Disclaimer: They aren't mine.
A/N: I realize I misdiagnosed Sora in the earlier chapters, hah. It's been a while since my undergrad Psych classes, and I didn't want to give the poor kid full-blown Schizophrenia, so I decided Delusional Disorder was a happy medium. WRONG. Sora's DSM-IV criteria would make him Schizophrenic ("undifferentiated," probably, since his delusions aren't exactly catalogued under the "paranoid" umbrella). My bad. I promise to fix it all later. I also promise to respond to all your reviews from last week (especially you, Zheyne—the prodigal reviewer returns!).
No Faulkner fans, huh? How about a really big hint: The Sound and the Fury. It's there. I swear. ALSO: This chapter is short. My bad, again.
--
Chapter Six: Morality
You can't pick and chose who you fall in love with. It just happens. One minute you're talking with a friend about the shitty weather, or you're talking about how terrible that new movie is, or how much you hate your parents. You're talking about anything, and the next minute you're in love. Maybe it zeroes in like something atomic; one catastrophic blast and you're gone. Or maybe it starts off slow, a kick in the ribs every time he looks in your eyes just half a second too long. Maybe the way he laughs with you after you say something completely ridiculous because you're high and all three of you are squashed in his backseat. Maybe how, when you asked for a hug after he finished making out with your best friend in your driveway, he called you the "sexiest boy in the world," and you thought he had to be joking because Sora was there, and how could he say that if Sora was there. And then you're in love. It tears you apart, but you're in love.
Roxas spent the next few days after Christmas kissing his mom on the cheek before she left for work, staring at Sora's texts on his phone before deleting them unanswered, and spending the rest of the day lying on the ground in the middle of his backyard baked out of his mind. He never thought much of pot, but smoking it alone felt better, smoother, than smoking it with anyone else. Especially Sora. Sora, who would pry the truth from his throat just by being there. Sora, who was probably having sex right now for the four-hundredth time. Make-up sex. The good kind.
Stop, Roxas thought, pushing his bed sheets off of him. Every morning he woke up with Sora sitting in his mind. Sora and Riku sitting in his mind. On his chest. Or lower, just a bit lower.
"It's okay." Warmth in his ear, tongue touching slow. "He wants you, too."
Roxas took a shaky breath, hands fisted in his sheets. This is not happening to me. Hands balled tight, he could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. His mother was calling him from the kitchen. In what appeared to have been a whirlwind romance, Roxas' mother had spent the past few days with this charming, rugged, and shaving commercial-y guy who, from what Roxas understood, was the son of the guy who created that little magnetic strip on the back of credit cards (read: filthy fucking rich). They'd stumbled in yesterday afternoon all giggly and apologetic. Roxas, who had been higher than a kite, could only nod and smile. Now, though, making his way downstairs to the kitchen, Roxas began to feel nervous. He didn't know if it was the right response, this shame-faced bashfulness, as if he were intruding upon someone else's happiness.
As he tripped down the last few stairs, Roxas decided "Bob" is what he'd call the guy. His mother had seen enough men in his life for Roxas to come to terms with the fact that A) none of them could be his dad (mostly because his mom flew from commitment like a little bird from a particularly intimidating cat, but also because his dad was still his dad, sautéing in all his apathetic deadbeat glory somewhere 750 miles away) and B) there is just no way in hell he'd ever remember all their names. Some were "Mitch," others were "Chuck," one in particular was "Manfred." There had been a couple Bobs, and as Roxas pulled open the fridge to A) take out the milk and B) hide his face from Bob, he figured this Bob might not be too bad. He was, after all, not eating Roxas' clearly labeled cereal. Whenever Roxas was set to be home, his mother would buy him a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and label it in a strip of yellowish masking tape: "Hi, Roxas." Clearly, this meant the cereal was for Roxas and Roxas alone. It never stopped Bob, Mitch, Mitch, Chuck, or Bob. It certainly never stopped Manfred. This Bob, however, seemed pretty satisfied with his Cheerios. Ew, Roxas thought.
Roxas sat across from Bob, delicately placing his bowl full of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the carton of milk on the kitchen island. Bob was smiling into his bowl of cereal, and Roxas knew he should probably say something. It was awkward enough already, and he was making it worse by being brain dead.
"Hi." Bob. Roxas offered his best toothy grin (not too bad, considering he smoked the last of his pot yesterday and he'd probably claw his face off before the day was done).
Bob raised his eyes from his bowl of cereal, and Roxas thought that there was no way this was the son of the nerdy fucker who created credit card strips. "Thought you were going to ignore me," Bob admitted. "You know, the whole 'moody teenager' deal."
Roxas wrinkled his nose as he chewed on a heaping spoonful of cinnamon-y goodness. "Nah. I got past that part." Bob.
Bob nodded energetically and introduced himself. Roxas forgot his name two seconds later, but figured the guy was nice enough that he could call him Not-Bob. Not-Bob actually stood up when his mother, robed and grinning like a cheesy Lifetime movie mom, entered the kitchen. Roxas noticed the way Not-Bob's shoulders rolled back when he stood, opening up his (What the fuck are you, doing, idiot?) well-defined chest that tapered into a nice waist. Roxas tried to not think about Not-Bob "in that way," but Axel and Axel's type kept charging all triumphantly across his vision. Not-Bob was most definitely Axel's type. When the phone rang, Roxas' "Hello" was particularly glum.
"So there's this thing I heard about. It's called like a 'phone charger' or something. People use it so their best friends can call them."
"Oh, uh. Sorry. Hi."
"…Are you stoned?"
"What!?" Roxas choked, covering the phone with his hand and darting his eyes over to where his mother and Not-Bob were breakfasting. Good. They hadn't heard anything. "I'm eating breakfast. With my mom."
"Ohhh. Sorry." There was the rustle of plastic and the distinct sound of someone pouring cereal. Roxas heard the clatter of a spoon. "Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"
"Yeah."
"Cinn-emo-n Toast Crunch?"
"Yeah, Sora. Yes."
"Cinn-emo, EMO, emo-n—"
"Fuck you right now," Roxas laughed, flinching a moment later as his mom whacked him with a roll of paper towels. "Are you just calling to make fun of me? Because I'm pretty sure this is the part where you go all scary and demand why I've been 'ignoring' you."
Sora's chewing sounded thoughtful over the phone. Roxas could see him tapping the phone against his ear, could hear the soft thwoop thwoop it made. "I'm not mad."
Oh, shit. He knows. "That's… uh, good?"
"Riku can't come tonight. His dad came back yesterday and got them tickets to Paris or something." Munch. Munch.
"Can't come?" Oh, fuck. "I mean… what?"
Sora laughed brightly, and Roxas was sure he'd never felt more horrible. "It's New Year's Eve, genius. He can't come to the Capri."
"Oh." The Capri, a seedy pay-by-the-hour motel, stood on the outskirts of their town. It was common for kids from the town or truckers or discreet businessmen to patronize the Capri for an hour or two of debauchery. For Riku, Sora, and Roxas, the Capri was where they spent their New Year's Eve. Riku, Sora, Roxas, a couple condoms, a bottle of champagne, a bong, little hats with streamers coming out of the top. It had been Riku's idea. Senior year, Riku and Sora going out for only a few weeks, Riku had been excited.
"That's why we can't do it my house." They had been talking about the festivities, about the sack Sora bought and how there was nowhere to smoke it.
"I still don't see why we can't do it in my backyard," Roxas said, kind of annoyed without knowing why. This was before he knew.
"Because, dumbass." And that had been the extent of the explanation from Riku: "because." Roxas learned later "because" meant "because I want to fool around with Sora." But this was before he knew. Before he knew he was falling in love.
Sora sighed over the phone. "Are you listening, Rox?" Then, quietly, "Are you sure you aren't high?"
"Sorry. Yeah. I mean, no, I'm not." Roxas shook his head. This is a good thing. He won't be there. "I'll pick you up at six?"
"Cool," Sora said. "You're going to be fucking stoked, Rox. You won't believe what Riku got me for Christmas."
This, as Roxas learned eight hours later, turned out to be a gram of cocaine and a really nice bottle of champagne. Sora flashed the stash after he got in the car, beaming as he buckled his seatbelt.
"We did a couple lines, but there's a lot left." Judging from the way Sora's fingers twitched against his leg, Roxas figured Sora had just done a line. "You're gunna love it, Roxie. You're gunna love it."
Sora spent the twenty minute drive compulsively switching the CDs in the stereo after a song (or half a song). Roxas quietly dissolved. He knows. He totally fucking knows. And if he doesn't, I'm going to rail a fucking line with him and then it will just fall out of my mouth. Sora's fingers slid up to his thigh, stroking. Oh, fuck.
--
Roxas drove five miles under the limit as they approached, and Sora glared at each parked cop car they passed within a three-mile radius of the Capri. The cops were not oblivious; they knew something went down every weekend at the shitty motel, and the second a window was broken or someone stepped outside with an "open container," they would pounce. Roxas parked and the two of them began to make their way to the front office past the various smoking circles. Typically the kids were friendly, maybe looking to score, standing around smoking until a dealer showed up or someone came back from a beer run. When someone flicked a cigarette at Roxas' elbow, he thought it was an accident. When the kid called him a "faggot," it was kind of hard to ignore. It would not have been a problem if Sora hadn't heard. Roxas, who didn't like confrontation, would've flipped the skinny jeans motherfucker off and shrugged. But Sora, who Roxas figured was like some holy warrior knight in his other reality, would fight anyone stupid enough to fuck with him. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker was on the floor in an instant, Sora's knee shoved into the kid's solar plexus, his fist right up against the kid's chin.
"Is there a fucking problem, asshole?" Sora shouted, his voice bright and full of challenge. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's friends had their hands up in the universal "Whoa, chill out, we don't want any trouble" pose, and Roxas found his hands twitching to a pack of cigarettes he didn't have. The last time Sora fought someone, they'd had to run half a mile from the cops, take a shortcut across a golf course with a particularly nasty sprinkler system, and throw themselves into someone's car that was stopped at a light. The driver, some guy in his late twenties with a lawnmower in his backseat that Roxas cut his hand on, had been remarkably calm about the situation.
"I asked if there was a fucking problem," Sora snapped, shoving Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's chin up with his fist. The kid, who either had balls of steel or a death wish, shrugged against the asphalt.
"Why don't you get the fuck off me and entertain your little boyfriend over there." If Roxas hadn't been too busy figuring out the best way to get Sora off this kid, he'd probably have been a little impressed. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's face was a mess of blood, but he was putting up a nice fight. He managed to mess up Sora's hair.
Roxas touched Sora's shoulder as softly as he dared, and the fight immediately went out of the other boy. He dropped his fists and stood up, though Roxas noticed Sora placed a significant amount of weight on his knee pressed into the kid's body. They hurried to the front desk since the cops would probably be arriving in the parking lot in a handful of seconds. Sora was muttering under his breath as they walked to their room.
"…All the Heartless. But I showed them." Sora's right hand would spasm intermittently, like he was reaching out for something. Roxas didn't know if the coke was a good idea.
"Hey, Sora," he said, turning to the other boy as he unlocked the door with a swipe of the card and they stepped in the room. "How many were there?"
Sora's eyes were hard, his brow furrowed. "Too many. I fought them off, though. You're safe." His hand closed over Roxas' upper arm, squeezing lightly. Roxas swallowed the fear in his throat and tapped at Sora's crown necklace.
"My prince. You're a good protector."
For a moment he wasn't sure it would work, but Sora's grip on his arm relaxed, his eyes going clear. "Fuck." Roxas saw Sora's throat work, the muscles there pulsing. "Let's do a line."
Sora shrugged his backpack off and tossed it at the bed. Roxas watched him start cutting up lines for a moment before he turned to the crappy television and set it to MTV. This part he could deal with: turn on MTV, talk the hours away, get fucked up, watch the countdown as it happened in Times Square, jump up and down. It's nothing. He felt Sora slide up behind him, sniffling. There was a single white line on the hand-held mirror.
He remembered feeling nervous the first time, annoyed that they had to drive to the outskirts of town where "fucking hoodlums, Riku, that are going to kill us" stood around the parking lot and eyed the three of them with suspiciously blank faces. Riku, who was nineteen at the time, had no problem persuading a member of his "help" to pick up a bottle of champagne that Roxas couldn't read because it was in French. The heroin Riku bought on his own.
It was the first time Sora or Roxas saw him shoot up, though they'd heard the stories; mouths drawn into tight little lines, eyes wide as Riku outlined something dark and dangerous while they ate lunch in the Institute's courtyard. Roxas was tied off, Sora's hand on the back of his neck, the needle positioned above him. When he met Riku's eyes, there was a jolt of electric recognition in his guts. He hadn't known before, but that is probably when it started. Riku had rubbed the spot where Roxas' vein glowed like a tiny bruise and said he couldn't be responsible for corrupting the youth. Roxas had been annoyed at the time, had sucked down three flutes of champagne while Sora rolled his eyes at him and inched his way into Riku's lap.
And then, later, as he watched the ball drop on MTV, when he heard Riku's whispers and hisses, Roxas felt shame blow up huge all over his face.
"I'm gunna come." The faint rustle of sheets, and Roxas could see their reflection on the border of the screen, Sora on his side, hand lost. Riku on his back, just breath.
It is usually a question for Truth or Dare. There is always the "Are you a virgin?" and "I dare you to take all your clothes off," but sometimes there is "Have you ever watched people have sex?" Sort of, Roxas would have said. Almost. So when Sora used a wad of the crinkly rough toilet paper to wipe Riku's come off his hand, when he threw the crumpled up ball on the floor and it landed audibly, cheap paper crunching against the stained carpet, Roxas had burst into laughter.
"I'm not deaf, guys," he'd said. He hoped they wouldn't make him turn around because his cheeks felt hotter than the sun.
"Is this okay?" Sora asked, and he sounded nervous, Roxas watching the reflection of his face in the screen, a million people in Times Square sucking face and holding sparklers. "I don't want to do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable."
"No, it's cool," Roxas said, Riku's eyes on his through the reflection through the screen. Riku winked.
Now, a line of coke crackling happily in his extremities, he wasn't sure he could watch his mouth. Sora sat behind him, legs on either side of the blonde, arms fluttering happily around his ribcage. Roxas was talking about something, he didn't know what anymore, when Sora exhaled against his back.
"Riku said you visited him on Christmas."
Oh, fuck. "Yeah? I did. Yeah. He was really high."
"I heard the song you made him." Sora's hands slid up and around his shoulders, pulling him back. Sora's cheek rubbed against his ear. "Wish you'd make me a song."
"I… we're gunna miss the countdown."
"Stand up!" Sora shouted, jumping to his feet. The crowd on the shitty television chanted numbers, the in-studio MTV audience already screaming. Eyes trained on the screen, Sora's hand gripped in his, Roxas felt like the end of the world. On "one," the two of them jumped as high as they could. Roxas remembered it was Sora who said it, said that jumping after the ball dropped would make you taller. Since they were short, they had to jump high. Roxas didn't feel any sense of immaturity as he did it, just a real desire to be taller, to be bigger. Stronger. Smarter. Better.
Then Sora's mouth was on his.
They had been fifteen, fucked up on Ambien. Sora said they were underwater, and Roxas said that the submarine had too many windows. The pressure was too much, they were sinking too fast, so they decided to kiss to help them surface faster. On Sora's bed, Roxas' face staring out the window at other submarines, Sora's tongue in his ear. It hadn't felt wrong then, and it didn't feel wrong now, Sora's hands soft at his hips. Roxas' mind was wonderfully blank, Sora's mouth patient against his. It wasn't wrong, was it? This is what you did at midnight; you kissed someone you loved.
When Roxas felt his head against a pillow, Sora half-pressing him into the bed, he wondered if they should do another line. At least then there'd be an excuse. Before he could suggest this, Sora moved off him, lying on his side, head propped up and close, sharing Roxas' air. Roxas felt like there should be some thoughts in his head, at least one, but there was only a pleasant hum, like someone singing upstairs and behind a door. Sora's fingers danced on his neck, and the touch was different this time.
"I can't believe you've had sex," Sora whispered. He would not meet Roxas' eyes.
"Hmm?" Because Roxas hadn't been able to lie when Sora asked, after he came home the summer after freshman year of college, whether he'd lost his virginity. He hadn't been able to lie, but he never said who he lost it to.
"Was she pretty?" Hands running up to his mouth, tracing it. "Did you love her?"
Roxas knew the answer, was about to say it, when all of a sudden he was sure he knew nothing at all. Don't I? Didn't I? The way Sora was looking at him, fingers touching his face like he was something rare, felt too big for the room, for the world. "Think so," Roxas whispered, fingers sliding under the hem of Sora's shirt, sliding up against skin and curving around to the indentation of the other boy's spine, climbing and climbing. Sora purred against him.
"It should have been love." Sora's mouth on his again; patient, paradoxically soft. "It should have been me."
Roxas didn't know how to feel, didn't know how to think. He would not have remembered his name, would have remembered nothing except ways to describe the way Sora's hand felt tangled in his hair. Sora, his best friend.
"But it's too late now," Sora said, leaning back again. "Since I'm… y'know. With Riku."
"Yeah…" Riku. There was something wrong. In his head, past the glow of cocaine and the burst of champagne, there was something wrong. Sora. Sora nestled closer to him, lips against his ear. Roxas could see their reflection in the upper left-hand corner of the shitty television screen. Him on his back, Sora on his side. It reminded him of…
"I want to give you an orgasm." Because Sora didn't confuse his sex with his love.
"What?" Because Roxas has only ever thought the two were the same.
"I can make you feel so good, Roxas." And the way he said it—Sora, his best friend—in his ear all warm and eager, made Roxas feel like he was in a river going fast downstream, out to sea. "It's different from having sex. It'll feel so good." Fingers plucking at the band of his jeans. Maybe it would be okay if lies and deceit weren't tangled up in everything. Roxas said nothing for the space of a few seconds; apparently long enough for Sora to reconsider. "I'm really high."
Roxas stared a little longer at their reflection in the television, saw the streets of New York City empty and all the trash left behind. His hand stroked a final touch down Sora's spine. "Yeah. Me, too."
--
It is much easier not to think anything at all. Because we are machines, because our minds are like computers, it is so easy to do the things we have always done. We breathe, we blink. We eat, we sleep. Something terrible could happen—maybe a war across the world where people you don't know are dying, maybe a friend's baby drowned in the pool, maybe that church burned down and the people couldn't get out—and you can still function pretty well. Almost perfect, your functioning, even though you might cry a little bit, curse a little bit. Something amazing could happen, and it would be much of the same. Because it is strange, isn't it? How the terrible and the amazing are just two different sides of a line drawn in the sand?
Roxas was sure it was too cold to have forgotten his favorite hoodie at Sora's, the chill settling across his bones as he walked toward the dorms in the fading light. The hoodie at Sora's, crumpled on the floor for two days where he wouldn't leave Sora's bed and they kissed. For hours they kissed until their stomachs growled and Sora brought crackers and they pissed in bottles. They would have taken Xanax, would have downed Ativan if they had any, but they only had half a gram of coke, and the lines Sora cut on a CD case only made the kissing numb and made the kissing hungry. And when Sora cried, horrible wracking sobs that echoed inside Roxas' body, Roxas felt sorry for his entire life, for his entire everything. So, after the same long goodbye, it was easier not to think anything at all than think Sora knew about everything.
Roxas bypassed the dorms and headed to his favorite outcropping to watch the rest of the sunset. It had been the kids at Little Vista who made it a habit. Sure there were kids watching the oranges and the pinks everyday, but the kids at Little Vista made it a point, made it a promise.
"The way I see it," Pence had said, pressing a joint to his mouth, "we pay for this shit, too. Fifty dollar sunsets, every single one of them."
There was someone already enjoying the fifty dollar sunset when Roxas walked up. He thought maybe he should've been a little excited—Axel leaning down against his arms on the chain-link fence, his back curved and looking perfect for the sliding of fingers—but instead he felt nothing. The thing in his chest was too heavy, and it kept the corners of his lips weighted, kept his hands anchored to his sides. It wasn't until Roxas walked up right beside Axel that the redhead coughed suddenly and swiped at his eyes.
"Hey." Swipe, cough, cough, swipe. That was enough to shake some thought into Roxas' head, because Axel crying didn't made sense in the same way Axel taking impossibly good notes didn't make any sense. The other boy's eyes were so green against the setting sun, the dampness right above his cheeks glistening as he tried to swipe it all out of existence.
"Hey." Roxas thought that if he remembered how to think right, if he remember how to un-taste Sora in his mouth, he would focus his eyes on the way the sun was sinking past the horizon instead of on Axel's face and the way it fought against something towering, something unconscionably strong.
Axel turned away and bowed his head, eyes scrunched up. "Fuck." All of it made Roxas think of rain and perfect warmth, but he didn't know why. "Sorry."
"S'okay," Roxas said, and he wondered if it was too cold, wondered if he shrugged his shoulders.
"Rough break?" Axel, eyes down, brushing furiously at his cheeks.
"Yeah." Fuck my entire fucking life. Fuck my entire. Fucking. Life.
"Want to smoke some—"
"Yes."
All the coping skills Roxas had ever learned all screamed at him in his head as he picked his way across the darkening beach with Axel. They screamed and said this is not the answer. They screamed and said you cannot run from your problems. Roxas knew all these things, and, like the imperative of so many other voices clamoring for the podium in his head, he just didn't care. Life would be handed to you whether you liked it or not. On a silver platter, life and how everything doesn't make any sense because no one promised it ever had to make any sense. Riku, on a silver platter. Sora, on a silver platter. Meth, on a silver platter. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. The thoughts came back to Roxas and he was talking at the speed of light.
"I fucking hate my entire life right now, man. I thought I hated my entire life before, but that was just the fucking foreplay."
"You and me both, kid." Axel not meeting his eyes again, staring out at vast things that are so deep we can't possibly know everything that sits within them.
"I am such a fuck up." You fuck up. You fuck up. Fuck your whole life up. Fuck up everyone you know. Roxas hurled a handful of sand down the beach. And another. And another. "I fucking… I fucking hate myself."
Axel was quiet, fingers drawing something in the sand. An eyebrow, a mouth. "It's not your fault." A chin, a nose. "You can't help who you fall in love with."
Roxas bit his lip, threw another handful of sand, this time half-heartedly. "That obvious, is it?" Fuck. Except the meaning of everything had shifted. You can't help who you fall in love with. You can't help. Who. You can't. You can't. Fall in love with. Who. Who?
"Pretty obvious," Axel said. "Thought it was a girl at first. Not too bad, right? Happens a lot. Kid falls in love with his best friend's girl." Axel glanced at Roxas out of the corner of his eye, adding spiky hair to his drawing in the sand. "When you talked about Sora's 'boyfriend,' and how you never said this guy's name, avoided it like it was curse, that's how I knew." Axel pulled out the pipe and took another hit before he passed it to Roxas. Roxas could twist the stem on his own now. "How long?"
Roxas exhaled a cloud. "Couple years. Almost three." You fuck up. "I lost everything to him. He and Sora were broken up." You fuck up. You fucking animal. "He texted me to come out, and Sora was asleep, and I thought I could help them get back together." Roxas exhaled another cloud and felt spiders crawling quick over his scalp. "I met him two blocks away and he drove us up to the country club. We would hang out there a lot, all three of us. Sitting, smoking. We were talking about Sora and how he wasn't right for him."
Axel flicked some sand at Roxas. "Ever gunna say his name?"
"Yeah." Because on some level, if he never said his name, then maybe it didn't have to be true. Is it true? "Riku."
"Riku," Axel repeated, and Roxas found he liked the way Axel said it.
"So he said Sora wasn't right for him. He said Sora was right for me." Roxas felt a burn crawl up his cheeks. "Said we were deluding ourselves, and he was jealous, and what did Sora see in me, and all this… stuff." Axel's hand on his back, stroking. Why are you crying? "He was really angry at me. But I guess I was angry at him, somewhere in my head I hated him for how he stole Sora away and made him fall in love." Axel's hand at his neck, thumb brushing against his pulse. "That's when I kissed him. And then we were all over each other in his car, and then we went out on the ground, and I just remember that it felt really good." He closed his eyes, leaned in to the touch. "It felt so good."
Axel's breath on his face. If he opened his eyes, he knew Axel would be right there. If he opened his eyes then they would lean closer. Open them. Exhale on his cheek, thumb brushing a pulse. Open them.
"My…" Axel began, and Roxas felt something wet fall on his cheek. Axel brushed it away and continued. "My mom divorced my dad when I was two. He had lots of money and she had nothing, so we wandered around a lot after that. She said he—" a swallow, loud, "She said he tried to touch me. I don't know if he did, and she wouldn't say how she knew."
Roxas felt very small against Axel. "Oh my… oh my god."
"I didn't see him for a really long time. We were poor as shit, staying with her boyfriends. She couldn't hold down a job. I remember hating her and wanting to see my dad." His hands stroked at the back of Roxas' neck. "When I was sixteen he got in contact again. My mom said I could see him if I wanted. So we hung out a couple times. I was already selling K, cutting it up with flavored shit and selling it to buy more shit. I was a bad kid already, I guess. He didn't know where to take me, so we went horse racing. Some fucking bullshit." One side of Roxas' face was wet, Axel's tears falling from above him. He stuck his tongue out and tasted them. "A couple months later he asked if I wanted to go skiing. I'd never been skiing, never even fucking seen any snow that you couldn't stick up your nose. So we went to Mammoth and got this cabin. We never skied once.
"Spent most of the weekend really fucking drunk on some wine. He said it was his friend's cabin. I dunno. We went out to eat all the time since there was no food in the place, and he always made me dress up. Made me take out my earrings and cover up my arms. Held my fucking hand." Roxas felt his breath come in short little spurts. He could hear Axel's heart pounding away, hammering like someone demanding to be let out, please let me out, please. "The night before we left I was really drunk. I don't know if he was drunk. He started kissing me. I—" pounding hard, someone desperate to escape, "I didn't know what to do. I was drunk, but I could've stopped him. I was sixteen. He was my fucking dad. What could I have done? So I let him kiss me. I kissed him back. Maybe. I don't know." Axel's voice was tight and low, strangled.
"He laid me back on the couch and started touching me. I could've stopped him. I hadn't seen him in so fucking long. It had been more than a fucking decade, and then there he was again. He put his finger in me. It felt," Axel whispered. "It felt good." His voice broke and Roxas found he was no longer being held, that he was holding a shaking mass in his arms; violent, disbelieving. "It felt so fucking good, Roxas. I came really hard. It was all over me, and he didn't touch it. He didn't touch me at all and I just stayed drunk the whole time and he took me home the next day." He shook in Roxas' arms. "I still talk to him on the phone every weekend."
Just one line in the sand, one line between the terrible and the amazing. Roxas had no words, had the negation of words, and could not tell Axel anything. Sometimes there are things that have no response except for muted horror, pupils dilated and salty shock lining your eyes. There are just no words for some things. Roxas held Axel, the redhead curled small against him, as the moon rose and floated across the sky in an arc that would have been beautiful if the world had been beautiful, if they had been happy and predisposed to seeing thins of beauty.
"I'm… sick," Axel said, sitting up and staring at the pipe in his hand.
"No," Roxas said. Axel liked men. Manly men, rugged and imposing. Axel liked men. "It's not your fault."
"Yeah," Axel said, putting the pipe away. He pulled Roxas into his lap, settled the smaller boy against his chest. "I'm going to love you," he said, certain.
"Don't," Roxas whispered. "I'll break you."
"Already broken," Axel said, stroking up his arms.
The way Roxas saw it, leaned back against Axel's chest, the whole world was fucked. He didn't know if it was the meth in his head or the boy at his back, but the whole world would be fucked forever. So it didn't matter if he loved Riku, or if he thought he loved Riku. It didn't matter if he loved Sora, if he was in love with Sora. They were all fucked, anyway, and that was the first thing he was sure of. The second thing was how the oil rig glittering in the distance looked like a pirate ship. The third thing was how Axel was so warm. And these three things were the only things he could be sure of.
"We should head back. Class in a few hours."
"I don't want to."
"…You can come with me."
Roxas closed his eyes and felt how Axel's heart beat against his spine. "Your sheets are so white." He thought that maybe he felt Axel's heart spike. Maybe.
"They have to be." Axel's arms tightened at his waist. "We need to sleep or we'll hate each other when the sun comes up."
Roxas knew how to fight. He knew how to fight so hard that it would be impossible for anyone to tell him anything. He fought against Zexion, against Demyx, against Riku. Only Sora would make the fight go out of him. He could fight against Axel, too, couldn't he? He could. I should. Then Roxas realized the older boy was holding his breath, like he was hoping for something or like the were going through a tunnel and you have to cross your fingers and lift your feet and touch metal or something terrible will happen.
"Yeah. Okay."
--
Axel's sheets were unbearably soft against his skin, like something lucky you keep, colored and dried, on a keychain. Axel slept shirtless and in soft (like feathers, like down) fuzzy flannel pants. They were twins, a pair of Axel's pants riding low on Roxas' hips, and Axel was pressed up against the wall, turned toward the blonde on the edge of his bed. They should sleep, should close their eyes and listen to the way Demyx exhaled above them. They should sleep and Axel should stop brushing the skin on Roxas' cheeks. Roxas should stop feeling out Axel's ribs, counting them one by one, over and over again. But Roxas was thinking of Sora, of how words said too much and hugs said too much and you could give comfort in touches. He scooted close to Axel and pulled the other boy against him, felt Axel shrink small in his arms, felt a warm exhale of thanks against his bare chest, pricking fireworks along his spine. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't care what he was doing. His heart felt flattened, screaming outside of him somewhere, exploded into a million ugly pieces and laughed at and put in a museum and made an example of.
You think you know things, his head told his heart. You think you know things, and then all of a sudden you know nothing at all. Axel pressed his lips to the place where Roxas' heart should be. Suddenly you know nothing at all.
--
"Haha, uh, what?" The voice came from Roxas' right, and he cracked his eyes open to see Demyx standing there, his boxer briefs very vivid with the colorful fish and dolphins on them, eyebrows thrown up in surprise. Roxas looked down and saw Axel's head rested on his stomach, arms wrapped around his sides like he was pillow. His hand was in Axel's hair, twisted into knots there. "Are you… I mean, I know he is, but I thought you were—"
"I'm bi," Roxas said, wondering if it was the truth. It was probably a lie. "But we're not… we're just sleeping."
"…Naked."
Roxas choked on some air. "We're not naked." He lifted the covers from them, revealing their matching pants.
"Twins," Demyx noticed. "Very non-gay."
"I will fuck you up so bad right now," Roxas said, covering his eyes with the hand that was not hopelessly caught in Axel's hair.
"Roxas, defending my virtue? I am pleased beyond words," Axel mumbled against his stomach. It tickled.
"Your roommate is being insinuate-y."
"Just calling it like I see it, Roxas" Demyx smiled.
"I know," Axel said, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Why don't you give us a striptease, Dem." He smiled winningly at Roxas, rubbing a pillow crease on the blonde's cheek. "Rox will pay."
Roxas tried to frown, tried to do something disagreeable. Instead he nuzzled Axel's hand (registered the surprise on the redhead's face) and felt warmth spill down his guts and swirl there, pleased. "Five bucks sound okay, Dem?" Demyx chuckled and flipped him off, slinging a towel over his shoulder and heading out the door for a shower. Roxas was suddenly very aware that he was alone in Axel's room, in Axel's bed, half naked.
"Hi," Axel said, pulling the blonde against him and burying his face in Roxas' hair, inhaling.
"Morning," Roxas said, still fascinated at the heat Axel's body gave off, a portable fever. Is this awkward? It doesn't feel awkward. He stubbornly blockaded his mind from ugly truths and reckless behavior. Axel's hand on his neck felt good. He would go with that for now. "We missed class."
"Fuck," Axel said, and Roxas wasn't sure that it was about the class. He wasn't sure about anything. Axel inhaled deeply. "Fuuuck." This time it was more like a groan.
Roxas' mouth quirked. "That bad, huh?" He hadn't showered in at least three days. He probably smelled like spit and crackers and Sora and… Pop Rocks?
Axel chuckled above him, the redhead's cheek rubbing against his hair. "You have no fucking idea."
"You have a refreshingly unique way of telling someone to take a shower," Roxas said, frowning. But… Pop Rocks? What?
Axel laughed again and angled Roxas' chin upward. The world was small again as Axel looked into his eyes. "I wasn't lying last night. I'm going to." Going to love me? Flowers and chocolate and movies me? Hold my hand and sing to me? Love me, love me?
Go with it. Just go with it. "Would you like some crackers with that cheese?" His cheeks hurt from the way his mouth stretched over his grin, like his lips would split if they went any wider.
Axel's smile flashed fiercely as he moved off the bed with Roxas still in his arms, standing them up before stretching. "Just wait." He tugged the pants, dangerously low on Roxas' waist, higher up on the blonde's hips. "Just you fucking wait."