Disclaimer: They aren't mine.
A/N: I HAVE FANART! It feels pretty unbelievable, to be honest. Since ffnet hates links, head over to my profile: zippo at dA, the scene from "Empires" where Rox is stoned and having naughty thoughts on the beach. It's beautiful. Also, if anyone is still interested in that AkuRoku mix, the link is up on my profile.
In earlier chapters you'll notice most of the action takes place over a couple hours or a day or two. I'm trying to add more time since it feels funny having some kind of holiday every chapter. Yes, this one is Christmas. Almost Christmas, if you want to get technical. The rest of it will be in the next chapter.
There is pretty explicit drug use in this chapter. I know I've been misleading with the levity and the humor, but this is very much supposed to be a dark story. You get hints of that here, and it's all pretty heavy-handed. SORRY. Please enjoy, anyway.
--
Chapter Four: Marionettes
On a Sunday they stood on his doorstep, staring in eyes like mirrors. The sun was winding its way down to the horizon, and Roxas knew it was past time. Hands pressed to hips, not talking past the outpouring of identical oceans, sometimes it felt like memorization. Roxas would tell himself to remember how the light fell on his shoulders and caught the golden highlights in Sora's hair. He would tell himself to remember Sora's slow quivering breaths and dry eyes fighting for bravery. Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him. It was always the same slow goodbye.
Roxas, for all his perceptive prowess, could not see the hurt that leaving inflicted upon himself. At first he was disappointed and disgusted with his behavior, how he wouldn't answer Sora's calls or respond to his texts while he was at school. He wrote it off as residual anger about Riku, as jealousy. There were elements of this, of course, but the greater hurt was something he could not see at all. Every time Roxas left to return to Kingdom, a Blink-182 song blasting over the speakers of his rundown '90 Ford Escort, a very significant but unacknowledged part of him felt like it was being torn in two—stretched over the spatial and temporal, bleeding with the loss of Sora, of safety. He guarded himself from the memory of his best friend the way you might take care never to touch a fire again after being burned. It hurts. Why would you want to hurt? But Roxas cannot see this.
When Roxas first decided he had to go away for college, when he was stifled and drowned in the weight of things he shouldn't have felt at all, there had been a complete deterioration. Sora didn't speak to him for weeks. When he finally came around, one day before Roxas was set to leave for freshman year at Kingdom, Sora wasn't there to make amends.
"You hate me," Sora had said, glaring at the bottom of Roxas' driveway. It sounded less like an accusation and more like a command. They should have been sad. Sora shoved him to the ground, the coarse concrete hard against Roxas' back. "How long have you hated me, Rox? Too crazy for you?" They should have been sad, but instead they were furious.
"This is not about you, Sora!" Because everything, everyone, was already about Sora. This needed to be about Roxas. Sora left his house that day with a bloodied lip, Roxas with a scraped back and bruised knuckles. It wasn't until the first month of freshman year was over that Roxas spoke to his best friend again. He'd driven home, miserable and unseeing, at the end of midterms. He drove straight to Sora's house. Sora, sitting in bed waiting for the blackness of sleep, immediately knew Roxas was outside. Sora knew this because he knew the sound Roxas' car made. Because that is what they did; they memorized the minutiae of each other: Sora would only wear white socks, Roxas sounded like a five year old when he was tired, Sora's hands always smelled like grass, Roxas' car sounded like a clock when he pulled the e-brake. Sora was running out of the house as Roxas walked through the little picket fence. They didn't have to speak. They walked into each other's arms and all was forgiven.
Roxas thought the next time he left it would be easier. It only ever got harder. Now, standing close and sharing air, the same Blink-182 song on repeat in his head, he could only fall apart all over again.
"Beautiful," he whispered, fingers moving against the belt loops of Sora's jeans. You're so beautiful to me. Sora smiled, mimicking the movement against Roxas' waist.
"Call me when you get in." Sora's hand curved against Roxas' neck, stroking at the fine hair, three o'clock sunlight pouring over them. Roxas turned and walked to his car. They never say goodbye, and Roxas never looks back.
--
The sun was setting as Roxas walked the two miles from the parking lot to his dorm. The air smelled like the end of autumn, crisp and clean like a clear blue sky shot through with telephone lines and no sound at all. He hummed under his breath as he bypassed the dorms and headed to the outcropping of bluffs that overlooked the ocean. Three pale blue picnic tables, industrial plastic disguised as wood, sat out of place on the small overhang. Roxas sat at the table closest to the edge, still humming, focused on the way the sun melted into rather than slipped behind the edge of the sea. New quarter. It was easier to breathe the salt and mist here than at home. Easier to forget. His lips moved without him as he ran his new schedule through his head. He'd added an English class last minute though he'd sworn that Later Shakespeare would be his last foray into the maddening world of literature. This time I'll get Zex to write my papers. He figured he'd bribe his roommate with a month's worth of willing subjection to the chaos of Little Vista.
A selection of pebbles littered the top of the table, scattered idly by a remarkably sentient gust of wind, and Roxas' fingers manipulated the small fragments absently. Class on Mondays at eight in the fucking morning. What the hell was I thinking? Senior year loomed ever closer, and the enormous question of What Next approached with alarming speed. As a Psychology major, there were certain expectations held about what Roxas should do next… except it was never his plan to become a psychologist. He said he liked social pscyh, but in reality he was only interested in what people thought about how fucked up his mind was. He thought he'd find answers. Instead he found a handful of approaches that, in the end, all said the same thing: no one gets it.
The sun was almost fully melted at the horizon, a spill of ruby far off in the distance, when Roxas was startled by the sound of a phone flipping closed. He jolted slightly and turned. Of course. "Hey."
Axel, phone in hand, smirked at him. "Don't stop on account of me." The redhead slid in next to Roxas, tapping his phone on the table.
"What?" This guy.
"You were singing," Axel said encouragingly. "Very surreal with the sunset and your little art project." Axel pointed at the pebbles Roxas had been rearranging.
Nonplussed, Roxas looked at the table. He frowned. Somehow, between the idle chatter in his brain and the humming, he'd rearranged the pebbles to form the world "believe." You're losing it, Roxas, he told himself, moving his arm to push the pebbles off the table. Axel caught his wrist.
"Nah, leave it. It's a nice sentiment."
Roxas shrugged. "It's Sunday."
"Your powers of perception are killing me, Roxas."
Roxas rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. Aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"
Axel look surprised. "Work?"
Roxas glowered. "You're a fucking liar. You said you had a job."
Comprehension colored Axel's features and his mouth quirked. "Good memory." As the other boy smiled, Roxas noticed a cut open on Axel's lower lip, a bead of blood pushing its way out. Like drawn by the strings of a puppeteer, Roxas' hand moved to wipe the blood away.
"You're bleeding." Axel's tongue darted out to catch the blood, inadvertently licking the tip of Roxas' finger. The blonde jerked his hand away like he'd been electrocuted.
"Yeah, some motherfucker decked me," Axel said. Roxas waited for him to continue, but Axel did not elaborate. "I need a drink."
A drink sounds good. "I, uh, have class at like eight tomorrow."
"…And?"
Roxas shook his head, smiling. "You're dauntless."
Axel was quiet for a moment, looking out at the darkening sea. "That makes sense coming from anyone else but you." Roxas opened his mouth to ask what the other boy meant, but Axel was standing and pulling Roxas along with him. "You. Me. Vista. There is alcohol to be had."
"Don't you worry about cirrhosis?" Roxas asked as the two of them made their way down Late Sunday Drive.
"I'm not an alcoholic," Axel snorted.
"No shit, neither am I," Roxas said. "But we're not immortal. We drink like fish."
"Having a crisis of morals, Roxas?" Axel asked, tapping the cigarette Roxas had taken out and was attempting to light.
"I'm not scared of cancer."
"It's not scared of you, either."
"Yeah, well, good for cancer. But cirrhosis can keep its filthy hands to itself."
They walked in only slightly awkward silence as Roxas smoked and the streetlights blinked on one by one. They were about to walk up Little Vista's driveway when Axel stopped and took the dying cigarette out of Roxas' hand and tossed it to the floor, stepping firmly on the glowing ember.
"Believe what?"
"Huh?" This guy. I swear to god, this fucking guy.
"Your little project. 'Believe.' Believe what?" Axel's face was strangely blank.
"I dunno," Roxas shrugged. The evening air was hard to breathe, flowing like molasses into his lungs.
Axel turned abruptly up Vista's driveway. Roxas had half a mind to walk back to the dorms. The bastard was maddening. "You should sing more," the redhead called over his shoulder. "You have a great voice."
And that, really, was all it took. Roxas snapped. You have a great voice. You have a great voice. He pulled out his pack of Parliaments with shaking hands and sat roughly on the curb. You have a great voice. You have a great voice. Nicotine and chemicals swam into his lungs past the heavy night air and Roxas tried to ignore the memory dancing in front of him.
"You have a great voice." Riku, standing close, hand on Roxas' shoulder. Spearmint on his breath. "You should sing more often." Riku, brushing his lips against Roxas' temple.
Roxas flicked the cigarette into the street and watched the stub twirl in a circle. Stop, he silently pleaded to no one in particular. Please stop. He hadn't even been back for a whole day. The memories strung along, knowing Roxas didn't want them to stop, not really.
"Sing for me." A finger parting him, stroking at him. A simple melody, tasting of cigarettes and coffee, left his lips—a hymn to some ancestral deity. As the finger pushed past flesh, teasing at the ripple of muscle, the melody escalated. The other boy played him like an Aeolian lyre, teasing out the sounds with deft fingers and whispers softer than wind.
"Sing for me, baby." A wet kiss pressed onto the tip of heat before he found himself in the other boy's mouth, gasping out open note chords. The mouth left him, trailing up his body; slick, warm. The finger plucked at internal strings. A kiss of feathers and light at his neck. "You're nothing like him."
"Fuck," Roxas said. "Fuck." He staggered to his feet and hurried in past Vista's front door. Hayner, sitting on the couch with a drink, looked up and smiled messily. He was obviously drunk.
"ROXAS!" His name sounded wrong in Hayner's mouth, but Roxas had enough of how and when it sounded right. There comes a point when enough is enough, when just the idea of something brings a wave of nausea strong enough to rip dry heaves out of an aching chest. Enough is enough, he thought as he straddled Hayner's waist, the other blonde staring up at him in awe. He took the drink from Hayner's hand and put it to his mouth. Vodka and cranberry. His favorite vehicle of obliteration. He drank half the cup in one long pull before placing it back in the other boy's grasp. He bent forward and kissed Hayner on the mouth; slow insistence.
They broke away gasping. "H-how w-was your, uh, Thanksgiving?" Hayner stuttered as Roxas jutted his hips into Hayner's crotch.
"Shit," Roxas said, moving in to capture the other boy's mouth with his. Tongue like a lasso, flicking like a riding crop, he pressed himself up against the other boy. He moved his lips to Hayner's neck, kissing a path of curses against the skin. "How was yours?"
Roxas heard the other boy swallow noisily. "Fuck, Roxas. Why are you such a fucking cocktease?"
Roxas smirked and bounced in Hayner's lap. "We're just talking." This, of course, was a mistake. It only made him think of Riku's cruel smile, the one reserved just for Roxas. He dug himself in against Hayner's growing erection, pleased as Hayner's hands gripped his hips, drink spilled and forgotten on the floor. The other boy swore under his breath and Roxas writhed against him, muttering wordless sounds in his ear. One of Hayner's hands slid up his shirt, sloppy and unfocused, pressing him downward as Hayner's other hand fumbled with the front of his jeans.
One second Roxas was knelt before Hayner's spread legs, eyes lowered and waiting, Hayner's hand firm on the back of his head, pressing. The next second he was on his feet and Hayner was on the floor, Axel in between them.
"Don't," Axel threatened, voice thick with barely concealed rage as he pointed at Hayner, "you fucking touch him like that."
Hayner, eye beginning to purple, sat up and pointed at the front door. "Get. Out." Axel needed no additional prompting. He turned and headed for the door. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" Hayner screamed, picking up his cup of spilled alcohol and hurling it after the redhead. "FUCKING SLUT. GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Roxas stared blankly at Hayner for a few moments as the other boy pressed at his bruising eye, oblivious to the crowd of stoned kids that had gathered. What the fuck just happened? He was semi-erect in his jeans, panting, chest blooming with disgust. His legs carried him out the door. The hastily consumed alcohol began to sink into his bloodstream and he wondered again, What the fuck just happened? He found Axel sitting on the curb outside Little Vista.
The redhead looked up as Roxas approached and smiled wryly. "Cockblock. Sorry." Roxas said nothing. Axel's hands were shaking. "He's shit in bed, anyway. Fuckin' rich boy." Axel lifted a can of beer to Roxas and the blonde took it, swallowing the metallic bite of the liquid. He handed the can back to Axel, empty. Axel stared at the can in disbelief. "Your Thanksgiving must've been hell."
Roxas shrugged noncommittally. "Can we get out of here?" He's had sex with Hayner. Are they going out? Was I making out with the guy he's with? What the fuck? Why isn't he beating the shit out of me?
Axel peered up at him from the curb. "What'd you have in mind?"
"You know… whatever." Roxas looked at the redhead pointedly.
"Ohhh, right." Axel stood, dusting his pants. "Right. There's a good spot on the beach."
They walked down the beach access stairs in silence. Roxas felt mild apprehension nipping at him. He needed more to drink. The sky was moonless and Roxas stumbled more than once over the smattering of smooth flat rocks littering the sand as Axel led them down the dark beach. What are you doing? The broken pieces of him were smashing against each other, trying to reconnect for some semblance of control. You're losing it, Roxas.
They came to a dip in the bluffs, a small patch of sand obscured on either side by jagged rock. Somewhere above them the sounds of a house party painted a backdrop of noise against the roar of the surf. Axel settled against the face of the bluff, folding his wiry limbs into himself. Roxas sat opposite of him, nervous anticipation pricking his palms. Axel shook his head and dragged Roxas next to him.
"I need to show you how," Axel said, voice hushed. He pulled a small case out of his jeans and took out a slightly opaque pipe. "I don't have any on me right now, but there's still a couple hits left in here." Axel's voice was low, reverent. It was difficult for Roxas to swallow. Axel's eyes were illuminated briefly as he flicked open a lighter and held it beneath the pipe, turning the stem from side to side. He looked focused, excited. The lighter went out and Roxas felt the pipe hover in front of his mouth. "Are you sure?"
Am I? What the fuck are you doing here, Roxas? "Yes."
"This is not like smoking pot. You're going to inhale as much as you can, but you're not going to hold it in. Big breath in, and then let it out nice and easy." The lighter flickered and the pipe was between his lips. "Go."
The smoke hit the back of his throat in a bitter wave as Axel held the lighter under the pipe, twisting the stem left to right in Roxas' mouth, the liquid coating and re-coating the bowl. He inhaled and inhaled until his lungs were full. As he watched the enormous cloud of smoke leave his mouth, Roxas was sure he'd done it wrong, that he'd taken too much. He felt a trickle of something like spiders crawl down his scalp. Axel's hand was on Roxas' neck and his head was rolling back, eyes fluttering closed.
"Shhh," Axel was saying, fingers at his throat. "Shhh, it's okay." Axel's hand left him as the redhead brought the pipe to his own lips. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. Roxas' pulse was racing, the taste of boiled cabbage thick in his drying mouth. He felt…
Amazing. Axel's thumb brushed under his eye as the pipe was pressed to his lips again. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. The spiders were back, crawling like a million snowflakes melting on the crown of Roxas' head as Axel rubbed his shoulder and the back of his neck. He could do anything. He could do anything. He would tell Sora that he loved Riku. He would. He would ace the semester. He would. He could do anything.
His mouth was moving without him. "I've never done this before," he said. "I've smoked pot and snorted Ritalin and for a week I lived off Lorazepam. I was going to shoot heroin once, but…" Roxas trailed off, unwilling to pursue where that train of thought would lead him. "I stayed up on Ambien with my best friend, Sora, and we made out, which probably should've been weirder than it was, and I've been so shitfaced that I was fully clothed in a shower and I've rolled a couple times. Almost freebased coke, got talked out of it." Roxas' mouth was dry, his tongue thick and papery in his mouth. Everything, cabbage.
"Keep talking," Axel said, leaning forward. "This is probably the most I've ever heard you speak." Roxas thought that should've made him feel embarrassed, but he laughed, bumping shoulders with the older boy.
"I feel really good. Like sometimes I smoke pot and it feels good, but mostly I just remember shit I don't want to think about which is not happening right now at all. Like, at all. It feels amazing," Roxas gushed. Axel twirled the pipe in his hands, turning it over and over.
"Listen, man," Axel said, eyes on his fidgeting hands. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I just don't like that shit, how he was pushing your head down like that. I mean, if you wanted to, whatever, it's cool, but he shouldn't push you down like that." Axel was tripping over his words, twirling the pipe faster between his fingers.
"Are you, like, dating?" Roxas asked, pleased that he felt no apprehension about asking the question anymore at all. Because he could do anything.
"Nah. Fucked a couple times. Like I said, absolute shit in bed, that guy. Nice mouth, though. Good way to lose the oral V-card. I'm sure he's still down."
"I don't, uh, actually have an oral V-card."
Axel paused, looking at Roxas. "I thought Zexion said you were a virgin?"
"Yeah, well, Zexion doesn't know shit about me. I let everyone think what they want."
"…So you've had oral?"
"Yeah. Just once, though. Nothing special."
"Ambien have anything to do with it?"
Roxas smiled and shook his head. "That's wrong on so many levels. Sora's my best friend."
"…You like being evasive. I've asked like twenty different questions and you've answered maybe one of them."
"No, my best friend did not give me head." Roxas said, leaning close to Axel, searching for his eyes in the darkness.
"…Any other V-cards you're no longer carrying?"
"We're not discussing this," Roxas laughed, reaching for the pipe. "Is there more in here?"
Axel chuckled darkly. "You're exhibiting drug seeking behavior, Roxas. I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Come the fuck on. I had a shit holiday, and now you're telling me I passed up stellar oral. The least you can do is get me spun."
Axel shifted toward him. "The least I can do? Oh, Roxas, you have no fucking idea what I could do to make it up to you."
Roxas breathed in Axel's words as they pressed against his face, low and spiced. He didn't know if it was possible for his heart to race any faster. "There seems to be this averted blowjob I'm remembering."
"You're talking out of your ass right now. You're going to regret everything you're telling me."
"You're probably right," Roxas said, leaning away. One thing I don't need is more shit to think about.
Axel was quiet for a minute, rubbing the pipe against Roxas' jeans. "I don't even like giving head. Sometimes I hate it."
"Why?"
Axel fidgeted with the case, putting the pipe away. "Long story."
"Well, let me grab a fucking bag of popcorn."
"Oh, ha-ha, brat. It's kind of a bum out; you don't want to hear it."
"Right, right. We're high and we get to trade secrets."
Axel shrugged, pulling his flask out of a pocket, offering it to Roxas first. "We don't have to."
Roxas took a long pull of the smooth vodka, felt it slide down his throat and take the cabbage with it. "Who's being evasive now, asshole?"
Axel shrugged again. "Okay. I require a cig as payment." He held his hand out. Roxas obliged, pulling two from his rapidly diminishing pack. "So I was eight years old," Axel began, lighting his cigarette. "My mom, who's fucking crazy, liked to move around a lot. We were in some shit town up north. Real run down with like trailers and shit, up in the forest. Anyway, I remember I was out of school for the summer. There was this girl that lived near us, Larxene, and we were in the same grade. We hung out a lot, chasing squirrels and getting into random shit. Regular shit, right?" Axel exhaled, head titled up toward the sky. "So she had this older brother. Luxord. He was about fifteen." Axel kept his eyes skyward. "We were just bored kids. Nothing to do in a shit town over the summer. He kept us entertained. Card games, little magic tricks. I was eight, y'know? What the fuck did I know?" Roxas got the distinct impression that this would not be a warm and fuzzy story.
"So one day he says he thought of a new game to play, a guessing game. Involved blindfolds." Roxas' cigarette had gone out, unsmoked in his left hand. "He had two markers; one thin, one thick. He had a bowl of sugar and a bowl of salt. It was a guessing game, right? He said he'd blindfold us—me and his sister—and we'd have to guess which marker and what it was dipped in. So he took his sister in the bathroom. I guess she lost. So I went in, and he blindfolded me with a sweater. The first thing I tasted was the thin marker in sugar. I was pretty excited, right? There wasn't even a prize. We were just fucking kids, bored out of our minds. So I had to guess the next one right. I knew immediately it was his dick. I knew it was his dick, but I wasn't going to say it. I said it was the thick marker in salt. And the motherfucker laughed and shook his dick in my mouth and told me to guess again." Axel flicked his dead cigarette as he finished. Roxas couldn't see him in the dark, but his voice sounded bitter. "And now you're the only other person in the world who knows."
Roxas didn't know what to say, could formulate nothing coherent. He lapsed into the learned behavior of living his life with fucked up kids. You traded stories to prove who was more fucked up. You traded stories to prove you weren't alone in a fucked up world. "When I was sixteen I got a flat tire on the freeway." Roxas held his hand out for Axel's lighter. He re-lit his cigarette, tasting the refry at the sides of his tongue. "I thought I was going to die, but I managed to pull over to the side of the road. So I just got off the phone with Triple A when I saw this pickup truck cut across like five lanes of traffic. It stopped in front of me and this guy got out." Roxas took a deep breath, still thankful for the rush of uninhibited speech the meth had given him. "He came up to my window and asked if I was okay. He looked… well, he looked good." Roxas smiled. Shit. Cover blown. "I said I was fine and everything, but he said he would wait with me until Triple A showed up. So I let him in my car." Axel made a small noise of disbelief.
"Yeah, I know," Roxas admitted. "Let a stranger in my car, someone obviously way older than me. Whatever, he was cute. So the first thing I noticed was he smelled like alcohol. He was actually holding a forty and he offered me some. He made some random small talk; asked if I was old enough to be driving." Roxas swallowed, faintly aware that he would never have told Axel this story if he were in his right mind. "He started… touching me. Nothing below the waist, but he was touching my mouth and my neck. He said I was 'nice.' He said it wasn't safe to be on the side of the freeway, and he said I should let him give me a ride. I'm pretty sure he patted his lap when he said that. I kinda… just smiled and said I was fine. He left pretty quick after that; said there was nothing he could do for me." Roxas was grateful as Axel passed his flask of vodka over. "I guess that secret isn't very valuable, since Sora and his boyfriend know." On "boyfriend," Roxas noted that Axel stilled visibly. "But the part I don't tell them is that the guy had long silver hair, just like Sora's boyfriend." Roxas tipped the last of the flask in his mouth. "And, uh, I guess I entertained the idea of going with the guy. It's like… I dunno. I wanted him to touch me. I liked what he said about me." Roxas shrugged.
"That's…" Axel said, accepting the empty flask from Roxas.
"Yeah, I know. Stupid."
"Honest, I was going to say. Stupid is definitely a close second. The dude was clearly going to rape your ass."
"Can't rape the willing," Roxas whispered. It should have been funny. They didn't laugh.
"Come on. We've both got class in like five hours." Axel pulled Roxas to his feet. The blonde realized he hadn't eaten in thirteen hours and didn't feel hungry at all.
"Should we eat?"
"Nah, we'll be fine. You probably won't feel hungry tomorrow either. Probably won't sleep at all. You're going to kick my ass later."
Roxas smiled. "Probably."
--
Five minutes until eight o'clock on Monday morning found Roxas staggering through the front doors of a lecture hall. He'd slept for an hour and a half. In what alternate universe did I think a class called Renaissance Pastoral at eight in the fucking morning sounded like a good idea? The lecture hall was disproportionately large compared to the kids inside. Thirty kids packed into the last four rows, and Roxas glared at them all equally. He could sit in the middle of the room, alone, or he could join the overachievers up front where… where a very red-haired boy was staring at him. You've got to be fucking kidding me.
Roxas walked over to the second row where Axel sat, dead center. "You are way too awake right now," he said, taking the seat next to the smiling older boy.
"Early birds and worms and shit," Axel said cheerily. "You look like you had a good night's sleep."
"I'm kicking your ass after class."
"Looking forward to it."
The professor, a well-built man with a shiny bald head that Axel laughed at for a minute straight, launched into the lecture while passing out a stack of syllabi. Before Roxas even took out a pen, Axel had already taken a full page of notes. It was hard for Roxas not to gawk. Axel caught the blonde staring and smiled, shaking his head. Roxas tried to focus on the lecture, jotted down a word or two, but kept coming back to the fact that Axel was writing a novel in his notebook. He's writing down every word the guy says! Axel, without looking away from the professor, tapped Roxas' notebook with his pen.
When class was over, the two of them walking to the dining commons for lunch, Roxas still hadn't recovered from the shock that was Axel… working hard… like a student. It just didn't compute.
"Is that going to be a habit?"
"What?" Axel asked, holding open the door to the dining commons for Roxas to walk through.
"That taking notes thing. And by 'notes' I mean a word for word transcription of everything the professor said."
Axel chuckled. "Don't worry, slacker. I'll help you study for exams."
"But you're a History major. Why are you even in that class?"
"Believe it or not, the pastoral and georgic modes have a lot of bearing as commentary on political thought of the historical time period they're found in." Axel spoke as if Roxas actually understood what he was saying.
In fact, the next three weeks of December passed much in the same vein. Though he disappeared systematically every Saturday and Sunday, Axel took meticulous notes every single Monday at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, and any time the redhead talked about what they were supposed to be learning, Roxas was sure he'd started speaking Greek. Roxas saw Zexion every once in awhile in their dorm room, but he more or less seemed to have become a permanent fixture on the couch at Little V. With no one to eat with, Roxas found himself spending a lot of time with Axel. He felt, dare he say it, like a friend. A real friend. A real friend who goaded him into singing with Demyx every afternoon. A real friend who hid his cigarettes so he'd stop chain-smoking them. A real friend who knocked on his door at 7:30 every morning to get his "sorry ass out of bed, dammit, Roxas."
"This can't be healthy," Roxas said as he examined page after page of notes inked in Axel's small all-caps handwriting. Their professor had mentioned an exam the Monday after the approaching winter break, and Roxas found himself in Axel's room on a Saturday night, sitting on Axel's disconcertingly white sheets. The older boy hadn't given Roxas a straight answer when he asked why he was in on a Saturday. "Are you sure you're not going to get fired or something?' Roxas asked.
Axel, rifling through his closet, turned exasperatedly. "For the last fucking time, no. NO. It's… fuck, Roxas."
"Let me guess. You don't actually have a job." Roxas closed the notebook. He already figured there was no job in existence that would keep Axel out all night on Saturday and all day on Sunday.
"You are infuriating," Axel said, grabbing the notebook out of Roxas' hands and tossing it on the floor. "Seriously infuriating. But, no, I don't actually have a 'job' job. I do other shit." Axel grabbed his keys. "Put your shoes on."
"What?"
"Merry Christmas, you little brat. I'm taking you out."
Roxas frowned. "I can't go out. My hair looks like shit."
"Roxas. Seriously? You are SO FUCKING GAY."
"What?!" Roxas cried, jumping in front of Axel's mirror. "Look at it! I need like gel or something."
"I'm going to kill you. I really am." Axel picked Roxas' shoes off the floor and tossed them at the blonde. "Your shoes. Put them on, for fuck's sake."
"Okay, okay. Fuck, go all dictator on me, why don't you?" Roxas grumbled, slipping on his Vans. "Some Christmas present—" he began before Axel grabbed him.
"Don't say anything else. You're already making me think this is a bad fucking idea." Axel was oddly serious. Roxas quieted and followed Axel out the door.
--
"I didn't get you anything," Roxas admitted as they walked toward the dark blue brick exterior of a bar.
"I don't need anything," Axel shrugged as they headed toward the back door.
"That's not the point," Roxas said. "It's like the sentiment or something."
"Yeah. Sentiment," Axel said, distracted. "Stay here. Don't move." The redhead went ahead and approached the bouncer standing at the back entrance. Roxas watched as Axel went right up to the bouncer and trailed a hand down the huge man's chest. Roxas was pretty sure his mouth dropped open. Axel said something in the bouncer's ear and Roxas saw the man chuckle, his chest heaving. A minute later Axel was beckoning to him as the bouncer opened the door. The bouncer didn't look at Roxas at all as Axel led him into the smoky interior of the bar.
"Relax," Axel murmured to him as they slid into a table in the middle of the room. Something loud and indistinguishable blared over the sound system as the nearly packed bar worked itself into a frenzy. A waitress approached and Axel whispered something in her ear. The waitress, a perky brunette, slapped Axel's cheek playfully before heading toward the bar. "And this," Axel said, "is where my weekend starts."
"…In a bar."
"Very astute, Roxas." Axel beamed at the waitress as she deposited two glasses on their table. Roxas took a glass into his hand. "Don't get your hopes up. It's just water."
"Okay. I'm totally… like I have no idea what the fuck we're doing in a bar if we're drinking water."
Axel didn't respond, eyes casting over the crowd. "So impatient. Just… watch this." Axel stood and wandered over to another corner of the bar where a man in a suit stood. Roxas hadn't realized the man was staring at them. Axel talked with the man, touching the guy's arm, and Roxas began to feel the slow churn of dread in the pit of his stomach. This is… not right. Axel turned and made his way back to the table. The redhead sat, smirking and silent. A minute later the waitress returned with two amber colored drinks. Axel smiled indulgently at Roxas and pushed a glass his way. "Merry Christmas, Roxas."
Roxas sipped at the drink. It was very, very strong. "I am so freaked out right now."
Axel laughed quietly. "Worst case scenario. Shoot."
"Okay. That guy's like your pimp or something."
Axel snorted into his drink. "That's, uh, very generous of you. It's nothing quite so elaborate."
Roxas gulped at the amber liquid, wincing as it seared its way past his throat. "Then what? You go to bars and get guys to buy you drinks?"
"Warmer."
"There's more?"
"I'm not a saint, Roxas," Axel said. Roxas realized the smile on Axel's mouth wasn't reaching his eyes. "I never claimed to be one."
"Please be kidding."
"What's the matter, Roxas?" Axel said, sucking down the rest of his drink. "Having a crisis of morals?"
"No," Roxas growled. "Do what you want. I don't fucking care. Just… couldn't you have just said it? Why are we having this little three act play about it?"
Axel raised his empty glass to the suited man in the corner, winking. "Because that's all we are. That's all anything is. 'All the world's a stage,' and all that bullshit, right?" Roxas said nothing. Axel sighed. "Listen. It's not as dirty as it sounds."
Roxas choked on a sip of liquor. "Which part? The part where these totally random guys buy you drinks, or the part where you fuck them for it?"
"Don't be retarded, Roxas."
"I'm not being fucking retarded!" He hadn't meant to shout. The barroom chatter quieted slightly, eager to hear more. "This kind of shit will get you killed," Roxas hissed.
Axel shook his head, picking up a glass from the second round the waitress brought over. "I forget how young you are sometimes." Axel surveyed Roxas over the rim of his glass. "You're just a kid."
"I'll leave," Roxas said, feeling the blood rush out through his body and past the floor. "I'll get up and fucking leave."
"Don't," Axel said, hand darting out to Roxas' wrist. "Jesus, I didn't think you'd react like this."
"Like what, Axel?" Roxas whispered, not able to keep the twinge of horror out of his voice. "Human? Why do you do this shit?"
"Casual sex is not against the law, Rox."
"You do it every fucking weekend."
"…And?" Roxas scooted his chair back, rising to storm out. Asshole. He's a fucking crazy asshole. "Wait! For fuck's sake, wait. I'm trying to be honest with you, okay? I value your friendship. Or whatever. I value you. I wanted you to know the truth."
"This is the worst Christmas present in the history of mankind."
Axel quieted. "Jeez, Roxas. Way to kick a guy when he's down."
"I'm sorry," Roxas sighed. No you're not. Get the fuck out of here. "It's just not what I was expecting."
"Oh?" Axel asked, leaning forward. "What were you expecting?"
"I dunno," Roxas shrugged. Nothing. What had he been expecting? Nothing. Did he expect dinner and a movie? This wasn't a date. Flowers? Kissing? This wasn't a date because they were friends, because they didn't "like" each other. What had he been expecting? Nothing. Everything.
"Don't you have to drive home in the morning? Come on, I'll take you back."
"No," Roxas shook his head. "I'm just being stupid. This is… actually, it's kind of cool. I've never been in a bar before." Roxas raised his eyes to meet Axel's. The redhead looked relived, and Roxas felt his heart ping.
"Fuck." Axel swallowed the rest of a drink. "I seriously thought you were going to walk out on me."
I was. "Nah. Just unexpected, is all." You're better than this, Axel. What the fuck are you doing?
"Look." Axel jutted his chin over to the left. "Victim number two." A towering man with long dark hair sat at the bar, staring obviously at Axel. Roxas realized that he had Axel's type all wrong. He'd thought Axel was into boyish guys, thin and delicate. That wasn't Axel's type at all. Judging from the last guy and this one, Axel liked… well, men. Surly, powerful, manly men, which some plaintive cry in the back of his mind acknowledged was not how Roxas was at all. Oh.
Oh.
--
It was raining unexpectedly when they emerged from the din of the bar. Axel had stopped after his fourth drink, but Roxas had gone on to eight—nine?—and could hardly walk. Axel helped him to his room, Roxas rambling madly about something his mind wasn't listening to. His mouth was talking without him, talking up a storm. He knew he was saying Sora's name a lot, which inevitably meant he was saying Riku's name a lot. They stood in front of Roxas' door, the smell of pot heavy in the hallway. Roxas stared at his door like he couldn't figure out how it functioned. He turned to Axel with the intent of asking him to open it, but instead he found himself in the older boy's arms, breathing heavy into the broad expanse of Axel's chest.
When Axel spoke, Roxas felt the reverberations of speech past the steady beat of Axel's heart. "You smell amazing, Roxas." His voice was quiet, and Roxas thought it sounded like he was fighting off something. "Like… Pop Rocks." And Roxas was sure there was a fight going on as Axel pressed him into his chest, warm and huge like blankets that fit perfectly over your entire body. Axel's arms felt eerily familiar, like he'd been in them before despite knowing that he hadn't.
Then they were in his room and he felt his shoes come off, his shirt tugged over his head. He didn't want to be moaning, but he couldn't be sure that he wasn't. Axel tugged his jeans down under his hips. Are we having sex? Roxas wondered. Then his head was on his pillow, sheets pulled up to his chin and tucked in at his sides. Axel was telling him to sit up, was pressing a bottle of water to his lips, was telling him to drink. It spilled down his chin and Axel was wiping it off with the back of his hand, and the touch turned into a soft glide against the curve of his cheek, thumb brushing under his eyes.
"Merry Christmas, Roxas," Axel whispered, and Roxas was sure that the fight had been lost, could hear it in the other boy's voice. "Merry Christmas." A kiss, wet with rain—rain?—pressed against his cheek. And again, a kiss. And again. "You're so amazing, Roxas." And again. "You're so impossible." Roxas wanted to respond, wanted to make his mouth do what he wanted it to do, but he was sure he must've looked like he was asleep. Axel's fingers ran through his hair and he heard the other boy inhale deeply. "Fuck. You smell so amazing." Roxas thought he might die. He really thought he might. "Don't remember this tomorrow." And then the lights were off and Axel was gone, the dampness of rain—rain?—cooling on his cheek.
It might have been okay if it weren't for the echo. Shut the fuck UP, Roxas thought as much as anyone helplessly drunk can think. You smell amazing. You smell amazing. Echoes pealing like bells in his head, and he couldn't stop the thirty pieces of silver from clattering down all around him.
"You smell so good." The fever of the words plucking single notes up against his neck. Callused fingers against him, sliding. "Keep singing for me, baby." A tongue in his mouth, searching out the song as it spilled out from past his throat. The fingers shifted down, around, and his back arched up, hips colliding with hips, as he was pressed into and pressed and pressed, panting into a mouth that tasted like coffee and revenge.
Stop, Roxas thought. Please stop. He groaned, rolling his hips against memory and nothing. He wanted to jack off, but he couldn't make his arms work. Roxas fell asleep with the bittersweet taste of a name on his lips.
"Riku."