Disclaimer: They aren't mine.

A/N: Please excuse the crazy. Yes, I deleted it all like the bitch I am. If you'd like to, favorite and alert again. I saved all my favorite reviews because I'm egotistical (they're the wallpaper inside my head), so all your lovely words exist somewhere, no worries. I'll put up the rest of this story and new fic on this account, but everything old, including How To Disappear Completely, Fortunate Son, and all the fanart I've received, can now be found on Versace Frolic livejournal, link on the profile.

Anyway. Damn, do I suck at updating or what? If I ever mysteriously disappear for more than six months, any of one you can feel free to take up my reins and continue on. Hell, you can even take full credit. Tell the world I didn't exist, that it was you all along. You have my full blessing.

--

Chapter 15: Manners

The sky is overcast in the memory, early morning dusty, the sun on its ascent. He's never been to Sea World, and the stroller is shaped like a dolphin, pushed by his father, headed nowhere that he can remember. He was a quiet kid, eyes wide and curious. Roxas wonders if that's how other kids remember their pasts, third-person like watching a film, and he thinks that can't be right. If it's his memory, then he shouldn't be able to see the stroller, shouldn't be able to see his dad pushing him, two years old and achingly vulnerable, toward some wide world. He doesn't remember anything else about the visit, just sitting in a gray dolphin, going to see whales and sharks and other things that swim, bigger than he'll ever be.

--

In three years he still managed to forget the tar muddled ocean air, the assault light but persistent as he walked down the path toward the upperclassmen dorms. Faint déjà vu, like he'd been there briefly a thousand years ago, and how had he ever forgotten that one important thing, gulls crying avian outrage against the clear, bright sky. September like June, like summer and marching into the student center like he'd done a million times, only through a fog of disuse, like it was someone else who went to school at Kingdom, someone else, blonde and slight and given to bouts of hoodie-shrouded sitting and staring, Parliament in hand. He hadn't smoked in a couple days, and he felt the memory against his fingers as he walked up to the counter and asked for the key to his new dorm room.

Pleased about his new second floor abode, Roxas slid the key into the door and twisted, shoulder pressing into the room as he shifted two of his three bags around, the smell of someone cooking popcorn in the dorm kitchen down the hall. Roxas was already depositing his bags at the foot of the lofted bed on the left of the room, barren and impersonal, before he realized the other side of the room was fully occupied, heavy with the hands of another person. Roxas took one look at the piles of History books heaped underneath the bed before his blood stilled in his body. Wait. It was of course possible that Zexion had taken a sudden interest in the catacombs of Paris, had given into a burning desire to know more about Mayan temples, but the mini-fridge in the corner—the one Roxas pulled open with shaking, marionette hands—filled with bottles of water, that was not possible.

Roxas swallowed, mouth strangely parched. "Shit."

He saw himself move, third-person slow-motion, toward his bed, hand grabbing at his keys before turning toward the door. I'll just… there's some mistake. Zexion is my roommate. Zexion, not—the thought process ended abruptly as he hauled open the door and came face to face with Axel, blazing with the force of a god or the sun.

"Hey, roomie." The redhead smiled, smirked almost, maddeningly.

"Hi," Roxas said, fingertips prickling. "Excuse me." Side-stepping Axel, it became very important that Roxas be outside, far, far away from any redheaded suns or gods. Fumbling for his cell, Roxas questioned how this level of cruelty was even possible. Do you hate me, God? Is the universe out to get me? Was I an asshole in my past life? Is this divine retribution for being a mass murderer? Roxas was halfway through a disgruntled text to his would be roommate when a message from the devil himself came through:

LOLZ PWNT!

Roxas felt very strongly that, should Zexion ever show his face again, Roxas would tear it clean from his body. Firing off a text mostly full of swear words and threats, Roxas shouldered his way into the student center, slamming his phone down unceremoniously on the counter, a deer-eyed sophomore, neon purple pen hanging from the corner of her mouth, staring at him in terror.

"I'm sorry, but student center outlines say that no roommate requests may be filed for—" the nervous girl began chattering, gesticulating wildly at the all caps sign on pastel pink posterboard behind her, before Roxas cut her off.

"There's been some mistake," he said, calm as you please. He had manners. He knew to ask for things nicely.

"I'm sorry, but the student center outlines say that—"

"FUCK YOUR FUCKING STUDENT CENTER!" Roxas thundered, picking up his phone and slamming it down again. The student center girl squeaked. Sometimes manners just didn't get the job done. "You don't understand. My roommate, he's…. disturbed. He's a pedophile and a psychopath. And he smells and looks like a molester. Please, there must be something you can do."

"Student card," the girl said quietly, trembling hand extended. Roxas eyed his abused cellphone as the girl pulled up his database entry, daring Zexion to say something, just one fucking thing. "E-excuse me?" the girl asked, tapping the counter with a perfectly manicured, French-tipped hand. "Are you sure you were in the right room? According to the roommate assignment questionnaire, you're matched with a roommate 89% compatible. Your next compatibility is a 73%, and your last roommate compatibility was a 62%."

Roxas stared unbecomingly, fragile brain trying to formulate some valid excuse, a concrete reason why Axel was the last person on earth he should be roommates with. "Please don't make me," he whispered, shoulders dropping. "I'll kill myself."

The girl behind the counter was suddenly blank, mechanical. "You can file a roommate request after 48 hours. I'll make sure to take note of your complaint. Can I get you anything else? A laundry card?"

Roxas turned away, restrained the urge to flip the girl off. 48 hours. That's not so bad, is it? I have class at ten in the morning tomorrow. If I go to sleep now and don't wake up until nine, I won't even have to see his face. And then I'll just come back really late tomorrow, and he'll be asleep. Isn't the library open until eleven? Yeah. 48 hours. No problem. No problem. Opening the door to his room, Roxas' eyes slid almost immediately to Axel, sitting on his bed clutching what looked to be a stuffed animal.

"I imagined it working out differently in my head," Axel said, setting the stuffed animal—what Roxas thought looked like a misshapen bear—carefully on the bed next to him. He sounded nervous.

"Oh." Roxas said, leaning up against the door, in prime position to make a dash for it if Axel tried anything. Why are you torturing me? Do you hate me that much?

Axel continued to stare at Roxas until, as if he hadn't realized he was doing it, he coughed and averted his eyes. Roxas noticed with a slight pang of horror that it seemed like Axel was on the verge of tears. "Anyway," the redhead said, pushing himself up of his bed, stuffed animal in hand. "I'll let you get to it. Lots of unpacking," he said vaguely, not looking at Roxas at all. Placing the stuffed animal on Roxas' bed, Axel said, "This is for you." As he walked by Roxas to the door, what he said next was so low that Roxas barely heard it. "Sorry I almost missed your birthday." The door opened and closed behind Roxas, followed by the opening and closing of the door leading to the outer stairs, the soft thunk of Axel's shoes as he descended.

Roxas released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, went over to grab at the stuffed animal. Even on the tips of his toes, he couldn't quite reach the top of his lofted bed, reduced to jumping and swatting to no avail. Defeated, Roxas toed off his shoes and scaled the side of the bed, wooden slats like stepping on the spines of books. Shoving himself in the corner, Roxas examined the stuffed animal, black and white fur vaguely waffle-y, as if it'd been left in a press. As far as he could tell, it was some sort of panda, large eyes and sad panda mouth. Maybe he's trying to tell me something. I don't wear guyliner, though? Stroking absently at the fur, Roxas wondered if maybe he was being an asshole. Maybe Axel wasn't a phone call kind of guy? Maybe not a texter? That's not true. He texted that Cloud guy all the time. Unsettled, Roxas crushed the panda to his chest and closed his eyes, determined to sleep through the night, bags still packed, bed bare.

--

Of course, "sleep through the night" translated roughly to "jolting awake as soon as Axel got in," the other boy trailing ocean air in the door with him. Peering with one eye over the edge of the bed, Roxas watched Axel stand in front of the door, unmoving in the dark, head angled up toward Roxas' bed. Axel flinched as Roxas' cell beeped, a waiting text alert. Probably Sora. Moving toward his bed in the dark, Roxas watched as Axel sat, lined his elbows up with his knees and buried his face in his hands. The shape he made in the dark, shadows and the hint of light, was appealing on a primal level, Roxas feeling the twist of want, ravenous though neglected, right in the pit of his stomach.

"Thanks," he rasped suddenly, not conscious of the desire to speak.

Axel looked up slowly, rubbed at his face. He said something unintelligible before he cleared his throat and tried again. "Sorry."

"Is it a panda?"

Axel made a positive noise, laughed weakly. "Emo panda."

"He's nice." Battling the awkward silence, Roxas asked, "Is this the gift?"

Axel sat quietly, hesitating. "Can you come down here?"

"I think I should stay up here," Roxas whispered, blinking away, not trusting his throat to do what he wanted.

Axel exhaled loudly, ran his hands though his hair and went to flick on the lights. "Actually, I got you this." Rifling through the drawers of his university issued desk, Axel produced a palm-sized statuette. Holding it up to Roxas, Axel smiled wryly. "I made it for you."

Roxas, careful not to let his fingers touch Axel's, picked up the statuette. What. "You—You made me a Virgin Mary?"

"It was that or an ashtray. Didn't want to encourage the habit." Axel fidgeted, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Thus emo panda."

"Virgin Mary?" Roxas asked again.

"Yeah," Axel said, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

"Virgin. Mary?"

"Shhh," Axel said, embarrassed smile breaking on his face. Roxas hadn't been mistaken earlier; Axel really did look faintly godlike. The summer had been good to him. His cheeks looked fuller, skin looked healthy. He was glowing, almost. Radiant. Roxas swallowed thickly.

"How was your summer?"

"Terrible," Axel said, meeting Roxas' eyes. "Really terrible."

"Mine, too," Roxas whispered, horrified at the pathetic voice that came out of him. What was this? Daytime drama?

"Want to come down and talk about it?" Roxas shook his head, tears sliding out from beneath his closed eyes. "Okay, no pressure. Maybe tomorrow," Axel said quietly, heading over to flick the lights off.

Roxas rolled over toward the wall, covered his face with the panda, sunk all his pathetic tears into its soft fur. Just go away. Just go away, forget my name. Pretend I don't exist. Roxas listened for the even, measured breathing of Axel asleep. It never came.

--

The first week living with Axel was like living with a ghost. Roxas' plan to spend as much time away from the dorm as possible without actually sleeping on the beach was supplemented by what was either Axel's insane schedule or his mutual desire to also see as little of Roxas as possible. All of Roxas' four classes were thankfully redheaded smartass free. Running into Zexion in the English courtyard resulted in a bloodless squabble, Zexion hopping behind a hedge until Roxas stopped shouting.

"Surprises are wonderful gifts, you villain!"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!" Roxas shouted, professors peeking out their windows to observe the scene. "I'LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF."

"He's the Romeo to your Juliet! Stop being a crackhead and do the nasty dance with him!"

"I AM A BOY!"

"Duly noted. People are staring, did you know? There. And there." Zexion pointed at the eight floors of the English building. "Oh, look, there's one of my professors. I DON'T KNOW HIM," Zexion said loudly, pointing at Roxas.

It ended well enough, Zexion promising Roxas amnesty at Little Vista should a murderous rampage overcome him and drive him to dump Axel's body in the ocean. Roxas was relieved to hear that it had been entirely Zexion's idea after he was offered reduced rent to room with Pence—"Who is strangely gifted at frying things. Fried bananas, fried Oreos, fried fries. I've gotten fat, can you tell?"—that Axel had even been reluctant to accept the offer.

"I told him that if you roomed with someone you didn't know, you'd turn into a hermit since I've thus far been your culture coordinator."

"You don't coordinate my culture. You coordinate my corruption."

"Bullshit, dear Roxas. You are a sick fuck all on your own. I merely provide the party favors. Anyway, he agreed to fill my vacancy." Zexion looked at Roxas pointedly. "So you fucked, right?"

"Gross, no." Roxas said, flushing.

"Are you… lying?" Zexion asked, trying to peer into Roxas' eyes.

"No, I hate that fucker."

"There it is! That good old Roxas Spirit™!"

"Fuck you."

"Good to see some things never change. Care for a blunt?"

Rage blackouts aside, Roxas was pretty sure Axel was just particularly adept at hiding his tracks; not even a telling red pube clogging the shower drain betrayed Axel's presence. Maybe he didn't shower? This was why, after a week straight of Axel's really successful disappearing act, Roxas was genuinely surprised to wake up and find Axel tapping away on his laptop, looking enticing in some hipster V-neck that gave Roxas painfully clear images of licking at his collarbones.

"Hi," Roxas said weakly, pulling the panda away from his face. Every night the stuffed animal seemed to gravitate toward his mouth, Roxas waking up suffocating on more than one occasion.

"Morning," Axel said, eyes flicking up to Roxas' perch.

"Busy week?"

"Sure," Axel said, eyes on his screen. Roxas thought he could see porn reflected in his eyes. Pervert, no you don't. "And I wanted to give you some space."

"You don't need to do that," Roxas blurted, clutching the panda tighter to his chest.

"Okay," Axel said, not missing a beat. "You want brunch? I'm starving."

As it turned out, Roxas realized he'd probably never seen Axel actually eat, sneaking fascinated glances at the boy across from him as Axel demolished three bowls of cereal and a Belgian waffle topped with an assortment of fruit. Roxas didn't know if there was anything he'd rather watch other than Axel cut up strawberries, pausing every now and again to pop one in his mouth before dotting the top of his waffle with them.

"Not hungry?" Axel asked around a mouth full of food, eyeing Roxas' mostly untouched slice of melon.

"Not really," Roxas said, pushing the melon around on his place. "Is that waffle good?"

"The best waffle I've ever eaten," Axel said, slurping as a thin stream of strawberry juice dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Roxas suspected anyone else might find Axel's breakfasting obscene, like the boy had been lost in the wilderness sucking turtle eggs for months. But for Roxas, Axel's famished attack was exciting.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look good." You are a true idiot. Really. One day you'll open your mouth and something insane won't come out, and the world will probably explode. "I mean… healthy. I mean good. You look great."

Axel lowered the knife and fork in his hands, crossing them neatly at the top of his plate. "Is it possible to take that the wrong way?" Axel looked carefully into Roxas' eyes, finished chewing. "Thanks. Means a lot. Coming from you, anyway."

"Oh, sorry, I meant that you look like you've been hit by a bus. Don't they feed you where you come from?"

There was this look Axel kept giving him, funny smile quiet on his mouth, just in the corner. Is he humoring me? Mocking me? I don't get it. "You'd be surprised."

"But you cook!" Roxas said, reaching his fork almost unconsciously across the table, stabbing at a neatly cut segment of waffle, and sticking his mouth around the enormous bite. "I know. I've eaten it."

"Yeah, well," Axel said, not elaborating.

Roxas felt a fuzzy joy as Axel chauffeured his plate around the dining commons, ladling batter on a waffle iron for him, topping it with fruit, cutting strawberries for him. The heady delight threatened to swallow him entirely, senses reeling. What am I feeling? Giddy? Reckless? Stupid? "Sooo good," Roxas said, mouth full.

"You have—" Axel said, reaching across the table and thumbing at whipped cream at the corner of Roxas' mouth.

For whatever reason, Roxas found the gesture nothing short of devastating. Dropping his fork, throat closing up, he felt those same pathetic—What is wrong with you?—tears spring to his eyes. "'M sorry," Roxas said around a bite of waffle, his words muffled. " 'M sush anassole."

Axel snorted into his water, Roxas trying his best to glare. "No, no, I'm sure it'll feel a lot better when your mouth isn't full."

"Dun mae me hur you," Roxas said, waving his fork threateningly.

Despite Roxas' impromptu waterworks, Axel looked terribly pleased with himself, beaming as they continued to eat. The effect was startling, Roxas having to actively remind himself to finish the waffle and not just stare in near awe at how alive Axel looked.

Detour to the beach after brunch, Roxas chasing a group of seagulls for a quarter mile, feeling like his chest was alight, and the bizarre high finally started to settle, the two walking companionably down the stretch of the beach, farther than either had ever ventured. The coastline was different here—buffed rock just under the sand, eroded bluffs beaten down after hundreds of years of gentle insistence by the tide, small pools full of starfish and strange looking sea anemones. Just offshore, Roxas' pirate ship oil rig rose up out of the ocean, industrial beauty hazy with distance. He didn't realize he'd stopped, staring at the marred horizon, until he felt arms slip under his, hands resting over his hips. Axel's chin tucked into the side of his neck and all the hair on Roxas' arms stood up.

"I've been wanting to do this for seven straight days," Axel said, voice against his ear, carried away by the wind. Always so windy on the beach, stinging bits of sand scraping their cheeks. Always so cold, hair blown into eyes and wet breath, sticky everywhere.

Roxas leaned back into the touch, wondered if he'd ever feel proper emotions again. Was it happiness he was feeling? Or was it nothing? "You called me once. The whole summer, just once." His voice sounded more hurt than he felt, the edges of anger lingering. But I don't feel hurt anymore, do I? Do I feel anything? I missed you, Axel. I needed you.

"First day back, right?" Axel sounded nervous, Roxas feeling him swallow, hearing the muscles in his throat working. "I would've called you every day. Hell, I would've gone out to see you."

"But?" Roxas wished more than anything that the accusation, the angry tilt, would leave his voice. Why are you doing this to him? I don't want to be doing this. Stop. Stop doing this.

There was a lull in the conversation during which Roxas swore the breaking waves told him to turn around and press their mouths together, but when Axel spoke, a splinter ran through the silence. "I got locked up."

Wait. "What?" Wait, wait wait. Roxas felt his body go still, his chest quiet. The numb hollow where his heart should've been throbbed, began to spread. "What?"

"I… my mom and a couple friends I have back home. There was this fucking like… 'intervention' or some shit. They said I was killing myself, I needed food to live, blah fucking blah." Axel laughed mirthlessly, pressed Roxas closer against him, "You would've laughed. Should've seen the way they carted me off while I threw shit and basically tore my bedroom door off its hinges. When they told me I couldn't have my cell, I literally almost ran out of the place. They put me in restraints."

"Was it… was it prison?" Roxas thought that the numbness in his chest would eat him from the inside out. Guilt, probably. You are such a total fucking asshole. You total fucking asshole. You didn't even… you couldn't. You're so…

"No, crackhead. Eating disorder clinic. Bella Vita. No phones. You know, on your birthday? That text was the result of two months worth of good behavior, going to therapy, eating everything they put in front of me, not purging a fucking thing." Axel was shaking behind him, hands now fisted in Roxas' hoodie pockets.

"Eating—" Roxas said, sounding for all the world like a complete imbecile. "Eating disorder. Clinic. Eating disorder." All those times he saw Axel not eating, how he thought it was endearing, how Axel would take him out and order food that he never ate, not once, while he watched Roxas demolish his own food. "Oh my god, Axel."

"I thought I was gunna lose it a couple times, fucking painting that Virgin Mary in art therapy. I was off the shit, no cigs, hadn't had a drink in fuck knows how long. I tried to re-wire my brain, make it so painting and glazing that little statue for you could substitute for wanting a drink or a pill or something, anything. And there they were, making me fucking… fat and shit. I'd look into the mirror and see how fucking gross I looked, how you'd never want to touch me again." Axel sounded angry, furious. Angry, like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was cry, like the last thing in the world he wanted to be was weak. "I just wanted to hear your voice. That text was the best I could do. I'm so fucking sorry," Axel said, voice cracking roughly. "And then, no matter how full of their psychobabble bullshit they stuffed me with, it's like—when I saw you there, in the doorway on Sunday, and you looked at me like I was disgusting, like I was the last person on the fucking planet you wanted to see—I thought, 'Oh, shit. They were all wrong. You are a fat fucking pig and Roxas doesn't want you anymore.'"

"Oh my god, no. I didn't—"

"On Wednesday I thought about leaving school. Clearly I was in no condition to be out in society. I was going to drive down, check myself back in to Bella Vita. You know how many fucking anorexic bitches are in that shit hole? Hanging all over me like they thought I was hot shit because I had hip bones. But then," Axel laughed, a real laugh, and rubbed at his running nose. "But then I walked in one morning after crashing at Dem's, and you had that panda, the fucking emo panda, right on your face. And I figured, hey: you can't hate me that much if you're making out with my panda in your sleep."

Frowning, Roxas attempted to turn around. "I wasn't—"

"Listen, listen. I'm not expecting you to save my life or redeem me or be my savior or anything. All I know is what you've already done." Roxas felt a press of lips, wind chapped, against his neck. "You made me believe in things I didn't think I gave a shit about. I know how to hope." Another kiss, this one on his jaw. "I know how to give a shit about what I put in my body and what I don't." Axel turned Roxas against him, crushed the smaller boy into his chest and held tight, dropping kisses into ocean damp hair. "And even if I'm wrong about everything else, I know I'm right about loving you. I know I can do it. I'm good at it."

The sensation of freefalling, having just jumped out of a plane in the dark—knowing that you're falling at an impossible speed toward the earth, but not being able to see when—ripped Roxas open. "I didn't—I didn't know." His heart, previously immobile in his chest, stuttered to life, coughed weakly like an engine turning over with disuse. "I thought you…"

"What?" Axel asked in his ear, breath and life, a lick down his earlobe. "That I'd forgotten about you? You can go to the ends of the earth, Roxas. You're the first thing on my mind all the time." A kiss on his forehead, Axel smoothing his hair back.

"But I," Roxas began, tongue numb with intent. "I fucked up real bad this summer. I mean really bad."

"What, you like robbed a bank? Got a hooker pregnant?" Axel's hands at his waist, pressed him forward, friction against the fly of his jeans.

More or less, Roxas thought. What could he say? While Axel was off in a fucking eating disorder clinic, he was busy smoking his brains out and fucking his best friend's boyfriend? He was used goods? A black smear of what was once human? "I tried," Roxas swallowed, rubbing his nose against Axel's chest. "I mean, I didn't try, I just… I sorta..."

"What?" Axel asked again, lifting Roxas' chin up with a hand, thumb tracing the seam of his lips.

Roxas looked away, shrugged. "I overdosed. I was out for like two days." His shoulders shrugged again, feigned disinterest.

Serious, green eyes staring intently into his, Axel asked, "Was that my fault?"

"What? No. Don't be stupid. It's my own… I'm fucked up. I fucked up, I couldn't deal."

"Roxas," Axel said, dropping kisses on both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose.

"I'm sorry." I'm an idiot. I couldn't even kill myself right.

Axel got down on the sand, pulled Roxas into his lap, his legs straddling Axel's waist. "You should be apologizing to yourself. Look at you," Axel said, taking Roxas' face into his hands. "Why would you do that to this gorgeous fucking face?" Fingers tracing the contours of his skin, Axel continued, "You're literally perfect. What is it? Something inside you telling you that you're worthless?"

Yes. "No," Roxas said, his voice sounding more offended than he felt.

"You're not worthless." Axel hands ran up and down his sides, stroked at his back. Roxas resisted the urge to grind down, to make this something it wasn't. Hands settling over his chest, Axel's voice grew very quiet.

"I just want the chance to love you. Can you wait for me? I can't promise it's going to work out, I can't promise anything."

"I'm here now," Roxas said, throat constricted. What should he say? Fuck yes, please, I'm ready, I'm waiting? Because despite the magnetism that sealed him perfectly against the other boy, how his entire body felt like it belonged against Axel's, there was too much shit in the way. Axel was far on the horizon, standing by the sun. Roxas had thousands of miles to go before being with Axel didn't end in another puddle of dramatics, before he learned the difference between what you love and what you want, between a good time and what was good, period. If anything, Axel was the one waiting for him. "I guess maybe I'm still in Mordor and you're all the way in the Shire."

Axel furrowed his brow, grin stretching out over his mouth. "Did you just make a Lord of the Rings analogy?"

"Shut up," Roxas said, smiling away into Axel's shoulder.

"No, no, seriously. Are you calling me a fat, hairy, hobbit?" Axel's teasing voice pulled a weak strain of laughter from his throat. Roxas thought that it might have been his first laugh in days.

"Hobbits have big feet. You know what they say about big feet," Roxas said, feeling drugged.

"Holy shit, Rox! Hobbit innuendo!" Axel pressed a delighted kiss against Roxas' neck. "Not gunna lie, that's sorta hot… in a disturbed, geeky way." Axel laughed again, a rumble Roxas felt against his chest. "It'd be like a third leg."

Roxas wrinkled his nose, felt like shoving his tongue in Axel's mouth. Take it easy. Don't fuck it up. "Imagery overload."

"Oh, is it?" Axel asked, his face almost unbearably close. "TMI?"

"Just a little," Roxas said, inhaling, eyelids falling shut. He felt Axel's breath on his mouth, felt a swooping thrill in his stomach, but the kiss never came.

"So what's the deal with your friends?"

"What's the deal with those fucking guys at Qs?" Roxas opened his eyes, counted all the flecks of dark green in Axel's.

Axel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, shrugged his shoulders. "What about them?" In the next instant, his mouth was warm against Roxas', tongue flicking patiently inside his mouth. "I apologize for every day but today." Another kiss, Axel's tongue running along the ridges at the top of his mouth. "I just want the same courtesy, okay?"

Courtesy. Taking someone else's heart into your hands and having to be responsible for so many more things than just its beating. There was Sora, there was Riku. There was the bottle of Ativan he'd lifted from his mom. There was devouring need to forget his own name, to forget it at the bottom of a bottle, of someone's dick, anyone's dick, buried in his ass or his mouth. Courtesy, manners. How to love, how to let yourself love.

"I'm trying," Roxas said. A thousand miles to Axel on the horizon, to hope. "I'll try harder."

--

Living with Axel proved remarkably easy, his sleep patterns and bathroom etiquette (Zexion had a penchant for pissing all over the seat in an intoxicated stupor, would leave his literature anthologies in convenient tripping distance by the dorm room door) complimented Roxas' nicely. He was never too loud to be annoying, but just loud enough to be entertaining, never snored, sneezed like his face was exploding (a real audible shout of a sneeze that was nevertheless obscenely endearing), did this retarded dance just after he woke up in the mornings, mumbling some melody Roxas didn't recognize. On more than one occasion, he'd gotten Roxas to dance along with him, something about starting the day off with a smile.

"Y'know, this is a leftover habit from when I used to wake up and take a hit. Turn on some Cure, dance around until I felt like facing the world."

"How deviant of you," Roxas said, feeling thoroughly ridiculous as he jumped around, ignoring the knocking on the ground coming from the floor below.

There were millions of little things Roxas began to notice, things he'd never previously had the opportunity to observe. It felt like Axel in front of the world was always on, always challenging and flirtatious. Axel behind closed doors was quiet, studied a lot, spent hours in front of his laptop, tapping away while Roxas half did his homework, half drank in the way Axel would chew on the bottom corner of his lip, the way he'd rub at his eyes when it got too late, like an unconscious compulsion that Roxas had to look away from to keep from laughing. After their little make out session on the beach, he'd been worried about tension or awkward moments. Yes, he liked Axel. Yes, he'd love to make out with him all the time. But at the same time, this was school. Roxas didn't want to play domesticated housewife or hang all over the guy. They hadn't even talked about anything in terms of labels, intent. It was what it was, and for now that seemed fine with Roxas. There were the random sleepy morning kisses, Axel sidling over to the edge of Roxas' lofted bed until the blonde leaned down, learned what Axel's morning breath tasted like (pleasant, actually, but the redhead was forever drinking water, kept the inside of his mouth like a Crest commercial). Roxas tried not to keep a running tally of affection, assuaging the inner demon that swore unless Axel kissed him X amount of times in Y amount of days, that the other boy clearly hated his sluttish guts.

On the whole it was… nice, maybe, the slight sexual charge that left Roxas feeling wired, breathless. If they brushed each other a little too closely as Axel left the bathroom and Roxas headed in, if Roxas accepted the proposition for dinner a little too quickly, if he noticed Axel staring up at him while he attempted yet another packet of Social Psych case studies—each little moment crackled briefly, a zap of comfortable, exciting tension that made the days slide easily into each other.

To date, he'd only had to force Axel to eat once, soon discovering that Axel was content to eat as long as Roxas ate with enthusiasm and crafted dyadic relationship scenarios out of dining common delicacies. He'd had exactly one piss poor phone conversation with Sora that ended with him punching the wall, Axel practically dragging him off his bed to survey his bleeding knuckles, confiscating his phone as Sora called back and called back.

"Give me my fucking phone," Roxas had demanded, slapped at Axel's hand, his cellphone held aloft.

His knuckles under Axel's scrutiny, the other boy shook his head. "You better fucking relax yourself before it goes out the window. Your little boyfriend can wait. You need to calm the fuck down."

"Boyfriend? That's it, motherfucker—" Roxas began, his threat ultimately useless as Axel sat on his chest until his hand was bandaged. It's not like he was angry at Sora; it was just difficult, explaining Axel, encouraging Sora to stay on his meds, to not break up with Riku for the 42,349th time. It was almost like he'd forgotten how to speak the same language as his best friend, weary of the spiraling drag that took root in his chest every time he closed his eyes and talked, 9:01 p.m. and Sora going on about how bored he was, how he smoked some great kush, how work sucked his ass and when are you coming home, Roxas, when, I miss you Roxas, is your dick hard, my dick is hard, I love you, Roxas. He'd take the calls on the third floor study lounge, far away from any Axels with ears to hear just how difficult it was for Roxas to exercise some courtesy. How difficult it was for him to deny years of carelessness, years of lovely excess.

Those days are gone, Roxas would tell himself, shivering on the uncomfortable couch as Sora jacked off on the other end of the line, Roxas laughing at the straight porn Sora had a running commentary going for. He'd been waiting for the right time to bring up his attempt, but the opportunity never presented itself. He fell easily into the same spiral with Sora, hypnotic swirl dragging his mind out over a hundred miles, his spirit tethered at Sora's bedpost. It worried Roxas, made him wonder if there was nothing for it, doomed to be that final part of a two piece puzzle that comes with three pieces.

Despite his worries, Roxas kept all of it to himself, let his body remember how to smile, how to wear away the cravings for a person like learning how to quit smoking, grinding down against a stone until nothing's left. Despite his worries, Roxas finally started to understand a few, hard truths: it's one thing to believe in loyalty, convictions and sticking to your guns; it's another thing entirely to swear loyalty to something that only promised to be holy, a pretty picture on a rotting canvas.