Disclaimer: They aren't mine.
A/N: I made that AkuRoku mix I babbled about last chapter, including the song Roxas sang in his moment of emo glory. I write LB to a shortened version of this playlist. Nothing elaborate, just select songs that inexplicably remind me of the pairing (some from bands I don't even like, hah), but I think it coheres nicely. It's bundled in a .zip, and I tossed the lyrics in a .txt file. Links: [rapidshare . com/files/159751385/A_Lesser_Beauty_-_the_mix . zip . html], [mediafire . com/?kgntmlny1dd], or [megaupload . com/?d=JK6B9C7F]... and take out all the extra spaces because ffnet apparently hates links. Mostly rock: some old, some new, some impossible to find the way I wanted. Track listing (it should be listened to in this exact order) for those inclined:
1. The Dear Hunter – "Red Hands" (demo)
2. The Smashing Pumpkins – "The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning"
3. Neve – "Absent"
4. This Providence – "My Beautiful Rescue"
5. The Spill Canvas – "All Over You"
6. Acceptance – "So Contagious"
7. The Academy Is – "The Test"
8. After Midnight Project – "Take Me Home"
9. Brand New – "Me Vs. Maradona Vs. Elvis"
10. Paramore – "When It Rains"
11. Yellowcard – "Shadows and Regrets"
12. Matt Pond PA – "The Butcher"
13. American Football – "The Summer Ends"
14. The Killers – "Human"
15. Coldplay – "Death And All His Friends"
16. John Mayer – "In Your Atmosphere" (live)
17. Empires – "Hayley"
Anyway, I guess now is a good time to mention that when I say AkuRoku in the summary, I mean that it will eventually be AkuRoku. I mean, it's already all there anyway, right? But there are also… ahem, other pairings. Some of them are in the past, some of them are implied, and some of them don't know what the hell to make of themselves. Human interaction is a fragile and impossible thing. All I can say is the characters tell me what to do, not the other way around.
This chapter is heavy on backstory, then later it gets a little imagistic, and then it gets out of control ridiculous. For the former I blame bleak, bleak times, and for the latter I blame 2:33 in the morning. Keep an eye out for repetition that ties together themes that are otherwise unrepeated.
Also, I'd like to mention all the alerts I've been receiving: THANK YOU all so very very much. I don't need you to review. I'm just glad (read: relieved, ecstatic, humbled) that you're reading and interested in continuing to read this at all.
--
Chapter Three: Density
Some days are easier than others.
Roxas hadn't known about his problem at first, not in the way he knew his name or his address. It was something felt, not known, under his skin and in the pulse of his heart. Something different than blood type, heavier than the color of his eyes. As early as the age of ten—sitting alone in his backyard, plucking absently at blades of grass—he had felt this unknown thing in him, ratting at his bones like a thing imprisoned, the tyrant of his synapses. He felt it at eleven, walking down his street at 8:30pm on a Friday as he watched the passing traffic with something akin to lust. It sat at his bedside at twelve, whispered to him in his dreams, until he came to love it, gathering it in his failing arms. So at thirteen, on an unremarkable day in May, in love with the black and swallowing seduction of his little tyrant, Roxas tied a noose around his neck. His mother, working her way through a bottle of Pinot gris downstairs in the living room, heard the crash of his chair as he kicked it out from underneath his feet. Roxas was saved by his mother's annoyance. She'd come up to scold him for abusing the furniture.
Even years later the image of her only son, her good and quiet little boy not struggling at all as he hung by the neck and swayed lightly as if by an unfelt breeze, was something she found at the bottom of every bottle, no matter how deep. When Roxas' mother dialed 9-1-1 she thought they'd send an ambulance. Instead Roxas, throat raw and aching, found himself cuffed an insulted in the back of a squad car.
"You got a nice life here, and you want to go screw it up." The cop looked at him in the rear view mirror, voice dripping with antagonism. Roxas said nothing, could only wonder why he'd never known that the back of police cars had seats made of cold, hard plastic with recesses for his cuffed arms to fit behind him easily under the guise of comfort and convenience.
"You got your mommy working herself to death to give you everything you want. Room full of posters, all your little gadgets. And you want to go and throw it away." The cop scoffed, his eyes not leaving Roxas in the rear view mirror. "Spoiled is what you are." But Roxas knew these things. He knew how wasteful and pointless he was, how ungrateful and stubborn. He knew every word like his name and his address; things given and memorized. They didn't hurt any less, and he was too tired to hold back his tears.
"Oh, look at that," the cop said. "The big boy gunna cry now? Big boy not scared of death, gunna cry?" The cop started the car, laughing hollowly, perhaps a bit embarrassed. He hadn't meant to make the kid cry.
Roxas felt ashamed as they strip-searched him at the hospital, his wrists aching only slightly less than his throat. The nurse was silent, efficient. The whole of the adolescent wing of the psych ward at Oceanside Memorial functioned on the same muted structure. He made no friends during his 72-hour hold, though many asked his name and why he was in.
"What are you in for?" As if they were in prison, recounting crimes and sentences. Roxas looked no one in the eyes, took the pills they fed him, and spoke with their psychologists. He painted a ceramic statuette of the Virgin Mary. He ate with his hands. He wrote with crayon. He woke up every hour on the hour at night as the staff made their room checks. He found out what restraints felt like against his wrists and ankles, found out what the rush of sedatives felt like as they jabbed the tip of an impossibly long needle into his hip. He told no lies and kept no secrets. They took his shoelaces.
"Will you hurt yourself again?" Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. So they decided to send him to a short-term residential facility where he'd adjust to his new meds and learn to like to live again. Because he was "depressed."
Roxas scoffed at the term. Everyone was depressed. Every thirteen year old who ever had a tough time "adjusting," who had a single parent, who had a bad day at school, who wanted to skip class to watch cartoons, who hid a bad report card. Every kid was depressed. Roxas didn't understand why he was different, except maybe because he accepted the futility. At thirteen, accepting the blank and empty promise of the future, already resigned to whatever horrors or boredom his life could offer. This, the psychologists at Oceanside Memorial said, was not right. He had a mood disorder, they said. "Major Depressive Disorder." It was okay because he was sick. They would make him better.
He lasted three days at the Impact Youth residential facility. He screamed at his mother over the phone, begged and pleaded that he'd be good. She came and took him. Against medical advice, she came and took her good and quiet boy home. He swallowed her bottles of blood-pressure medicine and aspirin and vitamin E by the handfuls. Anything he could find, he dumped them all into his mouth and swallowed and swallowed. Passed out on the bathroom floor, vomit on his face and in his hair, his mother grabbed at him and drove him to the hospital herself. Recycle, rinse, repeat. She took him out two more times from Imapct, against medical advice, with the exact same results.
"Roxas, if you do this again, we're going to place you at Phoenix House. It is a long-term residential facility, and your mother will have no authority over your treatment. We're upping your dosage of Risperdal." And the part of him that didn't seethe with hatred, the part of him that didn't want to lose years of his life to this stupid circus, pressed a small button somewhere in his chest. In two weeks he was free of residential, no threat of Phoenix House hanging over his head as his mother drove him to his new school. The Angeles Institute, an elaborate name for a small and simple brick building with two doors and no windows that educated the fucked up youth of Roxas' sleepy oceanside town and any delinquent within a 30-mile radius. Fully-equipped with one psychiatrist, four psychologists, and a police task force on call, the Angeles Institute opened its shaky and scarred arms to Roxas. And in them he found Sora.
The only two eighth graders in a student population of thirty, including both middle and high school, Sora and Roxas shared a curriculum. They worked from the same books at the same time in the same place, but no one wondered why they didn't become fast friends. Roxas was Roxas: secretive, quiet, moody. Sora was Sora: insane, absolutely infuckingsane. Roxas thought it might be a joke, how he ended up in the same grade as the kid who wore huge yellow clown shoes and bright colors all the time. He though it was a joke, how the kid would rant and rave about how the world was broken, how monsters wanted to devour his heart. Sora carried around a collection of keys in his pockets—house keys, padlock keys, luggage keys—and Roxas often found him sitting in the Institute's courtyard, rambling quietly on the floor while battling himself with the keys like a young child with toys. When Roxas asked a psychologist one day, smug that at least he wasn't that fucked up, they told him Delusional Disorder. Sora was delusional. Roxas envied him his total disregard for reality.
At fourteen, the first day of ninth grade at the Angeles Institute after knowing each other for nearly a year, Sora came to school like a completely different person. He greeted Roxas with a wave, mentioned being in residential over summer break and having his meds adjusted. Only on bad days did Sora ask to see "the king" and wonder where "Donald and Goofy" were anymore. With time Sora told Roxas everything about his other reality, but never once did Sora refer to anything as a "delusion." When he spoke of different worlds, of Heartless, Sora spoke as if it were all just another city. Just one step removed from where they were.
Roxas learned to smother the tyrant that still moped about his chest. Everyone was sad, he figured, and it was just harder for him sometimes. Some days he would wake up and not give a shit about anything. Some days, some weeks, he would find it hard to take an active interest in all the things he'd thought he loved. Sora would do his homework for him, would sleep over half the week, sharing a bed with Roxas. For weeks at a time, dark periods of absolute absence, Sora was the only one who kept Roxas from floating adrift.
"We're best friends, right?" Sora asked one day during tenth grade, slicing an apple in the center and handing a perfectly proportioned half to Roxas. They were fifteen, sitting against a wall during lunch, having just finished sharing a bowl of soup. People called them "the twins." Roxas ate his half of the apple with one hand, lazily flicking Sora's earlobe with the other.
"Yeah," Roxas said, surprised to find it was true, bowled over by how glad it made him.
First day of junior year, Sora and Roxas both sixteen, a new student came to the Angeles Institute. His name was Riku.
--
Some days are easier than others. Lying in bed fully clothed in the outfit he wore to yesterday's last final, this is what Roxas told himself. Some days are easier than others. He, like most of Kingdom University, spent last week, "Dead Week," cramming for finals at the end of the quarter. Roxas only ever considered himself an average student, but Dead Week and the week of finals he changed completely. He locked himself in the dorm, emerging only to go to class, use the bathroom, smoke with shaking hands, and eat in the dining commons. Mostly he ate alone, devouring hastily whatever was on the menu. Once he sat with Axel and Demyx, the redhead bending energy around him with all engines set to sarcasm.
"That's a good look for you, Roxas," he'd said, shoving string beans around his plate. Axel's pupils had been the size of blackened dimes. Roxas hadn't said anything. "I mean, the whole 'living dead' thing. I hear it's in this week." Roxas shrugged, picked up his tray, and walked away. He'd seen Axel a couple times since Halloween night, but it's not like he was going to go out of his way to hang with a guy who was clearly intent on making his life just that much more difficult.
Axel had called out to his back, "No hard feelings, right?" Roxas gave him the finger.
Roxas' roommate, it seemed, had dropped off the face of the planet. Roxas had wandered over to Vista when Dead Week was over, beginning to wonder if Zexion was stuffed in a dumpster somewhere. They'd invited him in, smoked him out, and told him Zexion was at the library. Utterly stoned, Roxas debated navigating his way to the 24 hour study room at the library where Zexion was holed up with a good one quarter of the rest of the student body, but he figured he'd probably fall and drown in the ocean before he got that far. He'd woken up nestled against Tidus on the couch, mouth drier than the Sahara, the bong still sitting in Tidus' hands.
He wondered if that was the start of it—waking up wrapped around Tidus—or if it came as he finished his last final, a three hour in-class exam for Later Shakespeare. Maybe all the food he hadn't eaten over the last two weeks was finally catching up with him. It was possible he was suffering from a lack of Zexion, though highly unlikely. Maybe he was nervous about the next quarter. Or maybe Thanksgiving. Could be that. He tried to sigh, but it seemed like the air necessary would not fill his lungs. He was vaguely aware that his stomach was growling, gnawing painfully at his insides in an attempt to motivate him enough to drag himself to the dining commons. Despite how dark his room was with the heavy drapes obscuring the single window, he knew it must be well into the afternoon, and he'd skipped dinner after his last final to bury himself in bed. He tried to conjure up some food that he'd be interested in eating, but the memory of everything tasted like nothing.
Just get the fuck over it, he thought. Thanksgiving. Big fucking deal. Roxas, hands at his sides, fisted his sheets angrily. Sora. Big fucking deal. He couldn't understand how, as the years passed, the anguish increased rather than diminished. I'll leave late tomorrow. After sundown. He'll be asleep when I get home. Then it's only three days instead of four. Roxas sucked his bottom lip, envisioning driving into town in a way so that he didn't pass by the front of Sora's house. But he'll be mad, he frowned. He swallowed, throat dry, and wished his brain didn't feel like it was stuffed full of cotton. He decided he needed a smoke when Roxas heard voices approaching.
"Yeah, just let me change my shirt, man. I feel like shit." Zexion's voice sounded excited, keys jangling at the door. "I have no idea where Roxas is. I don't think he's here." More jangling at the lock. "He always gets weird right before we go on break." The door opened. "Like I don't think he has a very—ROXAS. Hi. Just talking about you," Zexion covered, having the decency to sound at least slightly embarrassed. Roxas said nothing, noticed Demyx and Axel standing just outside the door.
"Vampire chic, Rox? It's one in the afternoon. Mind if I open the curtains?" Zexion moved to let the day into the room, frowning sympathetically at Roxas before rummaging through his closet.
"Hey, Roxas." It took Roxas a long moment to figure out Axel was speaking. Cotton. Everything, cotton. Green eyes appeared over his as Axel leaned in to Roxas' bottom bunk. He looked concerned. Roxas said nothing.
"Leave it, Axel," Zexion said, pulling a shirt over his head. "He gets like this before breaks. He's just being stubborn and moody—not that I don't love ya, Rox—but, seriously, there's nothing we can do. He'll snap out of it." Zexion exited the room, not waiting for the other boys to follow. Demyx, standing in the threshold looking nervous, shot Axel a what the fuck? look.
"Just go ahead, Dem. I'll catch up," Axel said, sitting on the corner of Roxas' bed. Demyx shrugged and waved at Roxas before shutting the door. Axel stared at the floor by Roxas' bed. "You sick?"
Roxas sucked in a breath, prepared to answer with some flighty non-reality that got people off his back, but he realized Axel already knew his deal. Axel already knew he was one of those kids.
"I'm just… it's just a bad day." Roxas hated how small his voice sounded.
Axel's face turned towards him. "Don't wanna talk about it?"
Roxas tried to shrug, felt the beginning of the motion in his shoulders as the muscles tensed, but the action wouldn't come. "Nothing to say." So just leave. Just leave me alone. Roxas stared at a blemish in the wooden underside of Zexion's bunk, a small darkened swirl of birch that bent and looped like a fingerprint. Just leave.
Axel, eyes still locked on Roxas, bounced lightly on the bed. "You should come out with us. End of finals celebration at Little V." Roxas didn't respond. Couldn't the guy take a hint? The redhead cleared his throat before continuing. "I can… I have something that will take your mind off whatever it is."
Roxas felt something like a large bell ring hollowly in his chest. He turned his gaze toward Axel's, the other boy's green eyes hesitant, unsure. "Meth?" Just saying the word made Roxas' heart pump a bit faster.
Axel shrugged. "Yeah."
"Why do you do it?" Roxas asked.
Axel shrugged again. "I like it."
"I like cheeseburgers." Neither of them laughed, and Axel's expression darkened.
"I do it because I can. That okay with you?" Axel gestured with his hands exasperatedly. He's lying, Roxas thought.
"I'll make you a promise," Roxas said, sitting up.
"I'm not going to fucking stop, if that's what you're thinking. You can promise to give me the best blowjob of my life, but it's not going to change anything."
"Way to jump to conclusions," Roxas said, frowning. "I mean I'll make you a promise that I won't lie to you… if you don't lie to me."
Axel's face went blank. "You're good. I told you that, right?"
"Psych major, remember," Roxas said tonelessly.
"Yeah, whatever." Axel crossed his arms and turned his gaze back to the floor by Roxas' bed. "I do it because I like myself when I do it. It doesn't just make me feel good—and it fucking does—it makes me feel better." The redhead continued to stare at the floor, unblinking. "I'm not addicted to it or anything. I just do it… y'know, whenever. It's not a big deal." He turned his head and smiled, shyly almost, at Roxas. "Neurotic enough for you?"
"No," Roxas said simply.
"Oh, no?" Axel said, mouth twisting up into a grin. "I've played this game before. The 'Who's More Fucked Up' thing, right? Favorite pastime of residential fucktards the world over. So let's hear it, Mr. Neuroses. Lay it on me."
Roxas took a deep breath. "I…" Axel's eyebrows rose expectantly, except Roxas couldn't make the next part come. He realized no one in the entire world knew what he was about to admit. He could hardly admit to himself.
"You… are secretly an ex-convict alien from the Pleiades?" Roxas scrunched up his face in distaste. "Not that one? Hmm, let's see. You… were born a girl and recently had a sex change?" Roxas shoved the other boy off the bed. "Hey! Okay, seriously. I think I got it." The redhead stood up and leaned in close to Roxas. A rush of adrenaline swept through Roxas' veins and he felt his breath catch in his chest. "You… are in love with me."
"WHAT?!" Roxas spluttered.
Axel ruffled his hair. "Way to shatter my ego into a million pieces, Roxas."
"I don't even know you!"
"Yeah, that's why it's called a joke." Axel stood, stretching his arms overhead. "You need to lighten up. And I need a fucking cigarette." He leaned down and picked up something from the side of Roxas' bed. A pack of Parliaments. "Forgot you smoked."
Roxas shrugged. "You can take one. I think I'm going to—" he was cut off abruptly as Axel jerked him to his feet and marched him out the door. The older boy directed him down the stairs and to the concrete bench Roxas often smoked at. Roxas opened his mouth to protest, squinting in the bright sunlight, but Axel stuck a cigarette in before he could speak.
He flicked Roxas' lighter. "Inhale." Roxas made a face and sucked lightly. He took a hit long enough to make Axel smirk as he lit his own. "You should quit, y'know?"
Roxas scowled. "Seriously, shut the fuck up."
The two smoked in comfortable silence, both staring out over the quad at the expanse of ocean just beyond the bluffs. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon, and Roxas felt cold dread prod at him. Few more hours left. Fuck.
"Fell asleep in your clothes, huh? Axel asked, his cigarette pointing up and down at Roxas' body.
"How'd you know? I mean, I could've gotten dressed."
"Saw you walking to class yesterday. I see you around a lot more than you see me."
"…Well that's not creepy or anything."
Axel smiled, broad and winning, and Roxas found that he was surprised. He'd never seen the other boy smile so openly. "You should really come over to Vista with me. We can," Axel cleared his throat lightly, "bond."
Smoke meth, you mean, Roxas thought wryly. "I really shouldn't." The redhead's face fell. "We could hang tomorrow? I'm not heading out until later."
Roxas could almost feel a wall slam down over Axel's features. "Ah, Saturday. I'm, uh, a little busy tomorrow."
Roxas frowned, remembering something about weekends and not wanting to know about them. "Do you work or something?"
Axel took a long hit from his cigarette, inhaling right to the filter before tossing the stub on the ground. "Yeah. Work." His voice sounded a million miles away. "Something like that."
"Something like that? I can't believe you're breaking a promise you made, like, ten minutes ago."
Axel stood suddenly. "It's not a lie. It's work." He didn't look at Roxas. "See you after break." Without a glance, Axel started walking toward Little Vista. Roxas felt slightly shocked at the abrupt change.
"Axel!" He called out. The redhead stopped, turning back slightly. "Have a good Thanksgiving," Roxas said lamely. Idiot!
Axel looked at him thoughtfully, fingers drumming against his thighs. "Yeah. You too, Roxas."
Roxas watched Axel's back get smaller and smaller as he walked into the neighboring streets. Already the students living off campus could be heard celebrating the end of the quarter, thrumming basslines warring with each other across blocks as groups of students milled about from house party to house party. As Roxas watched people climb on to roofs, cans of beer gripped in hands, he wondered why he was fine if other people were around, but when he was alone it was like a black wave crashing down upon him. The sun, huge and wavering on the horizon, began its descent behind the edge of the ocean, painting the sky in pinks and yellows. That was another thing that had drawn Roxas to Kingdom: the sunsets were spectacular. Groups of kids would gather on their roofs to watch the sunset every day, others trekking down to the beach to watch the fading of the light.
Half the sky bruising over and half the sky a rosy dawn, it was like the portrait of a war between heaven and hell. It made Roxas' heart hurt.
--
Roxas pulled into his driveway nervously. He'd left Kingdom a little later than planned, hitting the road well past 10p.m. after re-selling his textbooks back to the school bookstore, seeing Zexion off, and wandering aimlessly on the beach. He'd put it off and put it off until he was sure no one would be awake when he got home. So far it seemed like he was right. It looked like all the lights in his house were off. Roxas glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard. Past twelve. She's probably asleep. He took one deep breath before getting out of the car and walking to his front door. He unlocked and opened it quietly. Like always, everything looked exactly the same. It even smelled the same—warm, earthy, and the hint of vanilla oil his mom used on room diffusers. He was about to creep up the stairs—skipping the fourth one that creaks loud—when he noticed shadows bouncing off a wall leading toward the living room. Someone was watching T.V.
"Mom?" Roxas called, walking toward the bluish glare. His mother gasped lightly, tapping her chest.
"Jesus, honey. Gave me a scare." Roxas smiled sheepishly, about to apologize, when he heard an excited cry. Two seconds later Sora plowed into him.
"You idiot! We've been waiting for hours!" Sora squeezed Roxas into his chest with back-breaking force. Without even having to think, Roxas instinctually knew Sora must've been having a rough time at home. Sora's hugs always spoke louder than anything he could—or would—say.
"Sorry," Roxas whispered just past Sora's ear. It was habit of theirs, speaking in whispers to each other, borne from years of nights belonging to hushed conversations. Laying side by side in bed, almost filmic negatives of each other, they whispered courage and sorrow until claimed by sleep or dawn. They never lied when they whispered.
"It's okay," Sora whispered back, squeezing briefly before letting Roxas go. "We're watching a re-make of some horror film from the 70s. It's terrible!"
Roxas smiled, his mom raising a glass of wine in toast to Sora's sentiment. "So it's just you two?" Roxas wondered if the hope in his voice was detectable.
"Oh, Ri— " Sora began. Roxas felt arms slide around his waist and tug at his hips. His back pressed up against a chest. Warm, familiar.
"I was in the kitchen," Riku said, the words floating on a breath past Roxas' temple. Roxas felt a grin stretch over his mouth. He shrugged off the other boy's arms and turned to face him.
"Raiding the fridge again, Riku?"
"Hey, that was only one time! Your mom wanted an omelet!"
"'Onions? How can you not have onions?'" Roxas teased, throwing his voice into a lower register. Riku rolled his eyes, shoving Roxas on the shoulder playfully. Roxas felt the lingering trail of Riku's thumb down his arm. He felt a spark go off in his eyes as he stared into Riku's— aquamarine pools that were not done justice in the dim light. Roxas had the sudden desire for sunshine, bright and breaking.
"Why don't you join us, sweetie? The boys are having a glass," his mom offered. Riku held up a bottle of Pinot, swishing its contents.
"Mother, I'm appalled. Encouraging underage drinking now, are we?"
His mother smiled winningly, running a hand through her pale gold hair. "I take none of the blame. They—your charming delinquent friends—coerced me into breaking the law."
"The woman speaks the truth," Sora nodded merrily as he accepted a glass from Riku. "Thanks, babe," Sora said fondly, winking up at the silver-haired boy. Roxas felt a quick twinge before he pushed it resolutely out of his mind and jumped on the couch next to Sora. "Whoa, Rox. Glass full of fermented grapes right here." Roxas made a face before plucking the glass from Sora, taking three huge swallows before winking at his mother.
"I've raised a wino," his mother declared, sounding not at all displeased.
"But we love him all the same," Sora said, leaning his head against Roxas' shoulder as he sipped at his wine.
The four of them settled into a running commentary of the horror film re-make, and Roxas only stared at the way Sora and Riku rubbed each others' knees—trading slow touches under the glow of electricity—for three and a half seconds before it became a non-issue in his mind. Because this part he could deal with. This part was utterly normal, utterly controllable. Witticisms came to the front of his mouth before he even had to think of them, and he countered everything Riku had to say, the two of them dueling, with Sora verbally reprimanding both of them until they started up again. Because this part he could deal with: the teasing, the verbal sparring, the smartass gibes. It was the other parts, the forgotten hours afterward when he was alone and supposed to be asleep, that Roxas couldn't deal with.
Roxas ran his fingers through Sora's hair, eyes on the screen. The chestnut strands of stubborn spikes so like his own felt strong under his fingers, heavy with life and thick with the scent of milk and honey. They'd caught flak for it before, how carelessly they touched each other: hugs that went on too long, little pecks pressed to cheeks and just below the ear, absent stroking. It was their system of comfort, a standby when hugs spoke or hurt too much, but people were hard pressed to understand the language of whisper and touch that Roxas and Sora shared. Roxas never thought about it much, how the shell of Sora disintegrated when they were alone, half-asleep, whispering to each other, but if he had, he'd find the change nothing short of miraculous. After all, they were not soft boys—life didn't grant them that appealing luxury. They were hardened; Sora almost unbreakably so, Roxas rough around the edges and only just upwards of brittle. Yet despite whatever necessary hardness of diamonds both boys wore like armor over their skin, the quiet of night and each other called out the child; soft, yielding. Roxas never thought about it much, but he loved Sora. He loved Sora in a way that surpassed thinking and exceeded knowing. He loved Sora in a way that was being.
This is why he attributed it, at first, to mimetic desire. If you hang out with someone long enough, you pick up their lingo. Aside from speaking alike, you being to dress alike. You begin to develop the same interests. You begin to desire the same things. In this vein, Roxas thought he'd figured it out. He loved Sora. Sora loved him, of course, but Sora also loved Riku. So Roxas… he loved Riku, too. The nuances of love should have saved him—"loved" as a friend—but the nuances of love hadn't considered mimetic desire. Because mimetic desire he could deal with; a theoretical term with a specific approach you could wrap your mind around. Roxas liked that. In the end, however, it didn't matter why he fell in love with his best friend's boyfriend. He did. Approaches and theories and postulates that all led up to the same thing: Roxas loved Riku. Roxas was in love with Riku.
The credits began to roll and his mother flicked the screen off. Sora, nestled against Roxas, was fast asleep. Roxas' mother collected their glasses, dropping a kiss on top of Roxas' hair and waving her full hands at Riku in lieu of saying goodnight. Roxas shifted under Sora's weight and turned to face Riku.
"I'll take him home," Riku said quietly. Roxas noted Sora's hand was entangled in the other boy's.
"No. He's spending the night."
Riku regarded him silently, the ticking and tocking of a clock the only sound aside from Roxas' mother rinsing their glasses. "He needs the rest, Roxas."
"You're trying to lecture me on keeping him up at night?" Roxas challenged, his voice rising just above hushed.
"Could you sound any more jealous?" Riku fired back.
"Just cut me a fucking break, okay? I want to spend time with him." Before Roxas could stop himself, the next part slipped out. "I want to wake up with him."
Riku's eyebrows rose. "Maybe I should be the jealous one."
Roxas growled lightly. "Don't be sick. He likes talking when he wakes up. It's easier for him when he's tired. Maybe you'd notice if you spent more time talking and less time having se-" Sora's hand shot up and covered Roxas' mouth before he could finish.
"Stop arguing." Sora frowned, tapping at Roxas' mouth. "You should take off, babe," he said, turning to press his lips to Riku's. Roxas felt dizzy, Sora's hand still pressed to his mouth. "I'm spending the night."
Riku shrugged and curled his hand affectionately against Sora's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." His eyes darted over to Roxas. "Nice to have you back, Rox." Roxas nodded briefly, pulling Sora's hand off his mouth and sliding close as he draped Sora's arm around his shoulder.
"It's nice to beback." He didn't say it coldly, and since Sora was smiling ridiculously at his boyfriend, only Riku saw the ice in Roxas' eyes. They watched as Riku left before Sora turned to face Roxas, frowning again.
"You can't argue with him about my sex life, Rox. That's just wrong."
"Ugh, we weren't arguing about your sex life, Sora." Except we were. Or I was. "That's gross," Roxas added for good measure. "He didn't want you to sleep here," he said, voice full of accusation.
"He's jealous," Sora said simply, plucking at Roxas' hair. "He doesn't understand." Sora pulled Roxas into a hug, soft. They were alone, his mother already upstairs in her room. They let the armor fall away.
"No one understands," Roxas whispered, eyes closed and pressed against Sora's shoulder.
"I don't want them to," Sora whispered back, fingers tangling in Roxas' hair.
They made their way up the stairs to Roxas' room. Sora kept his arms around Roxas' waist as he dug through drawers for stuff to sleep in. Even when they changed, a hand was left on a shoulder, on a hip—their cultivated communion, almost like lovers. Almost. As they crawled into Roxas' fairly comfortable full-size bed, Roxas wondered if Sora would talk tonight. He knew his best friend had something going on, but they never pressed each other. They'd done the same thing so frequently he knew what to expect. If Sora sighed heavily and stared at Roxas in the eyes, hands placed anywhere, it meant he would talk. If Sora stared at the ceiling, the spot where a light fixture (and, inevitably, a noose) once hung, and pressed his fingers to Roxas' throat, then Roxas knew they would sleep. He watched as Sora situated himself under the blankets… and his gaze drifted up to the ceiling. Roxas closed his eyes, felt the press of Sora's fingers at his throat. Always the same touch. I almost lost this, they said. Stroking, almost petting, they said, What if? What if? Sora's hand fell away and he scooted close, arms encircling Roxas' waist. Roxas, half-asleep, felt the press of lips just at the corner of his mouth. That's a new one, he noted. Their lips almost touched.
"Missed you," Sora mumbled sleepily. Roxas fell asleep before he could respond.
--
Roxas was sure, sunlight streaming through his open windows and falling on Sora's sleeping face, that he hated himself. Why, WHY would I ignore his e-mails? With every twitch his best friend made, Roxas hated himself more. I am mean. He said I was mean. I am mean to him. Why the fuck am I mean to him? Gardeners in a neighboring yard started up a lawnmower and Roxas scowled, sliding away from Sora to close the windows. What the fuck is wrong with me, seriously? He shut—well, slammed—his second window a little too harshly, and he heard a soft gasp behind him. Roxas whirled around and found Sora sitting up in bed, eyes wide.
"The guillotine falls on its own," Sora said, voice bright with alarm. Roxas went to him immediately, diving under the covers and ballooning the sheet above him and Sora until it settled around them like a half-hearted tent. "And the fountain spits, and it hurts, and the gates!" Sora rushed, hands indicating some complicated movement.
"Where, Sora?" Roxas asked, voice low, fingers brushing warm and heavy strokes up Sora's arm.
"Jack, Jack knows. I-I saw him go through to the snow. I was so happy because of the snow and the presents and—"
"What about the merry-go-round, Sora?" Roxas asked, a string of dread drawing taut in his chest. A misshapen heap of small details Sora had shared about his other reality rolled around Roxas' brain. He rubbed harder up Sora's arm.
"It was broken." Sora exhaled slowly and drew in a long shaky breath. "It was broken, Roxas." Fear clouded Sora's eyes and Roxas pulled him into a hug. Sometimes Sora would have breaks—minute stretches of psychotic flashbacks—and Roxas had to scramble for some doorway into the darkness of Sora's mind that would lead the boy out again, usually a detail that had a twin in the real world. In this case, a merry-go-round Roxas had remembered Sora mentioning.
"How frequent?" Roxas asked. He didn't want to know the answer.
"Not too bad. Every other week, maybe." Sora's fingers traced on Roxas' back. "Riku doesn't know how to deal with it." Roxas focused on the way Sora moved his finger, the same thing over and over. "He just shakes me until I stop babbling." There, Roxas thought, a… keyhole. He pushed Sora away and grabbed his hands.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Sora shrugged. "I dunno. You're different at school, Rox." Sora looked away, pushing the covers off of them and focusing on the bird just outside Roxas' window. "It's like you become a different person. I didn't think you'd care."
Roxas sucked in a sharp breath and dropped Sora's hands. Sora whipped his head around and darted a hand to Roxas' leg. "How could you think that? What the fuck do you think you mean to me?"
Sora leaned in close, resting his arms over Roxas' shoulders. "Don't yell, Roxas. I only said that because I was annoyed. You get so… mean when you're up there. I know it's hard, but why are you mean to me?"
Because I'm in love with your boyfriend and it makes me feel guilty so I displace my anger on to you. "Because you're the only one I have." Because I know you'll forgive me. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
"How does that make sense?"
"It doesn't." Sora's arms felt heavy on him, heavier than the lithe body warranted. "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."
"I'm fine," Sora huffed, hands fiddling with the tag at the back of Roxas' shirt. Roxas looked doubtful, opened his mouth to respond, but his cellphone went off.
"Probably my roommate," Roxas said, tugging the covers off of them and grabbing at last night's discarded jeans to pull out his phone. New text message… from a number he didn't know. Frowning, Roxas opened the text:
Demyx had your number. Happy Thanksgiving. Sorry we couldn't hang yesterday.
"Who is it? Sora asked, yawning.
"…Someone from school." Roxas deleted the message, catching himself just a second too late to add the number to his phone. Damn. Sora yanked the phone from his hands.
"Oooh, is it a girl? How's Kairi, by the way? She like never comes down over the breaks. My mom actually wanted to—hey! You deleted it!" Sora tilted his head slightly and squinted at his best friend.
"That was an accident, actually." It wasn't a lie, not really. Sora's hand darted out to Roxas' neck.
"Really?" Sora asked, peering closely at the other boy.
"Basically."
"You're using erasive action, Roxie."
"That's evasive, genius."
"Oooh, Mr. College, with his big time vocabulary, here to educate us peons."
Roxas smirked. "'Peons,' is it? And you think that means…"
"Ants," Sora said firmly, nodding. Roxas snorted and yanked Sora from the bed.
"Let's make waffles."
--
Roxas stared morosely at his plate of partially eaten waffles. Riku had shown up before they'd finished eating, had promptly devoured half of Sora's waffles, and spirited his best friend away for a day of "Thanksgiving preparations" at Sora's house. Right. Thanksgiving prep. Roxas speared a perfect golden piece of waffle, smashing it against the plate with his fork until it was flattened. More like sex. Sora had asked him to come along, but Roxas had seen Riku jerk his head imperceptibly, indicating he should decline. So they can have sex. Disgusted, Roxas dumped the rest of his waffles in the trash. Stop thinking about it. He washed the dishes, horrified that the dish soap, the fucking dish soap, reminded him of inviting aquamarine. And there was the silverware. Roxas swore colorfully, tossing a handful of forks and spoons on to the drying rack and slammed the faucet off. They were probably in Sora's room right now. They were probably on his bed. Probably.
Roxas stomped up the stairs, his loud footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent house. His mother was at work. He was alone. Roxas slammed his bedroom door behind him, fully aware he was being stupid. He tore his laptop from his overnight bag and pulled the lid up. Moaning. They're moaning against each other right now. Sora's probably on top. Probably moaning. Roxas navigated his way to a bookmarked page of porn, sliding a hand into his pants. He was already nauseatingly hard. Come on Riku. Make him come. Make my best friend come, Riku. He pumped himself in time to the mechanical rocking of the guys going at it in streaming 320kbps. Fuck him, Riku. His heart pounded, the laptop resting on his chest wobbling as his arm jerked furiously and his hips twitched. Grab his waist and fuck him. Stick your fingers in his mouth. On some level Roxas knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't masturbate to images of his best friend and his best friend's boyfriend. Because it was "wrong." All of it was wrong. Should be me. Roxas held his breath as he came in his pants, frenzied movements slowing to a slow glide. He watched, furious, as the guys on his screen undulated against each other like they were in love. He dragged his hand past his torso, trailing come up to his chest. Is Riku doing this right now? Is he smearing Sora's come up his chest? Is he? IS HE? IS HE?
Roxas swallowed past the dryness in his throat. It hurt as the flesh peeled apart behind the swallow, like a band-aid being torn away slowly. He loved Sora. He knew he loved Sora. But wasn't he better? Better looking? Smarter? Should be me. He loved Sora. Should be ME. He'd never hurt Sora. Riku. Riku Riku Riku. "Riku," he whispered aloud. He swallowed again, licking his lips. "Riku," he moaned. Roxas stuck a finger, still slicked with come, in his mouth. Should be me. There was, of course, his earlier conclusion that he was ugly. So maybe he wasn't better looking. He was smarter, though, wasn't he? Erasive action. Roxas laughed hysterically, voice wound tight and pitched high.
…But Sora was happier. That's it. That must be it. Sora might've been crazy, might've been delusional, but he was hardly ever sad. Roxas was sad, all the time sad, even on good days. Sad manifested as anger, sad manifested as arousal. All the fucking time. Roxas shoved his hand angrily back into his pants. What the fuck is wrong with me? All he had, all he ever had, was questions. Sad manifested as defensive, sad manifested as a black fucking hole. You're sick, Roxas, he told himself past his groan of blind want, bucking into his hand. You're fucking sick. He imagined Sora with eyes screwed up in pleasure, lifted and slammed home again and again on Riku, head thrust back. He growled savagely as he came, the front of his pants damp with semen. Seriously, kill yourself, you fucking pervert. He yanked his hand from his pants and brought it to his mouth, sucking himself off his fingers like he had a gun to his head—horrified, obedient. No wonder Riku doesn't want you. You're worse than crazy. Roxas' chest moved like he was laughing.
--
"Hey." Shit. Cornered. Riku's and Roxas' families had congregated at Sora's for Thanksgiving dinner, and Roxas had just excused himself to have a cigarette under the guise of walking off some of the food which, if anyone had watched him closely enough, he had barely touched at all. He'd been halfway down the block, Parliament already lit, when Riku came up to him. "Thought you quit."
Shit. Roxas shrugged. He didn't remember trying to quit. Riku smirked and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, bringing it to his mouth. "Sure, Riku. You can have a hit."
Riku grinned around an exhale. "So generous of you, Rox." Riku took another small hit before handing the cigarette back. "Don't think I'm not on to you. 'I'm sooo full.' You ate like two bites. I know college is supposed to make you anorexic or whatever, but you're fine, Rox."
Roxas' heart pinged. "Thanks for your concern, mom. I'll make sure to go back and eat my vegetables." Riku chuckled and bumped up against Roxas. Roxas really, really wished he wouldn't do stuff like that.
"Anything up? You've been pretty, I dunno, harsh since you got in." Roxas passed the cigarette back to Riku. He was racking up secondhand kisses.
"School," Roxas said, waving his hand vaguely. "Boring shit."
"Speaking of school," Riku said, blowing smoke right into Roxas' face. "Thanks for answering my text."
"Oh, wait, I'm sorry. You, Riku, actually texted me, Roxas, while I was away at school? I didn't answer because I was dead of shock."
"I see how it is, Roxas," Riku smirked, reaching into the other boy's back pocket for his pack of Parliaments. Roxas leaned the barest of fractions into the touch. "I'll make sure to send you little love notes from now own."
"Sora would love that."
Riku's faced darkened under the streetlights. "Funny." He blew a column of smoke into the air and passed the cigarette to Roxas. "But seriously, who was that douchebag?"
Roxas had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from smiling. "Just some random guy. Hardly know him."
"What's his name?"
"Why?" Roxas leaned toward Riku, eyebrows raised. "Jealous?"
Riku didn't miss a beat. He grabbed Roxas by the hips and pulled the blonde flush up against him. "Of?"
Kiss me. He could feel his heart beating in his mouth. Fucking kiss me right now. He just needed to tilt his head up, rise slightly on his toes. When he felt Riku's fingers slide under his chin and tilt his face up, he prayed that Sora was still at the dinner table working his way through a second helping of candied yams. Oh fuck, kiss me. Kiss me.
"I don't want you hanging out with him." Riku murmured. So close. Roxas felt his insides liquefy, arms hanging limply at his sides, hands desperate to mirror Riku's hands settled just above the curve of his ass, the smallest amount of pressure keeping their hips together.
"What if I don't give a shit what you think?"
Riku paused for a moment before his hands exerted more pressure at Roxas' waist, rolling his hips infinitesimally. "What if I make you give a shit?"
FUCK! "Why are you doing this, Riku?" Roxas asked through teeth clenched of their own accord.
Riku shrugged, lips quirking cruelly. "We're just talking."
"Your hands are on my ass," Roxas hissed.
"I guess Psych majors don't need to take a course on anatomy, huh?" Riku chuckled, tapping his fingers at Roxas' waist.
"Details, Riku. You love Sora."
Riku leaned forward, hands dropping from Roxas' body. "So do you." The whisper in his ear, warm and slow, pulled chills from beneath Roxas' skin.
"Are you guys fighting?" Sora's voice prompted an immediate shift in the posture of the other boys. They turned, opening outward like petals. "Are you smoking, Riku?" Sora accused, eyes narrowing.
"Actually, babe, me and Rox were just talking about you."
You gorgeous motherfucking asshole. "Yeah," Roxas said, shuffling his feet. Sora pressed a hand to Roxas' cheek before stepping into Riku's arms.
"Yeah. We were discussing the best way to get you to do a threesome with us." Sora gasped audibly and Roxas choked on air. "I suggested alcohol, but Rox seems to think offering to videotape it would get you in the sack in no time."
"That's gross, Roxas," Sora frowned.
"HE IS SO FULL OF SHIT!" Roxas thundered, swatting out at Riku as the older boy used Sora as a human shield.
"We want you so bad, Sora," Riku cooed, darting away from Roxas' jabs, tugging the brunette along in his arms. "Don't let Roxas' angry face fool you."
"I'll kill you!" Roxas swore, giving up the offensive. "I will seriously sneak into your house while you sleep and kill you until you are dead."
"Well, I'd hate for you to kill me and stop before I died."
"Peon," Sora chirped, winking at Roxas.
"PEON DOES NOT MEAN ANTS!" Roxas screamed, tackling the other two.
They were a writing mass of limbs, Riku on the floor with a very startled Sora above him. Roxas found himself breathing hard, Riku's knee in a very, very inappropriate place, Sora directly below him. I hate my life, he thought.
"Good one, Roxas," Riku mumbled, mouth full of Sora's hair. "Too bad we're still clothed."
Roxas emitted a strangled cry of rage and shoved himself off the other two, inadvertently grinding into Sora's lap. Unexpectedly, the brunette moaned on an exhale. Everyone froze.
Sora's eyes widened. "Ohmygod." Riku coughed and burst into laughter. "Ohmygod, Roxas, it's all Riku's fault, he says stuff sometimes when we're—yeah, and like ohmygod, it's not like that at all." Riku laughed harder.
"I'm not retarded, Sora." Roxas smiled, offering a hand to help his best friend up. His mind was racing. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck.
"He's perverted, Roxas," Sora said seriously, kicking the still laughing Riku on the ground.
"Oh, come on, babe. It turns you on," Riku said, clutching at his side where Sora had kicked.
"Open your mouth again. I fucking dare you," Sora said, glaring down at Riku. Roxas felt extraordinarily lightheaded.
"I'm… going back inside." He turned and walked back to Sora's house. He heard the two shouting at each other behind him. It's nothing. Why are you even thinking about it? Roxas knew Riku liked to talk dirty. Riku being Riku. It's nothing. His cellphone went off as Roxas sat back down at the table, eyeing the platter of wiggling canned cranberry "sauce" wearily. New text message from Zexion:
Gobble gobble, bitch.
Roxas smiled despite himself, a bubble of crazed laughter clawing its way out of his throat. He had one more day of this before he'd be back at Kingdom; back behind a hundred miles of safe distance where he could empty his head. He stared at the chest cavity of the turkey, wondering how it might feel if the turkey was alive when they ripped out its lungs. He remembered a story about a crab being eaten with its heart still beating. He picked up a slice of turkey, repulsed, and put it in his mouth.