Disclaimer: They aren't mine.

A/N: New fanart links up on the profile, one of Axel and Roxas by ironyofalostkeyword that is, gorgeous and, conceptually, a metaphor for this entire story, and something cute and clever by darlingace. Apologies for the 23948203948 year break; busy with real life and all that.

Haven't you heard? Shit always gets a lot worse before it starts to get better. If it gets better. OH, Y SO OMINOUS? That's just how it goes, kids. Also, I just woke up to something in my inbox that says Casey V.'s final chapter of Boys has been posted. If you are not hip to that masterpiece, you have no idea what you're missing. Go. Read. Love.

--

Chapter 11: Spirals

Death by toilet—that's how his first cellphone died. At some cozy restaurant with his mother and her latest conquest, sipping moodily at a cup of french onion soup until he couldn't stand it anymore, excusing himself to sit in the men's room and clutch his hands into fists. There was nothing in there, he'd explained, each re-telling of the story drawing disgusted groans. He hadn't needed to take a leak; he'd needed to get his breathing under control. Hyperaware of the shoes visible in the three feet of space under the bathroom stalls, he flushed the toilet to keep up with appearances. As soon as he leaned forward to press the handle, his phone slid with graceful finality down into the flushing swirl of water. There was a painful moment of watching the water spin where he thought his phone might actually end up flushed down the toilet, gone the way of dead pet fish and his tiny Lord of the Rings collectible figurines his mother had flushed after stabbing herself in the foot with them. Shit, he'd thought. Shit.

Now, laying on Sora's floor, staring at his phone while Riku and Sora slept on the bed next to him, he thought the same thing. Shit. Thirty-eight missed calls, thirty-eight, and all of them from Axel. Flushing his phone, he figured, was probably a pretty good idea. The single text Axel sent, the one word, "Please," hadn't helped the situation. At least he cares, Roxas thought, finger scrolling down the list of missed calls. It was like talking at a wall, though. His body wouldn't react to optimism. On some level he knew that these missed calls meant Axel cared about him. This meant that Axel felt bad, that he cared, that he had a fucking soul, but Roxas still felt like his chest had broken open, pickaxe sinking into his ribs and pulling them up one by one. It wasn't even proper hurt in the way you break a leg or fracture an arm. The hurt was an absence, sitting heavy in his gaping chest, keeping him pressed to the floor at the side of Sora's bed.

Roxas' eyes flicked up to the bed, blankets bunched down around the sleeping huddle's mass of legs. The expanse of Riku's back, dipping down to the curve of his ass, was just visible from where Roxas laid, one arm pillowing his head, the other resting on his chest while his hand flexed around his phone. This is stupid, he thought, eyes flicking down to his erection. It's just skin. Just Riku. He was just complicating his life. Not calling Axel back, lusting over a swatch of flesh—complications. There should be a switch, he figured. Like a light switch, something that you flick to turn off lust, that you flick to turn off stubbornness. He should be able to snap his fingers and wake up, slide effortlessly from teenage bullshit to college sophistication. But there are no switches. There are no magical fixes.

So he slid a hand into his borrowed pair of boxers, focused on the curve of Riku's ass and the way Sora's hand draped possessively over it, and jacked off.

--

"One more day." Their noses pressed together, Sora's breath tasting like Otter Pops, his lips a shade of red that made him look all of twelve. Riku had gone inside, unable to watch their "E.T. bullshit, man, I swear." Sora's hands were nestled in his back pockets, and he resisted the tug in his stomach that insisted he lick the lines of Sora's mouth.

"My first class is at eight in the morning, Sora."

Sora wrinkled his nose, pressing the tip of it more insistently into Roxas'. "So?"

"So I'd rather just be there than be here." His tongue darted over his own lips, traces of sugar, and Sora's eyes watched the movement. "You don't think I want to stay? I want to stay."

"Fine, fine," Sora exhaled, turning his head and resting it on Roxas' shoulder. "Go. Grow your brain. Maybe one day you'll come back and be able to fix mine."

Roxas frowned, hands sliding up Sora's back to hold him in a proper hug, pushing on the brunette's shoulder blades until he could feel a heartbeat against his chest. "You're not broken."

Sora pressed a kiss to the spot below Roxas' ear, whispering. "Okay."

He was unlocking the door of his car when Riku came up behind him, sliding arms around his waist. "Where's my goodbye?" Roxas didn't need to see Riku's face to envision the smirk, tugging up the right side of his mouth.

"Bye."

"Ohhh, so that's how it is?" Riku laughed, lifting Roxas at the waist until his feet were off the floor. He was infuriating, really. Arrogant, annoying. "Well, I'll miss you," Riku said into his ear, lips brushing against him in a way that tickled. He raised his shoulder to ward the other boy off, and Riku laughed, swaying with Roxas in his arms. Infuriating. Gorgeous.

"Don't let him eat too many of the grape ones. It makes him sick."

"Yeah, Rox, I know."

"Well, whatever. I was just saying."

"Are we okay?" Riku set him down, hands still at his waist. "You're being a little weird."

"I-I'm," he stuttered, hands moving up to settle over Riku's as he leaned back into the other boy. "I'm just…," he trailed off. I don't know. I'm confused. I'm hurt. I like you. Sora's watching us right now.

"It's okay," Riku said, squeezing him quickly before letting go. He turned Roxas around and pressed a finger to his nose. "Be good." Riku trailed the finger across Roxas' face from cheek to cheek, sliding across the part of his lips, in the shape of a smile. A simple upturned line. "Be good, okay? For him."

He was faltering. Falling. "Okay," Roxas lied.

The drive back to school was usually uneventful, and over the years Roxas had learned to drive the long stretches of beachscape with his knees, hands fiddling with the stereo or checking his phone. This drive back was different, both of his hands locked on the steering wheel, tearing pieces of it away with his nails as he drove. It would be easy, he thought. It would be so easy to drift, one slow slide of the wheel toward the left, and he'd be sailing over the edge of the cliff, into the water. It wouldn't even be very violent, maybe. Maybe it would be beautiful; an arc, airborne, dropping away into the sea. Drowning, though, seemed pretty hard. I'd have to breathe it in. That would suck. It would be too hard to try not to escape. Eyes darting back to the road, he studied the white minivan two lanes over. Kids in the backseat, maybe. It would be a terrible accident, a tragedy. So easy. Because our bodies are soft, our bones are breakable. We are so mortal, so prone.

It didn't occur to Roxas that he shouldn't be thinking like this.

--

The best way to do it would be quickly and with as little thought as possible. Walking back to the dorms from the student parking lot, thumb hovering over the call button, he thought of ripping off band-aids. It might not be painless, but it would be quick, and he'd just end up talking to Axel eventually anyway. There was no point in being mad or disgusted or non-hurt forever, so he's just skip that part. And he missed Axel's voice. There was that, too. Axel picked up on the third ring, a millisecond after Roxas took a hit off a stale Parliament, but there was only silence on the line. Roxas heard him breathing.

"Axel?" Maybe the toilet had been a good idea after all.

"…I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again." Axel's voice sounded flat. There were whispers in the background.

"I'm," he started, unsure how to finished. I'm not sorry. I didn't do anything wrong. "I'm walking back to the dorms."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." Fine fine fine fine fine. I'm fine. I'm fucking fine.

"I can't really talk now, I'm-," a chuckle, more whispers. "We'll hang later, alright?"

"Yeah."

The phone clicked off on the beginning of Axel speaking to someone, and Roxas suddenly felt like the only person in the entire world. He stopped walking, smoking the Parliament in the middle of the sidewalk, other kids shouldering by him. The desire to turn around, to drive back home, was so intense that he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself, that he'd drive home and fuck his whole life up. Because that's what you have: college, friends, a future on a path you can see yourself walking down. Things were set out in front of him, within reach, and here he was determined to tear it all down. The urge passed, and he lifted weary feet one after the other until he reached his dorm. He needed to sleep. He needed a pill. He didn't notice Zexion staring down at him until the other boy tossed a pillow at him.

"Oh. Hey, man."

"You look fucking cracked out, roomie."

"I didn't sleep well," Roxas managed, sweeping a hand to the back of his desk drawer, feeling out for a prescription bottle.

"Yeah, well, I'd have trouble sleeping if my boyfriend was—"

"What?" Roxas asked, a little louder than intended, eyes narrowed.

Zexion raised his hands up, "Hey, we're cool, man. Your pills are under your pillow, not in your desk."

"I'm not looking for those pills," Roxas snapped, kicking Zexion's pillow away. "Those pills are bullshit, anyway. I'll probably stop taking them. Like I fucking need them." He could feel his heart in his veins, present everywhere, his body pulsing.

"Whoa," Zexion said, hopping off the top bunk. "You need to relax."

"I am relaxed," Roxas said, hand crashing into the little orange bottle in his desk, sending the container flying across the room. With as much dignity as he could muster, he bent down in front of Zexion and picked up the bottle. Zexion watched as he opened the container, dumping its contents into the palm of his hand.

"Shit." Gone. He'd taken all the Lorazepam last quarter. "Shit." There was half a Xanax, a few Seroquel, and two of what looked like Lorcet.

"If you want to get fucked up, we can pay a visit to Little V. I'm sure they have something less ominous than a handful of pills."

"A handful? This is hardly worth a fucking nap!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Roxas?" Zexion asked, grabbing him by the shoulders.

The physical contact seemed to sink in, and Roxas shrugged. "Nothing." Nothing more than usual. Nothing's changed.

"Well cheer up, man. New quarter, new start. We can put douchebags behind us."

"This is not about Axel."

"Sure, Roxas. And this book I'm reading," Zexion lifted up a paperback, the title in French, "This book isn't written by Honoré de Balzac."

Roxas squinted at the cover. "Yes, it is."

"Exactly."

"You should not be fucking with me right now."

"Just cheer up, Roxas. Or, have a couple bottles of Hefeweizen, and then cheer up."

"Is that your answer to everything? Get trashed?"

"Yes," Zexion said simply, waving a hand.

Roxas watched at the other boy slid on his shoes. "It's just running from problems."

"No," Zexion exclaimed, eyes bright. "It's running from nothing. It's looking the problem in the face, sizing it up, and understanding that it's bullshit. Nothing to be worried about. Trivialities. I don't smoke because I'm scared. I smoke because it doesn't matter."

Roxas shook his head. "Stoner logic."

"Better than pissed off little bitch logic."

"That's not clever."

Zexion held the door open for Roxas to step through. "You're killing my game with that sweet little face of yours."

--

Within ten seconds of walking in the front door of Little Vista, Roxas knew that coming there had been a huge mistake. Axel was on the couch, straddling Cloud's lap, his back to the front door. Roxas would've turned around and walked out had Zexion not been directly behind him, blocking the only exit that would ensure Axel didn't see him.

"Small world, huh?" Zexion said, following Roxas' line of sight. A cloud of pot was thick in the air. Axel turned, eyes locking with Roxas'.

"Hey," Roxas said, taking a seat on the couch. Axel made no move to un-straddle Cloud's lap. A re-run of Lost was on the T.V., Hayner talking over it to a small group of what looked like first year Art Studio boys, rolling a series of joints. Zexion reappeared beside him, handing over a bottle of Hefeweizen.

"Just forget him, man," Zexion said, toasting his bottle against Roxas'. The beer tasted like nothing in Roxas' mouth. Hayner was babbling, high as a kite, about Steven Spielberg and how he was over for dinner all the time, how they were "like this, man, I'm serious." And Axel and Cloud. And Axel and Cloud. Kissing, laughing. Being cute.

He said he couldn't talk. He said he was busy. He was here, sucking face with my clone. He was on his third bottle of Hefeweizen before Zexion passed him a joint. Roxas waved it away, frowning at the bottle of beer in Cloud's hand and the bottle of nothing in Axel's. Axel was sober. I was bad in my past life. This is my punishment. Watching him like this is my punishment for being an asshole in my past life. Lives. Cloud's hand slipped up the back of Axel's shirt. I must have been a real fucking asshole.

The room was spinning when Cloud got up, and Roxas saw him kiss Axel again, a quick wave to Hayner and a nod to Roxas and Zexion before walking out the front door. Roxas found himself staring at Axel. He wanted him so so much.

"What are you doing?" Axel suddenly closer than he looked, taking the bottle of beer out Roxas' hand.

"I'm drunk," Roxas whispered. He wanted to bury his face in Axel's chest. He wanted those hands in his hair. He wanted, wanted, wanted.

"You wanna watch out for him?" Axel asked Zexion, voice hard.

"He's a big boy, he can handle it," Zexion said, shrugging, eyes not leaving the episode of Lost.

"You brought him here. He's obviously fucked up right now."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't know anything about that, right?"

Axel rose quickly, and Roxas felt Zexion go rigid beside him. "You better be really fucking sure you know what you're talking about," Axel snarled.

"Hey, don't mind me, man," Zexion said, voice bitter. "I'm just the roommate."

Stop them. "Stop," Roxas said, his voice coming out in a pathetic little whine.

Axel crouched at his side. "I'm sorry. Listen, you want to get out of here? Let's go see a movie or something."

Roxas felt like crying. "N-no, I'm tired. I'm… I'm gunna go to sleep."

"It's six o'clock, Rox."

"I'm really tired," Roxas slurred, hand on Axel's neck of its own volition. How did that happen?

"Are we okay?" Axel's eyes on his, his face in Axel's hands.

"Hmm?" Everyone was asking him this lately. What was wrong with him?

"You and me. We good?"

"Yeah," Roxas lied.

He didn't know how he walked back to the dorm alone, deciding to take the long way along the beach, tripping down the beach access stairs and then across the sand, stumbling like a homeless drunk over the darkening shore. He'd been a sophomore, he remembered. The middle of finals week, the sky overcast, and he'd come down to the beach to get his shit together, to get his breathing right. A homeless man, drunk, walked up to him, asking if he had a girlfriend.

"Nah," he remembered saying. He was embarrassed, on the phone with Sora.

The homeless drunk, hair in a dirty tangle, looked horribly taken aback. "Well, why not? You're beautiful."

But the drunk had been wrong. There was something terribly terribly disgusting about Roxas. He didn't know what it was, maybe in the lines of his face, the way his voice sounded, but he was disgusting. He was stupid, horrible, a terrible friend, a shameful son. He was perverted, sick, deranged. He needed a pill to stay sane, every day, tucked under his pillow, twenty milligrams just to stay sane.

"I hate myself," he said to the stars in the sky. "I hate myself."

--

If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought someone died. In the night, someone had died, someone he loved. That was the only reason he should feel the way he did as he woke up, chest weighted down at the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't that it hurt; it wasn't there at all. His chest felt empty; the feeling you get the morning after something has been lost forever. It's a feeling Roxas knew well, a feeling he courted for years. But he never remembers this part.

Romantic Poets sounded like the single least interesting subject he could be studying at ten in the morning on a Monday, but Roxas dragged himself across campus anyway, forgoing a lonely brunch in favor of an enormous cup of Diet Coke (ordered as "one medium large Diet Coke, please?" before he realized this made no sense at all) from the on-campus Subway. His stomach burbled at him as he stepped into the classroom. The class, a 46-person seminar, suddenly seemed stifling as Roxas caught a burst of red hair in the front row. Axel, leg bouncing against the floor, looked up as Roxas approached, an easy smile spreading across his face. Everything inside of Roxas screamed.

"Morning, sunshine," Axel beamed up at him.

"Go fuck yourself."

"Alright!" Axel cheered, sitting up excitedly. "That is a go-getter attitude I can get behind. Is that de-caf? Because if it's not, I think you should switch."

"It's Diet Coke," Roxas muttered, sliding into the seat next to the redhead. Axel had already dated and set a heading for his blank page of soon-to-be notes. This would be torture. Roxas stuck his straw in his mouth, deciding a steady stream of soda would both stop him from being rude and dissuade Axel from making small talk. They couldn't be friends. They just couldn't. So why did you sit next to him, idiot? Roxas slid a notebook out of his backpack, flipping to a random blank page. Frowning, he scrawled on the date, checking his cellphone for accuracy. It seemed like Axel was waiting for him to finish drinking. When he didn't, the older boy chuckled, leaned over, and drew a tiny heart in the corner of Roxas' paper. Roxas stared at it, a black hole of attention, until it didn't feel like he could see anything else. Why was Axel doing this? Roxas glanced at the other boy from the corner of his eyes. Yes, fucking around with his phone, probably texting a certain blonde asshole who couldn't keep it in his pants. Look at that smile on his face; he's totally texting Cloud. What the fuck kind of name is 'Cloud?' Biting down hard on his straw, Roxas reached over and drew a tiny heart on Axel's notebook. He raised his eyes to Axel's, watched the older boy follow the movement of his pen, a hungry little glint in his eyes. That doesn't make any sense. There should be no hunger, no little hearts anywhere.

"You're a dick," Roxas said, one side of his mouth still clamped down on his straw.

"You're really perceptive, Roxas. I think that's why I like you so much." Axel's thumb slid around his phone for a couple more minutes before he turned to Roxas, shoving the phone in his pocket. "I shouldn't have put you in that position; it wasn't right. It was selfish of me."

"We don't have to talk about it," Roxas said, voice rough. His blood ran sluggish in his veins.

"I just wish," Axel said, "I wish you didn't run off like that."

"He was asking to fuck me."

"You wouldn't have done it. You should've stayed so I could watch out for you. It was kind of—kind of an intense moment. I thought you…"

"What?" Roxas tapped his pen against his notebook in time with the flutter of his heart.

"I dunno," Axel said, shaking his head. "I thought everything was fine."

"It was."

"It wasn't."

"So apologize."

Axel took Roxas' hand into his, gripped it tightly, and looked into the blonde's eyes. "I am so fucking sorry, Roxas. I am so fucking sorry."

Roxas wanted to shrug it off, wanted to toss out a simple and uncomplicated, "Whatever," but he couldn't speak. There was something in his throat that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.

It was at this exact moment that the professor walked in. "Welcome to English 105B: The Romantic Poets. Yes, we're reading everything on the syllabus." The professor, a long-haired blonde that Roxas registered as vaguely pirate-y and debonair, insisted on being called "Mac" as opposed to "that Professor Oliver bulllshit." He would've been charmed, would've probably glanced over to Axel to get the redhead's approval rating if he'd been able to breathe right. He scribbled nonsense for notes and tried to focus on the words the professor said, working out vowels and consonants. Outwardly it looked like Roxas was paying attention, but inwardly he was replaying the apology over and over again. What was he apologizing for? It was more than just being witness to debauchery. Axel was sorry for more than that. Why does he think he has to apologize to me? Who am I to him? Just some kid. What does he care? WHY does he care?

He drifted through the class and, later, the walk toward the dining commons, in a silent daze. Axel was either embarrassed, or angry, or unconcerned, saying nothing at all aside from asking why Roxas was taking this course ("The Romantics were all depressives") until they sat at a table with their trays of food in front of them.

"You like grapefruit?" Axel asked, pointing with a slice of pizza at the half of a grapefruit sitting in a bowl on Roxas' tray.

"After you eat them, they look like dead angels."

Axel choked on his water. "I'm sorry, dead what?"

"Angels. You know, really hot, with big wings?"

"Yeah, smartass, I know what angels are. You're telling me that half an eaten grapefruit looks like a dead angel?"

"…Yeah," Roxas said, frowning. Sora had been the first to notice.

Axel laughed brightly, "See what I mean? Perceptive and shit." Axel's phone went off and his hand jerked toward it quickly, eyes lighting up. Oh god. "'Lo?" The redhead couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Hey." His voice dropped, curling at the ends. Roxas tried to look away, but couldn't. Axel's laughter sounded harder, fake almost, his hands fidgeting, leg shaking under the table. The smile on Axel's face was a little strange, like he and his smile and the person on the other end of the phone were in a different world entirely, like Roxas had ceased to exist. "Yeah, I'll be there in a couple. Yeah, whatever." Axel flipped the phone closed, staring at it for a few moments before rejoining the real world, Roxas staring at him. "Sorry about that. I uh—I gotta run. You cool?"

"Yeah," Roxas lied.

"I'm coming over later so we can do that explication thing together, okay?"

"Uhhuh," Roxas said, focusing on the grapefruit. After Axel walked away, ruffling Roxas' hair on his way past, Roxas poured four packets of sugar over the glistening pink fruit. Flesh, he thought. Dead angels. Roxas systematically worked his way through the fruit, cutting around segments with a knife before scooping out the dead angel flesh into his mouth, the sugar crunching in a way he thought angel flesh might, since they were supposed to be strong and all. When he finished, Roxas stared at the remains, at what was left, and he cried.

It wasn't showy crying, where people want to be seen, want to be consoled; it was quiet, sorrowful. Demyx ambled up with a tray full of food, took a seat across from the blonde, and sat for two full minutes without realizing Roxas was crying.

"Jesus," Demyx said, leaning across the table. "What's wrong, Roxas?"

"Nothing," Roxas said, the dead angel cradled in his hands, catching his tears.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not." Roxas wiped at his face, eyes stinging from traces of grapefruit juice, and held the rind out to Demyx. "What do you see?"

"Roxas?"

"What do you see, man?" Roxas pushed, twisting the rind in front of Demyx's face.

Demyx bit his lip, glancing around quickly. "I see an empty grapefruit." Demyx, eyebrows lowered in concern, stared into Roxas' eyes. "Is that the right answer?"

Roxas felt like hurling the grapefruit rind across the room. "There are no right answers.

"Rox, what—"

"Answers. There aren't any. Not even wrong ones," Roxas babbled, setting the dead angel back into place on his tray.

"What in the fuck are you talking about? Did you have an exam first day or something? Taking Philosophy?"

Roxas shook his head, burying his face in his hands. Everything smelled like citrus. "I'm just a fucking nutcase, man. Don't worry about it."

Demyx, frowning at his bowl of pasta salad, stabbed at a curl of orange and green noodles. "Okay. But could you smile or something? You look like a funeral."

"I am smiling." His fingers prodded at his cheeks, feeling out the upward turn of his lips.

Demyx, surveying him over a glass of chocolate milk, shook his head. "Nah. You're just turning your mouth up. That's not a smile, Roxas."

"Yeah? Where're my happy pills at?"

Demyx, fucking Demyx who Roxas was pretty sure got bummed out over nothing, smiled and tapped his temple. "You gotta let it happen, man."

Roxas groaned, felt like he was melting à la Wicked Witch of the West. North, East, South, West. One of them. "Your optimism pains me in my black soul."

"Are you on crack, dude?"

"Crack is whack," Roxas responded automatically. Demyx chewed funnily, like he alternated sides, each bite chewed approximately 30 times. "You count your chewing, don't you."

Demyx gaped at him. "You really are on crack, aren't you? Roxas, it's the first day back, and you're already balls out fucking crazy."

"Balls are right here," Roaxs said, tapping his crotch. "I'm balls in crazy. Today, at least. Tomorrow I could be painting myself blue, stumbling around on crack."

Demyx shook his hand. "Just repeat after me, Rox. Summer is in ten weeks. Got that? Summer is in ten weeks. It'll be a blast, and this will all blow over. Your crack habit will be a thing of the past."

Summer is in ten weeks. In ten weeks I won't see Axel anymore. In ten weeks he will probably run off to Switzerland with my clone. In ten weeks I will be with Sora and Riku everyday for three months. Ten weeks. Ten weeks.

Roxas went back to the dorm and popped his two Lorcets, crawled into bed, and prayed for winter.

--

Roxas had been sitting in bed jacking off when Axel showed up looking and smelling like sex—clothes disorderly, hair rumpled. Roxas answered the door hard, and the tired, soft droop that clung to all of Axel's limbs made it nearly impossible for him to control himself, flicking the lights on and hauling out his anthology of Romantic poetry before Axel had time to pretend like nothing had happened, that he hadn't just been fucked to orgasm. They were half way through the poem, Roxas keeping his eyes on the text, unwilling to fall victim to any of the retarded, amazing things Axel was doing to divert his attention, the least of which was the expert looking fellatio he performed on his pen.

"So," Roxas droned, "when Wordsworth says 'the still, sad music of humanity,' I think he's talking about how the human race is pathetic, and it makes him feel sorry for the brainless masses."

"Maybe," Axel said, "Or maybe you missed the part where he's not talking about humanity. See? Line 89. He's talking about nature. He looks at nature and hears the music of humanity." Axel's voice was reverent. Roxas didn't want to look, but he could feel Axel's eyes on him.

"That's stupid. Wordsworth was on crack."

"You don't agree? You've never looked at something and been reminded of something else? Something beautiful?"

Roxas looked up then, meeting Axel's eyes. "Beautiful things hurt. Beautiful things don't give a fuck about anything. They don't care who falls in love with them, they don't care who loves them more. Beautiful things are helpless; they do nothing except be adored. I don't hear the stupid bullshit music of humanity when I look at beauty. I hear nothing. I hear what's going to be left when beauty fades or finds the next sucker. Nothing."

"You don't really believe that," Axel said, leaning forward. Roxas couldn't look away.

"Don't tell me what I believe in."

"You don't," Axel said, peering into Roxas' face now, eyes shooting little lasers of concentration into Roxas' skin. "You're just angry."

"Yeah, and you're just full of shit," Roxas said, eyes rolling. "I'm not you. I don't share your ideas about things. It's not like there's one right answer here, or any answer at all. It's just—"

"When I look at you, I—"

"STOP!" Roxas shouted, shoving a shaking hand over Axel's mouth. "I don't want to fucking hear it, Axel."

Axel, wounded, pulled the blonde's hand away. "What? You're my best friend. I hear—"

"Don't," Roxas whispered, dropping his head to his knees. It hurts. I can't hear it. I can't stand it.

"Come here," Axel said. When Roxas didn't respond, Axel walked over, shoved Roxas off his chair, then grabbed at the blonde and sat him in his lap, holding him tightly around the waist, breath tickling the hair at the back of Roxas' neck. "You deserve to hear this, for fuck's sake, so listen. I hear sleigh bells. You know, like Christmas." A press of lips to the nape of his neck. "I look at you and hear bells. You're like a little fucking miracle, okay? I don't know why I keep fucking this up. You make me believe in the existence of things I swore I'd never believe in."

Roxas was pretty sure he'd never felt more miserable in his entire life. "You're full of shit."

"You think?" Axel asked, nuzzling his neck. It felt nicer than he'd ever admit, the scratch of stubble, the warmth of breath. He'd like nothing more than to sit there forever, leaned up against Axel, arms helpless at his sides. "Why are you so sad, Roxas?" The question was almost lost against his neck, mumbled quietly.

"Huh?" Because it's always easier to look away, to play dumb.

"You're… sad," Axel said, the words clear this time.

"It's nothing," Roxas said, tilting his head back until it connected with Axel's chest. "It's always nothing." For as long as he could remember, nothing. Nothing swirled up with a spoon, fed to him until he begged, open-mouthed, for more. Nothing, tied with ribbons to the ends of his arms, to weak wrists. He had a good life; good friends, good mom. It was all good, good and nothing sitting next to each other in his head, playing a game of chess, weighing feathers. Nothing, always nothing.

"Is that it? I thought it was something else," Axel said, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Roxas' hair. There was a chance Axel hadn't heard the subtext, that he's misunderstood what Roxas was trying to say, but he didn't think so. Anyone else would've missed it, but not Axel.

"You never asked," Roxas said, sliding a hand around the arm at his waist, feeling the hair on Axel's arm stand up like grass.

"You take anything for all that nothing?"

"Lexapro," Roxas said, pointing at the bottle just visible under his pillow. "Going on two years now. Seven hundred and thirty days. Never missed a dose."

"That's a lot of pills."

"Not that many." Not compared to Sora, who took a colorful little cocktail everyday. Hundreds of pastel pills backed up in their bodies, stockpiles of chemicals that were supposed to fix their brains.

"I didn't—" Axel began, his voice bitter. "I don't know why I never saw it. It's like I knew, but I was looking for something else. You're too—" a inhalation against his hair, "too perfect for this shit. You shouldn't ever have to feel depressed."

Roxas shrugged. "It happens. Some days are easier than others. Today is a bad day."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I'm going to run around naked and say 'crack' a lot."

Axel laughed mirthlessly, shrugging. "Better than self-medicating, man. I quit meds back in high school. Effexor and Abilify for a fucking eternity, and then a steady supply of the holy trinity: pot, meth, pills." Axel shook behind Roxas, more empty laughter. "And look at me now. Paper skin, paper veins. I wasn't even a real depressive. I just had a rough time and started acting out. I couldn't deal."

"Neither could I," Roxas said, remembering ditching class to take a bus to the local library, sifting through books to find the proper way to tie a noose. He remembered learning a bunch of knots, regretting that he wouldn't be around long enough to ever show anyone, to ever put them to use.

"It's not right," Axel said. "We shouldn't have to deal with this bullshit. Life's hard enough as it is. We don't need our shit luck making it worse." Axel's fingers twirled in his hair, tugging lightly. "I tried to eat poison, man. I was just a kid, like twelve or something. I took a branch of white oleander and started chewing on it. My mother beat me on the way to the emergency room. Drank a thing of charcoal, and all I had to show for it was a bunch of scratches on my face from her fucking claws."

"You ate poison?" Roxas felt oddly terrified. I would've never met him.

"Yeah, the first time. I did a bunch of stupid shit later. How much more of a girl could I get, though, you know? I ate a fucking flower."

"I hung myself," Roxas said, wincing a little at the way it dropped out of his mouth like a stone, a dull thud into existence.

Axel stilled beneath him, and Roxas heard him swallow. "Shit."

"I ate pills later. Did dangerous things, tried to drown myself in a pool. The hanging, though. I meant that one."

"Shit, Rox," Axel said, tugging the blonde close. Maybe, Roxas thought, maybe he's glad, too. He's glad I didn't die so he could meet me. He felt thick, dizzy and stupid in the redhead's arms. He heard Axel's stomach rumble. That's right. He left without eating.

"You're hungry?" Roxas asked, arms resting on the ones encircling him.

"Not for food," Axel muttered, voice low.

Now or never. Just ask. "What he like?"

Axel shifted beneath him. "He's… having sex with him is really satisfying."

"Oh." Roxas felt very small, a tiny blot of dust sitting in Axel's lap.

"It hurts to look at him sometimes," Axel said quietly. Roxas wanted to look at his face, to see what else was there besides just the words.

"He makes you happy." A loop of Axel texting Cloud, of Axel talking to Cloud on the phone, of Axel straddling Cloud's lap played through Roxas' head. It was the truth, wasn't it? Cloud made Axel happy.

"You make me happy."

There it was again, his heart beating away in his ears. "In your pants, maybe," he said, voice shooting for blithe, scoffing.

"In my heart, you little brat," Axel snarled, jerking Roxas' shoulder around until they were face to face, close enough for Roxas to close his eyes, part his lips, and lean in. Do it do it do it. It would be easy to do it, to lean in before the fire in Axel's eyes died, to surprise the both of them. But Axel's phone rang, and the moment was lost, Roxas' hand knocked away inches from the figurative cookie jar. "That was him. He wants me to come over."

"Okay," Roxas said, pushing past Axel's arms to stand, stretching. This didn't have to be complicated. He was completely in love with Axel, completely, but Axel didn't want him. It wasn't complicated at all. "Have fun."

--

Roxas was awake when Axel came back into the room at four in the morning, trailing sex and cigarettes in his wake. After Axel left, Roxas gave a valiant attempt at finishing the poem explication, eventually throwing his anthology, pen, and notebook in an appalling little heap after the first hour. The reason he was awake at four in the morning had little to do with Wordsworth, though, and more to do with Sora at 9:01pm, voice tinny through the receiver as Roxas stared at the underside of Zexion's vacant bunk.

"I miss you already," he'd said, phone tucked against his neck and ear, eyelids drooping.

"I miss you, too, man, but guess what?! I found my keyblade today!"

"What?" Roxas' eyes fluttered open. This wasn't happening.

"My dad hid it in the shed, man, but I found it!"

"Sora," Roxas tried, hating the way his voice sounded weak, scared. Please, no. Let him be okay. Let him be tired.

"Mickey says hi. We're going to hang out when you get back, Rox, okay? Come soon!"

"Sora," Roxas whispered, closing his eyes.

"You're breaking up, man. Come back soon, Roxas! We love you!" Sora made kissing noises as he ended the call, and Roxas felt like his world was ending.

And when Axel came in, four in the morning, Sora's mention of the "keyblade" hadn't faded in his mind. It stood out, branded into his short-term memory with an armada of crooked burning steel. Axel stood in the shadows, and it didn't occur to Roxas that this shouldn't be happening, that he shouldn't have been able to get in unless Zexion gave him his key. Instead he held his breath, crossed his fingers as Axel came closer to his bed, staring down at him in the dark. Axel watched him for a long time, silent, and Roxas had to remind himself to breathe because he was supposed to be sleeping, not dead. Why had Axel come? Smelling like sex, silent, why had he come to stand in the dark and look down at him?

He was half-angry, half-desperate, and hardening in his bed as he imagined a hundred different scenarios where Axel came into his room and kissed him all over his face, kissed out the pain, and loved him so hard that the other things didn't matter anymore, so hard that Sora shrank down to normal size instead of the towering, all-encompassing everything that he'd become to Roxas, dwarfing him. So hard that the pinpoint that was Riku snapped off inside him, broken by something stronger, finally. The proximity of the older boy was sucking the air out of the room, a blazing pillar using up all the oxygen, all the thought. Just touch me. Say something. Touch me. Roxas waited and waited, anticipation so tangible that ghost hands pressed at his body, his hips shifting to rub up against a mouth that wasn't there. Roxas waited, but the touch never came.

Axel left just before dawn. He leaned down over Roxas, the blonde watching through his eyelashes, and his hand hovered an inch above Roxas' face, his breath held, before he turned and walked away, silent, leaving the low trace of come and sweat burned into the air behind him.