze across the table to him and continued eating, Roxas continued on. "You said his name was Pluto." Roxas inclined his head toward the dog who quieted as his name was uttered, now looking at Roxas with keen intensity.

"Are you, like, into astronomy or a Disney fanboy or something?"

It was an objectively dumb question, sure, but if it'd get Demyx talking, maybe Roxas could get him to let down his guard a little, possibly steer him back toward something more relevant to his current situation.

"No and nope." For a moment, Demyx simply looked at Roxas, lips curving into a much less manic smile than the ones Roxas was accustomed to seeing from him. It was almost akin to the expression Axel had shot him at Vessel, one part knowing, the other amused. Had that really been only a handful of days ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed before him, his entire world turning irreparably upside down in the interim.

Roxas raised an eyebrow, not seeing why his question would inspire a look of such amusement.

Popping one last bite of pizza into his mouth, Demyx spoke between chews, apparently not fussed about talking with his mouth full.

"He's named after the Greek god of the dead."

Now it was Roxas' turn to cock his head. "I thought that was…" he reached into the depths of his memory, trying to remember what he'd learned in his freshman mythology course last year. "…Hades. Wasn't it?"

Demyx shrugged. "Same difference. Hades and Plouton are, anyway. I just Latinized it 'cause I thought Pluto sounded cuter."

At the sound of his name, the dog let out a quiet yip, tail thumping in a steady, furious rhythm against the table's wooden leg.

Roxas shot the overjoyed dog a dubious look before reaching over to retrieve his glass of water. "And does he live up to that illustrious name?" he asked. The unexpected direction the topic had veered off in, onto a subject he'd always found interesting, had Roxas momentarily forgetting himself and the unequal dynamics of this back and forth exchange. He raised the glass to his mouth, took his first sip.

The taste of salt overwhelmed his senses a moment too late, after he'd already swallowed the first mouthful of what tasted like straight-up brine.

"Not really. He's kind of a spazz, actually," Demyx said. "His littermate got named Persephone so I just kinda decided to keep it consistent."

Roxas held back a gag but couldn't suppress a few coughs. The water's salty flavor quickly turned sour; it lingered in his mouth long after he'd forced it all down.

God, that was horrible.

Apparently thinking Roxas was stifling laughter, Demyx shot him a grin. "Yeah, Sephi's a lot more regal than ol' Pluto here. He's a special case, actually."

When Roxas continued to cough, his face contorting into a starker grimace at the realization there was nothing available to wash away the taste with, Demyx finally took notice. "You okay over there, amice?"

His expression intensified as the word formed an intelligible meaning in his thoughts. Was Demyx seriously referring to him as a friend? What…

"…the hell kind of drink is this?" Roxas choked out, cheeks still puckering at the offensive taste.

Demyx's brows furrowed. "It's water. That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

"It tastes like you pulled it straight out of the Atlantic!"

Understanding flickered in Demyx's eyes. "Oh. Right. Your people prefer it stripped out, no nutrients, like you're drinking liquid-nothing. I totally forgot."

"My people?" Roxas bit the inside of his cheek, trying to soften the caustic tone that was threatening to rise out of him. Silently, he reminded himself that he wasn't really in a position to be pissing anyone off at the moment.

Demyx nodded vigorously. "Yeah, Twenty-One Century." He spoke as if he was making an obvious distinction between the two of them. It was just like Roxas remembered Axel doing when he'd first arrived while talking to that pink-haired guy. Marluxia or …whatever. Reaching back into the pizza box, Demyx grabbed a slice, tearing at the crust until he had a sizable piece. He held it out toward Pluto, palm open, his expression turning contemplative. "Although maybe you don't qualify as one of them, come to think."

For a moment, Demyx kept his gaze down, watching as the dog gnawed at the crust like a flimsy bone. Eventually, he looked up back at Roxas out of the corner of one eye.

"You really don't remember, then?" His words were quiet. They sounded almost disappointed. "Time City? Faber John? The Gnomon? Not anything?"

Roxas couldn't be sure what word ultimately did it, or even if it was a combination of several in addition to Demyx's disheartened tone. Whatever the case, Demyx's questions opened a floodgate, a spark of righteous anger deep within him. Before Roxas had a chance to consider a more appropriate reaction, he felt something in him just ...snap.

"I already told Axel. You're confusing me with someone else." His words were clipped, expression incensed. Each word was enunciated with the same, inflamed cadence.

Then it got worse, his voice beginning to rise as he launched into what could only be described as a full-out tirade. "All I remember is being assaulted, then abducted by your people." The final two words had a harsh edge to them as Roxas turned Demyx's phrasing back on him. "Now I'm being held captive for who the fuck knows what reason, and you keep calling me the wrong damn name, just to top it all off."

He paused to take a breath, chest heaving at the emotional exertion, the unadulterated frustration associated with this predicament. Well, now was as good of a time as any to find out if Demyx's good-natured demeanor was just the mask of a deranged serial killer. There was only the smallest hint of irony in the thought.

The response he received was milder than anticipated. Demyx sighed, his expression turning almost pained. He ran a hand through his hair, absently tucking a longer piece behind one ear as his gaze moved away from Roxas.

"Did they ever pick the wrong guy for this one," he said, eyes fixed on someplace indeterminate across the room, tone a low murmur as though he was talking to himself. "Reconnaissance, fine. I can do that, no problem. But this," he said, eyes moving back to Roxas, "this is way outside of my skill set. Except maybe the pizza eating part."

Gee, I'm sorry my presence is such a goddamn inconvenience for you.

Roxas said nothing, just held the man's gaze with a hard look of his own. Although his background knowledge of this guy was negligible at best, he'd noted a pattern the guy seemed to employ of trying to deflect serious comments or questions with almost slapstick humor. At this point, Roxas was anything but amused by it.

"Anyway," Demyx said, shaking his head as if to clear away the bothersome thoughts, "dinner's in about two hours and you can't really go looking like that."

Glancing down at his attire for the first time since his arrival, Roxas got the chance to see how godawful he looked. His shirt had already been kind of gross to begin with, since he'd fished it out of the dirty laundry pile in a panicked rush out the door that morning. Now it was soiled in areas, smudges of dirt streaking across his front in erratic patterns. His pants had the same disheveled appearance, except they were also wrinkled. There was even a jagged tear in the fabric at the bottom of one leg. Classy.

How had that even happened on a routine commute to work?

Roxas forced the troubling questions about the hazier parts of his memory aside. "I just ate lunch looking like this," he pointed out instead, still feeling the need to be a tad oppositional.

Demyx took one final swig of his drink, pointedly ignoring how Roxas grimaced at the action, before rising from his seat. "Yeah, well, this'll be different. They requested your presence at Annuate Palace so you're gonna have to clean yourself up a bit."

"Who did?" Roxas asked, deciding he was better served knowing who he'd be dealing with rather than asking about where the hell a place in Manhattan was located that had the misfortune to get named something so incredibly tacky.

Demyx inclined his head toward the door. "C'mon. Let's walk and talk and get you a little more presentable while we're at it." When Roxas didn't initially make a move to follow, Demyx sighed again, rolling his eyes a little. "Axel's supposed to be there too. Do you really want to look like that the next time you see him?"

From the smug look on Demyx's face, Roxas knew his expression had betrayed him. There they were again, those warring feelings within him the moment Axel's name was mentioned. In truth, Roxas wasn't at all sure what to think about Axel after the events of the last handful of hours. He knew he was pissed off about everything that he could remember of what had transpired. Still, Roxas couldn't help but feel that anger was the most superficial of the handful of emotions that rushed through him whenever the guy's name got brought up.

Finally acquiescing, Roxas stood, the name drop an annoying but effective motivator to get going. Now it was his turn to sigh. Eyes passing over the cell phone still resting where Demyx had placed it on the table, Roxas snatched it up. When Demyx didn't make a move to stop him or offer any indication that the action bothered him, Roxas slid it back into his empty side pocket.

He moved to follow Demyx. In the presence of the other man, the door opened and they exited without issue, an orange-yellow dog, not named for the Disney character he resembled but rather a god that governed death, trailing along closely behind them, tail still enthusiastically wagging in their wake.