Axel doesn't really know what he's doing. When it started, it was about being able to see Naminé, being able to take his guilt where he could, and not be damned by someone who wasn't even there when it happened, didn't see how it happened. Somewhere along the way, he's come to respect Roxas, to look at him and see something more than just an annoying shadow to Naminé, someone who seems to sneer at him and all the other dancers. He understands, now, that Roxas dissects dance because he has spent years doing so, and it has become habit. He may not be able to dance, but he knows how to correct, how to shape a body, how to name every move and position, and exactly how to get someone to improve. Axels thinks that maybe Roxas is the reason Naminé is so good, that she trained him in critique and so he trained her in dance. He wonders what it would be like to work with Roxas as a choreographer, or an artistic director, what it would be like to do what so many dancers wish for, and work with someone who understands how difficult dance is, but who also understands how to make it easier. Roxas could be an inspiration, but it's probably a little late for him to train in dance now, when he's got other studies. He moved schools, after all, Axel has found out since they've been on speaking terms, and is doing most of his classes from home whilst looking after Naminé. It's probably not the time to be telling him that he may be more suited to other work, to learning how to choreograph, how things fit to music, the limits of what is possible and impossible with the human body. Axel wants to dance with him, more than anything, to see what he is capable of, what he's learnt from having a sister who danced so beautifully. He wants to be, but he doesn't know what Roxas' reaction will be. After all, he ruined his sister's career. Would Roxas trust him?
It's a question which haunts him as he goes through his days, one which sets him aflame from the inside, whether Roxas is the answer to his ennui with dance, the end to his constant wars with choreographers who know a lot about the theories, but not an awful lot about the facts. He'd be so much better than the fools Axel's been working with, who push dancers until they break, and then act surprised when the dancers throw a fit and storm off, citing them as prima donnas, people who think they're far more important than they really are, and that can break a career. More dangerously, it can break bones, too, and Axel has seen enough bones coming through skin with just Naminé – he doesn't need any extra, thank you, and certainly not his. She thinks he'll be great… or Roxas thinks that's what he needs to hear, or those are his own thoughts. Either way, he's doing his best to work as hard as possible to prove them both right, to show that he's not just the klutz who dropped the girl with promise – he has his own promise, too. It's enough, for now, because there's nothing to think of but steps, pliés, point, arch, extension, poise, line, position. He knows how to do all those things without direction, unlike whatever this is with Roxas. He can't even think of a name for it. The things he thinks when he's alone are private, not even to be thought of in daylight hours, the things he wants to do to the slender teen, who brings his trig to rehearsals and struggles through it to the gentle strains of music and the barked orders from Leon. They aren't things anyone should think about the brother of their dance partner, even less so about the brother of the dance partner they grounded. Naminé doesn't seem to hold him any ill will, but he knows full well that if it had been anyone else who'd dropped her, Axel would have beaten the shit out of them so comprehensively that they wouldn't have been able to move afterwards, never mind dance. He can't believe Roxas looks at him with any other kind of urge, other than to make him pay for what he did, but Roxas never needed to use fists to take him down a peg, just used words to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.
But there's something about him, certainly, when Axel sits a little too close, because he can't help himself, and he can smell just-washed boy, something soapy and sweet, and he just wants to sink his teeth into all that creamy skin, to press his hands close, to feel that body against his, their skin pressed together. He knows that it is something of an impossible dream, though, something which he can not have, which he does not deserve, and which Roxas will not want. It isn't like Roxas even gives a sign of wanting anything else, of remembering their late-night incident with anything but disgust and anger, to remind and shame him into remembrance which, instead of humorous and a jokey tale to tell of how they knew they were attracted to each other, tastes only of bitterness and regret that it is the only chance he ever had, and he blew it. He ruined what they could have been for the sake of what they were, in that moment. He realises, now, that Roxas must just have heard the news about Naminé, about her being unable to dance professionally again, and had clearly taken a moment to get some fresh air, to process the information. Maybe he'd waited until Naminé had cried herself out, kept a cheerful outlook, comforted her, before she slept and he dared to take a moment to let tears spill down his own cheeks. And in that moment, to be blown by someone who was, if nothing else, the person who had done this to both of them, was probably the last thing he needed. He would part seas and dance for days if that was what it took to see Roxas smile, truly smile, with his eyes. He suspects, however, that what Roxas needs in order to smile, is for Naminé to be whole and perfect once more. And as much as Axel wants it not to be so, he can not grant that wish. No one can, now. He made sure of that.
He can't help himself, though, from trying to get closer, from trying to be like something better than what he first showed Roxas he could be, the sister-hurting, cock-sucking bastard who goes out and drinks when he has a problem, rather than facing it head on. He wants to be something better. So he dances like he doesn't know that it can ruin lives, like there's nothing he cares about but dance, but every emotion he is supposed to feel for the ballet. He doesn't like to dwell on the fact that he dances each and every ipas de deux/i with a partner who would be so much better if they were Roxas, or dances each angry lover's duel for Roxas' honour. There is only so much he can think about Roxas without thinking about Naminé, and thinking about Naminé leads to missteps, missed moments in the music, pauses where there should be none. He doesn't wonder if anything can ever come of it, because – of course it can't. He ruined a career, he broke someone's dreams, fractured them right through the ankle, hobbled them, and it is something which can never be forgiven. He can't even forgive himself, not yet, not whilst he feels this. So he parcels up all those feelings he has for Roxas, puts them away, and doesn't bring them out to look at them, doesn't think about them, ever. Except when he dances.