CHAPTER ELEVEN: SCENE CHANGE
"Walk softly, don't want to disturb the dead
Is it an enemy in front of me, or have I been misled?
Wear these clothes, walk this way, do exactly what they say
It's your life, but their way; follow me, it's all the same."
"Scene Change" - The White Tie Affair
The same song had been playing on a near continuous loop for the better part of forty minutes by the time Zack showed up. From iPhone to earbuds, on repeat until he could practically recite the lyrics backwards, Roxas listened in the obsessive way one does when they're first introduced to a new song, each subsequent rendition of chorus inspiring new feeling, the melodic backbeat reverberating somewhere unreachable within him where he didn't have to worry or even really think. After the week he'd been having, it was needed. Calming.
At least until Zack appeared.
By then, Roxas had relocated from the front porch to the backyard and a ratty foldout chair, one of a six-piece family set that lopsidedly dotted the patchy grass and red clay dirt that encompassed the north side of his family's property, arranged like haphazard gravestones in an unkempt cemetery of deliberately misplaced memories. Even after twenty minutes of song repetition risked extending to thirty, even after the melody started blending past the boundaries of his active thinking until it threatened to become a part of the evening's natural background sounds completely, Roxas kept listening, eyes unfocused, mind blessedly quiet.
He'd abandoned the porch when Kairi arrived, less due to the prospect of conversation than to avoid the driver who'd come along with her. He wasn't in the mood to talk, least of all to someone who not only seemed to have natural talent at countering his every insult but possessed the added ability of throwing Roxas off his carefully constructed guard with frustrating consistency. Without sparing more than half a disinterested glance at the road as the pickup approached, Roxas had pocketed his phone. He'd pushed off from his perch at the edge of his home's front porch and slipped around the side of the house toward the backyard, disconnecting his earbuds and balling the cords into one fist to avoid snagging them on overgrown foliage lining a side path between the rotting fence that separated the Strife family property from their neighbors. Axel LaChappelle was a nuisance he didn't want to deal with tonight, plain and simple.
The backyard wasn't without its own form of distractions. Although darker than the front side of the house, light flooded from his brother's upstairs bedroom, animated voices filtering out of the open window. A light breeze tickled his cheeks and rustled the leaves of one of the property's willowy trees. Their branches were sheltered beneath flat bladed, needle-like leaves, the sound akin to the beating of wings, feathered and flapping only a few yards away. If not for the words carrying down to him from the conversation above, Roxas would have returned to his music in an attempt to drown out the unsettling sound.
As it stood, he probably should have, because the topic of conversation wasn't remotely one he wanted to be overhearing.
Speculation over Riku's minute-by-minute disposition based on an exchange of text messages was the overarching theme, with a bit of Kairi's clandestine pining thrown in for good measure over a crush obvious to everyone but Tidus himself. He supposed he shouldn't have been been surprised about Sora's fixation, given his brother's reaction to the prospect of being examined by the new guy's mom just a handful of days ago. Still, it rankled. What was so special about a West Coast transfer student with the social graces of a wet dishrag that made Sora want to tread so carefully, to construct an elaborate front of physical health at just his mere mention?
Reaching to retrieve his phone out of the pocket where he'd last stowed it, Roxas caught a view of one covered arm and was momentarily willing to concede the cynicism in his silent inquiry, but was just as quick to assure himself there was a difference. Sora had no reason to feel ashamed about the hand he'd been dealt, not in front of anyone in this town but especially not when faced with a newcomer who had no right to hold any opinion whatsoever. It wasn't like his brother could change his circumstances through the exercise of concerted willpower over an undesirable habit. If his own lot was assessed in the same light, Roxas wasn't convinced he'd be able to claim the same, or be held nearly as blameless for the choices he had made this past year.
There was a notification on his lock screen, a sparse line of text from Xion with her typical, cryptic wording that he was in no state to try and interpret. It'd been a long week of forced secondary education social interactions during the day, of sleepless nights after ensuring Sora was comfortable enough to rest when he arrived home in the evenings. With a full day on Friday still looming like a death penalty promise and no remote hope of a last minute stay from any source, government or otherwise, Roxas had resigned himself at most to a Saturday holed up somewhere, maybe at home, potentially at Xion's, burning through the last of the pills he'd so recently been gifted well in advance of how long they should've lasted.
Then there was the Sunday after next and its associated Easter services, one of the few days in the year that his mother always insisted they go to church as a family, the other being Christmas. In any event, it promised to be an unnecessarily drawn-out affair, from the hour-long sermon to maternal expectations of socializing with other congregants in the church community room for the remainder of the day afterward.
Fucking awesome.
His head was bowed, eyes still on his phone's screen that had gone dark from lack of activity minutes earlier, when the figure materialized at the corner of the yard, features becoming increasingly recognizable upon closer approach, if only Roxas had bothered to look up and see them. It was the whistling that caught his attention, that set his molars to a painful grind, jaw tight, the tuneless sound playing across his already short temper just as effectively as it had the first time.
Neither spoke as Zack approached, hands clasped loosely behind his back, chin tilted up as he surveyed the Strife's backyard, a ruminative expression passing across his features. He reached for a chair Roxas hadn't noticed before, one folded up flat that had been leaning against the peeling, paint-chipped siding of his house. Coming to a stop an arm's length from Roxas, Zack arranged the chair to face him, then lowered himself on into it.
Eyes still fixed on the phone screen in his lap, merely aware of Zack's actions through the grace of his extended peripherals, Roxas had enough presence of mind to unlock his phone but remained disinclined to give Xion's text much genuine consideration. Pseudo-consideration was preferred over bothering to acknowledge the new arrival, however.
"Your driveway's a real-life Surgeon General's warning, what with all that smoke coming out of that idling pickup."
Shoulders tensing at the indirect mention of an inked-up malingerer, Roxas shifted his gaze, taking a moment to study Zack's steel-toed boots and the half-dried dirt caked over their soles before allowing his eyes to rise enough to offer a patented look that was equal parts unimpressed by the light-hearted statement as it was sullen.
"Cloud's not around."
He watched as Zack leaned back, entwining his fingers into a prayerful position over the concave curve of his stomach, finally lifting one boot to rest perpendicular atop the bent knee of his other leg.
"Who said I was here to see him?"
Roxas' face fell into a scowl. "Don't know why else you'd traipse all the way out here, what with Aerith gone and most everyone else your age moved out of town or busy being productive members of adult society."
The mention of Aerith didn't seem to trip Zack up this time, which Roxas found unfortunate. It was one of the few pieces of information he had in his arsenal to keep his brother's former friend on his toes. It was mean, below the belt, even. Yet it hardly mattered at all in this instance.
Zack's expression was relaxed, almost serene, as he shifted his gaze to the overcast sky.
"Maybe I just stopped by to see how an old friend's brother is faring in his final year of compulsory education."
"Right. Sure you did." Roxas snorted, unable to suppress the derisive tone his voice had naturally adopted. "Or you could be fishing for information from a secondary source close to him. Not like y'all two left off on the best of terms."
It was almost ten years and counting since Zack had left, point in fact, and Roxas just wished he could wrap his mind around why he'd chosen to return now, when he least needed another distraction.
"Hey now." Zack glanced back over to him. "That was a long time ago. People change."
Eyes still studying Zack's ageless features, Roxas was tempted to point out that change appeared to be a relative concept, but his line of thought was disrupted as his gaze drifted onto the shirt Zack was wearing, its logo in particular. In the dim light of moon and a grimy backyard deck lamp, he'd missed the subtle distinction between the grey design across one side and its darker background cousin of unqualified, obsidian black. Eyes now scrutinizing with renewed focus, it didn't take long for Roxas to make out the sloping lines that, when viewed as a whole, depicted a single, slate grey feather from right hip to shoulder.
He blinked, stomach suddenly churning, but the logo didn't dissolve as he'd half expected-half hoped. The clearing of a throat on Zack's part was what finally broke his unsettling reverie, also what encouraged him to offer a noncommittal shrug that gave the conversation implicit permission to die with a modicum of dignity it probably didn't deserve.
For a time, both young men were left to their own private thoughts, Zack quiet, his bright eyes resuming their skyward observation, Roxas simply grateful his unasked for companion hadn't decided to break the growing silence with another rendition of that exasperating, tuneless whistling. His thoughts drifted, from dislocated images of over-illuminated hospital hallways to Cloud when he was no older than Roxas was now, still young and optimistic enough to have a hope of making something of himself.
As Roxas let his mind drift, he also leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on bent knees, shoulders hunched, eyes surveying the yard and remembering what it looked like when he and Sora had been children. Not much had changed, apart from the noted absence of a cheap plastic disc swing held up by industrial-strength rope that Cloud had once strung over a low hanging tree branch, along with a selection of second-hand bicycles and the scuffed-up skateboard Roxas had once coveted. The swing had come down after Sora received his diagnosis, around the time they'd both started middle school, the bicycles and skateboard abandoned a few years later on Roxas' part in favor of varsity track and field junior year and bumming rides from newly licensed friends after Ven had left for college. Along the far reaches of their backyard property, an old shed also still stood, although Roxas couldn't remember the last time anyone had bothered to enter it.
The voices of ongoing conversation mingled with the light breeze above and around him, and Roxas couldn't help but think about graduation upcoming, about how everything was about to be turned on its face in a handful of months. The knowledge turned his stomach. It tightened like a vice around the cage of his chest and left him feeling vulnerable, mentally grappling to make sense of what he already knew was hopelessly impossible to predict.
This wasn't how his life was supposed to turn out. He was supposed to have made good on that varsity letter, maybe eked out an athletic scholarship to a reputable college so he and Sora both could get out of this go-nowhere town. Instead, he'd up and quit athletics, he was a couple of missed assignments short of failing each and every one of his academic classes and couldn't muster the effort to so much as worry about the prospect. He was falling prey to half-assed attempts at verbal baiting on Seifer's part, as close to indifferent about his relationship with Xion as he could get while considering himself still technically in it, and pushing all of his childhood friends away by means of subtle inaction and a deep-seated need to break free from a reality that seemed more nightmarish of late than anything remotely close to upbeat.
None of this was what he'd imagined, even just a year ago when he'd held more of a semblance of presumed control. How a life could have gone so wildly awry, at a pace both breakneck and unanticipated, was well beyond his ability to reason through.
"So, who's this Riku guy now?"
Glancing over at Zack, still disoriented from the abrupt mental interruption, Roxas bit back a caustic reply in favor of one more in bed with outright apathy.
"Nobody."
"That so?" Zack's expression was dubious, eyes traveling to the open window above them. "From the way he's being discussed with such bleeding heart liberalness, it sounds to me like someone's pining."
Roxas rolled his eyes, this time forcing down a laugh by tightening the muscles of his throat, albeit just barely.
"Try again. Kairi's obsessed with someone else. It's practically public record."
"She's not who I was referring to. But you're a smart kid, and right observant, so I figure this is something you already know plenty about."
Zack smiled a knowing smile, infuriating in its assuredness. Not for the first time, Roxas wished Cloud's presumptions about his younger brother's preference for physical scuffles over pointed verbal assaults had a foot in actual reality. At this point, even a single inch of toe would've sufficed.
Before he could do much more than internally bristle at the implication, a door creaked open, the sound of musty wooden stairs protesting clear through the sliver of an open downstairs window. Roxas said nothing as he listened to Kairi's departure, then to the sputtering sound of a truck engine well past its prime as it revved back to life and spun gravel beneath clay-laden wheels. He listened until sounds of the vehicle faded out of audible range, then turned back to the man beside him.
"Why are you even here?"
As Zack no doubt prepared to say something glib, Roxas narrowed his eyes and was quick to clarify.
"And I mean back in Radiant Hollow, not here-here tonight, as you've already made sure to establish, grade-A bullshit that we all know it is."
"Mm."
Head bobbing in acknowledgement, smile still playing at the corners of his lips, Zack leaned forward and matched Roxas' hunched stance.
"Got a job of sorts in the general vicinity. I'm here until it wraps up."
"Of sorts." Roxas shot him a skeptical look. "With the military?"
With a light laugh, Zack swung back in his seat, the chair's front legs rising a few inches off the ground before rebalancing themselves, his dark shirt riding up from the band of his jeans a few inches with the movement.
"Kinda. Ever heard of a company called ShinRa?"
The name prickled his spine, mocked the inadequacy of long-term memory through an uncomfortable jolt Roxas couldn't identify beyond knowing he didn't like even one iota of it.
"No."
"Not a surprise." Seemingly oblivious to Roxas' discomfort, Zack smoothed his shirt back down with the flat palms of both hands. "They're a government contractor that provides services to the military. Lots of positions've been opening up, and I got hired on as a consultant. Decent pay, with none of the bureaucratic brown nosing you'd get up in DC. Real solid setup, far as work's concerned."
Most of what Zack had said made little to no sense to Roxas. He also didn't particularly care about the finer points behind Zack's return to Radiant Hollow beyond simply wanting him out of his backyard so he could be on his own again.
One thing about Zack's answer did stand out, however.
Making a split-second decision, Roxas rose out of the folding chair, eyes avoiding Zack and his feather print t-shirt, cell phone and ear buds clasped firmly in the furled fingers of one hand.
"You should be talking to Cloud if you know about good job opportunities nearby," he said, expression conveying his underlying contempt over Zack's presumed lack of contact with his older brother since his return. "He could probably use a change of pace from working himself to the bone every night."
The comment was offered less out of a genuine belief that there existed any fruitful career leads than as a jab to reflect his hunch that Zack had just returned to dick around his old stomping grounds and wax nostalgic before disappearing again. That said, Roxas might not have known much about government work environments, but he knew enough to identify the word 'consultant' as a position well above his brother's current pay-grade.
Then again, Zack had made it sound like a temporary situation, which wasn't all that surprising either, under the circumstances. People always left. First, there was his father, even if that had technically been the most ideal outcome for the remaining Strife family members. Then, it'd been Ven after high school graduation. Soon enough, it'd be Sora, because Roxas held no illusions that his brother would be content to remain at a second-rate school for longer than he needed to complete his general education prerequisites. Sora'd move on too, and Roxas would find himself alone and aimlessly drifting without a defined plan for his future, educational or otherwise.
Again.
"Gonna head in." Still not looking at Zack, Roxas turned, his words offered at a volume that toed the line between low mumble and outright whisper. "Got school tomorrow."
If Zack said anything, Roxas didn't hear it amid the protestations of the rusty screen door. He entered the kitchen without looking back, mindful to ease the screen into place and keep it from banging against the exterior door frame. His mom's room was directly above him and even at this relatively early hour of the evening it was likely she was in bed resting, if not already asleep. Thus far, Cloud seemed to be taking their workplace's mandatory overtime edict of the past few weeks in relative stride; a near two decades his senior, the same couldn't be claimed of their ever-fatigued mother.
He considered fixing dinner, then abandoned the thought half a second later in favor of making a beeline for the stairs via the living room. With Cloud's work shift still hours away from done, the downstairs was unoccupied and quiet, the television off, its screen standing out geometric and dark in front of a row of dusty framed photographs lined upon the mantle of a fireplace that'd been in disrepair for years. Even though light from Sora's room still filtered down the stairs, the house felt lifeless to Roxas, stagnant with its own intrinsic brand of inertia.
He took the steps one at a time, without a hint of the agile lightness he was more than capable of, paused at the sliver of Sora's cracked opened door, and considered knocking for just long enough to reject the respectful gesture of privacy in favor of just poking his head in and announcing his presence more directly.
"Hey."
With a pillow tucked behind his back and another keeping his injured leg propped up over the blankets on his bed, Sora looked up over the well-worn binding of an English Lit textbook clutched between two sets of delicate fingers. Roxas mimicked the position, fingers pressing against the uneven wood of his brother's door frame.
"Got your assignments from Kairi?"
"Yeah." Sora nodded. "I should be all caught up by Monday."
That was probably a modest projection. If Roxas knew his brother at all, Sora would have any assigned work done before the weekend, if he didn't decide to stay up and finish it all tonight so he could spend what remained of his requisite bed rest getting even further ahead in his academics.
"Good, good."
Distracted, Roxas copied his brother's nod as he surveyed the unassuming space that made up Sora's bedroom. It was sparse in decoration, the walls bare save for a few photos tacked to the window frame above Sora's desk. A tall, narrow bookshelf, wedged into the corner between the desk and a standing dresser, was filled two-deep with mostly secondhand books Sora had obtained for free or at the public library's annual discard sale. The topics ranged from classic literature to outright oddball, old Berlitz language texts from the 1950s shelved adjacent Stephen King hardbounds and trashy Harlequin romance novels with disintegrating paperback bindings. Over the years, Sora had amassed an impressive collection, not so much concerned with the genre of his acquisitions as much as on the simple enjoyment of internalizing what others had to say on virtually any subject.
Sora had once read to him when they were children in the space between their beds, beneath a makeshift tent of pinned up sheets, the floor padded with a small mountain of pillows from their beds and borrowed from the couch in the living room. Long after their parents and older brothers had retired for the evening, Sora would read to Roxas by the shadowy luminescence of a battery-operated flashlight, sounding out longer, more complicated words as Roxas curled onto his side, head propped up on a knobby elbow.
Most of the time, Roxas hadn't been genuinely interested in the stories, especially the non-fiction books; he'd simply liked listening to his brother's animated tones as he read line by line, occasionally having to poke him as a reminder to maintain a whisper when it was already well past their bedtime. It was less the subject and more the time spent together, a clandestine, brotherly intimacy, their own secret spot comprised of imaginary worlds in which fathers didn't lash out for the smallest perceived infraction, breath sour and reeking of too much alcohol, where mothers didn't work to support four growing children, and two brothers could be superheroes, confident that even the simplest of athletic feats wouldn't lead to life-threatening injuries or require an unscheduled trip to the nearest hospital in the purblind light of early morning.
And sometimes, when Sora's eyes were too tired to read, they'd simply lie together on their backs and talk nonsense into the late hours of the night, until one after the other their voices faded and they both fell asleep, gangly limbs entwined around one another more often than they remained apart. For Roxas, it was a temporary form of emotional security, a much-needed reprieve from the day-to-day unpredictability of their dad's anger and paranoia. It was, quite simply, the pinnacle of Roxas' ideal of safety.
Of late, he acknowledged, these nighttime visits were far less likely to offer comfort than embarrassment, for him more than his brother. They implied an inherent weakness of character on his part, at a time that he felt should have been marked by increasing self-reliance.
With Sora's eyes still on him, brows raised and regarding him, Roxas swallowed hard and tried to organize his thoughts into something more appropriate.
"How's your pain? Want some more meds?"
Sora shot him an uncharacteristically sharp look.
"Do you?"
Even in his current state of mental distraction, it didn't take Roxas long to catch the implication behind his brother's question. They still hadn't returned to a discussion about where he'd come by the meds Sora had accepted on the way to the ER. They never would if Roxas had any say in the matter.
Instead of answering, he changed the subject.
"Need me to fix you up something for dinner?"
"No." Eyes still boring into Roxas, Sora shook his head, the hint of disapproval making its presence clear in the appearance of furrowed brows and the corresponding worry lines that appeared above them. "Kairi brought me over a snack, so I'm not hungry."
Right, Roxas thought. Sure she did.
In either case, a snack wasn't adequate replacement for an entire meal, but it wasn't like he could police his brother without starting something he personally didn't have the energy to see through to the finish.
Roxas watched as Sora's eyes flickered back down to his AP Lit book, then returned to him as though suddenly remembering his brother was still standing in his doorway.
"Did you need something else?"
"Nah."
Still, Roxas found himself frozen in place, weight still pressed into the palms of his hands against the door frame, not so much waiting for something as lacking the motivation to push off and leave.
Sora's expression softened.
"Want to stay? You can sleep here tonight."
The offer hit home, but probably not in the way Sora had anticipated, and Roxas found himself first straightening, then releasing his grip on the door.
"Nah," he said again. "Got some homework to do before turning in."
Although Sora looked skeptical, he didn't say anything to counter the likelihood that homework was anywhere close to Roxas' sincere plans for the remainder of the evening.
Eyes lowering back to the text in front of him, Sora's parting words met Roxas' ears as a soft murmur.
"Remember to sleep. I'm here if you need me."
Neither brother said anything further, and as Roxas took a step back and began to make his way down the hall toward his bedroom, he found his lower lip once again settling into place between the unforgiving enamel of both sets of teeth.
Sleep, he mused. Sure.
At this point, the prospect of restful unconsciousness was just about in line with the likelihood that he'd actually end up doing homework.
o - o
Friday morning was only notable due to an obvious improvement to Hayner's foul mood. In fact, he seemed in good enough spirits not to be particularly fussed about running late to school. He might not even have begrudged Roxas his usual snarky comments about the country music issuing with uneven consistency through the van's handful of speakers that remained in good working condition after a solid two decades of considerable abuse.
Not that Roxas had the energy to spar about something so inane on a generous estimate of the three hours of broken sleep he was currently boasting.
They spent the first half of the trip sitting in silence, a twangy song about traditional female social roles and red-blooded American patriotism the only abiding distraction, apart from Pence's tone deaf attempt at humming along to it. That was fine by Roxas. Besides the text he'd finally remembered to shoot off to Xion, along with a promise to meet up between classes and chat about whatever seemed to be bothering her, he hadn't had any social contact with anyone in a sum total ten hours.
It was too bad the quiet didn't last for the second half of the ride.
"We should really do something this weekend…"
Roxas glanced to his left and spared a moment to eye Hayner without saying anything. Dutifully, Pence filled in the silence that threatened to spread in the wake of Roxas' enduring unwillingness to make chitchat.
"What'd you have in mind?"
"Dunno. Just something." Hayner's shoulders rose and fell in tandem, fingers thrumming the loose grip he had on the faux leather of his van's scuffed up steering wheel. "Don't got much time from now until finals so I just figured, you know, whatever. Something fun, or relaxing, or …"
"Or a week at a beach resort, or on a cruise ship sipping mimosas, all affluent-like."
It was the first thing Roxas had said since he'd hopped in the van. Behind him, Pence snorted, then kicked the back of Roxas' seat before resuming his own personal rendition of country music song acoustics. Up front, eyes still on the road, Hayner didn't seem nearly as amused.
"Quit flapping your jaw if you don't have anything useful to contribute." The response wasn't particularly biting, and Roxas could hear a hint of concession in his friend's voice, just as sure as he could imagine the eye roll visual supplement. "I meant more like just the three of us. No girls, no drama. Maybe invite Sora if he's feeling up to it. Just do something fun for once."
Roxas raised an eyebrow. "For once. 'Cause a party out at St. Bastion's isn't included in your definition of fun?"
As he rolled to a stop in front of a downtown traffic light, Hayner shook his head.
"No, it's typical. We should do something different before we all graduate and have college to contend with."
"We're all going to the same college," Roxas returned, arms crossing loosely over his chest, left hand picking at the velcro wrap of his medical-grade finger brace on the other. "It's not like we won't ever see each other, what with having most of the same classes first year."
Quick as lightning, Hayner reached over and slapped his friend's shoulder. "Christsakes, it's about bonding, you jackass. Quit being all literal and shit."
From the back seat, Pence's humming stopped, the sudden severe recline of Roxas' bucket seat an indication that he had leaned forward and grabbed onto the front headrest.
"The beach would be kind of fun."
This time, it was Hayner's turn to snort, expression doubtful. "Yeah, if you're, like, ten."
With an abrupt jerk, Roxas' seat returned to its former position and Pence dropped back to where he'd previously been sitting.
"No, really. It might be nice. We could go for a weekend after my photography class finishes up, maybe get Tidus' brother to buy us a few day's worth of drinks to take with us." Unbeknownst to Pence, Roxas' lip curled into a subtle sneer at the mention of stockpiled alcohol. "Might be nice just to screw around and take a mental break from homework and everything else we've still gotta do before graduating."
A break from homework — Sora was gonna love that proposal.
"Yeah." Hayner didn't sound in the least bit convinced. "I guess."
The van lurched as they entered the school's parking lot. Glancing at the digital clock at the vehicle's center, Hayner swore under his breath. "Gonna be late getting to English if I don't haul major ass."
Without Sora in the backseat, considerably less care was taken in traversing speed bumps, and Hayner didn't even bother trolling the already full front rows of the lot in search of a lucky opening. Instead, he angled the van toward the back of the lot and opted for a spot with empty spaces on either side of it. Parking in record time, Hayner was out of the driver's seat and slamming the door before either Pence or Roxas had so much as unbuckled their seatbelts.
"See your slow asses in second period. I'm not about to get marked late in Senior English."
Without a word, Roxas watched as Hayner took off toward the side of the school closest to the senior class trailers in the back. Clicking out of his seatbelt at a much less frenzied pace, he wrenched the car door open with a similar amount of temporal indifference. Behind him, Pence followed suit, his actions less reflective of his friend's bald apathy.
"Never took him as someone who cared about getting marked late," Roxas muttered as he turned and retrieved his backpack.
Pence shrugged and copied Roxas, hefting his bag onto one shoulder. The strap bunched up at his basketball jersey's outermost border; idly, he picked at it in a way that left Roxas at a loss as to whether he was making it better or worse. "It's probably less to do with timeliness and more about not wanting to get called out in front of a certain transfer student who shares first period with him."
If Roxas had had more energy, he might've been inclined to round out the triad of adolescent boy derisive noises that morning. As it stood, he made no indication that Pence's response had even registered at first as he watched Pence struggle to get the rusty sliding door secured and fully closed on his own.
"Anyway." Once successfully shut, Pence turned away from the van and began the walk from the back of the parking lot toward the school's front entrance. Without so much as a single ounce of enthusiasm, Roxas moved to follow. "Speaking of Hayner and his pride-induced hang-ups…"
Roxas shot his friend a wary glance. What in God's great name now?
At the edge of the parking lot, Pence paused and dropped his backpack, then bent down and began rummaging in a front pocket.
"I don't know about you…" Chin pressed against his sternum as he continued to dig in his school bag, Pence's words were muffled. A few seconds longer and Pence finally found what he'd been searching for. With an exasperated expression, chest rising and falling from the exertion of bending, he straightened to face Roxas. "…but all this Olette-centric melodrama has gotten kinda old for me."
Roxas nodded but said nothing, simply eyeing the folded sheet of notebook paper that Pence was now holding.
"And now she's got that Riku dude involved in trying to pass Hayner notes."
Finally, Pence's words induced Roxas to actually say something.
"You serious?"
"As sin." Expression set and somber, Pence nodded. "Lucky for him, I intercepted it."
No shit. Although Roxas didn't bother to respond out loud, he agreed enough with Pence's quick thinking. If there was anyone Hayner wouldn't have been open to accepting an Olette-originated note from, Riku'd've been it.
"So, what's it say?"
Pence shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't bother to open it. I just wanted to get your input on whether I should pass it on to him."
With a soft groan, Roxas turned away from his friend and threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as he considered how to respond. This was not a great time for him to be weighing in on other peoples' personal lives, stubborn-ass Hayner's least of all. He was tired, irritable, not even inclined to want to attend class at present, let alone untangle the newfound knots of a friendship that should've been able to weather even the most unanticipated of changes, considering the longstanding nature of it.
Yet Pence was looking at him, expecting something, and Hayner was his friend, despite these frequent instances of pride-based, foolish nonsense.
"In my opinion? Both should stop acting like they belong in an elementary school classroom and just talk to each other like the adults they're rumored as being. I think this note-passing nonsense is beyond retarded."
"With you on that one. So I guess it's settled." With a light laugh, Pence pocketed the note, zipped up his bag, and made for the small road that divided the parking lot from the official boundary of Radiant High's school grounds.
At the edge of the street, he turned, noting that Roxas had yet to move from the place he'd just been standing.
"You coming?"
With a curt nod, Roxas said something to the effect that was near about the opposite, then proceeded to wave Pence off. "Yeah, in a sec. Go on ahead. I think I left something in the van."
More like he just didn't want to deal with any more talk about this pedantic bullshit at present.
As Pence disappeared into the crowd of last-minute arrivals, Roxas ambled his way back to Hayner's van. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd lied about needing to return to it, just knew he needed a moment to himself to clear his thoughts and mentally prepare for a solid seven periods of school — or six and a half by the time he made it in, not that he especially cared. Unlike Hayner, he didn't have a fancy transfer student to impress in his first period class, and wouldn't have been embarrassed even if his teacher decided to drag him in front of the entire student body to be lectured on the virtues of consistent timeliness, for that matter.
Making his way back to Hayner's van, Roxas eyed the back seat through its semi-tinted window. Not particularly interested in wrestling with the back sliding door, he made for the passenger side front and entered the way he'd just exited a few minutes prior, for once appreciative of Hayner's predictable indifference about locking up a van that had nothing of value to steal in it.
Abandoning his bag in the passenger side bucket seat once inside, he maneuvered his way into the back through the gap between front seats, careful to avoid knocking the stick shift that separated both sides of the vehicle, and curled up lengthwise on the first row's backseat bench. If he hadn't been able to sleep in the relative comfort of his own bed last night, there wasn't really much chance of him doing so now without the help of the few pills he was still trying to spread out until Xion could get him more, Roxas figured. Still, anything seemed better than the prospect of wading through four years' worth of high school students on the way to his locker. He could be content to wait out the crowd and show up to first period late.
The van's driver side front window had been left open a crack, no doubt in an effort to combat the rising heat as the day wore on. Through it, Roxas heard the occasional sounds of late arrivals, of car doors slamming and the slap of rubber soled sneakers fading as they headed toward campus. These came to him vaguely, no one passing close enough to the van to present any genuine disturbance.
A little more than two months more of this, of the same tired weekday routine. And then what? Picking up some odd jobs to make a few bucks over the summer, then studying subjects he still expected to give no fucks about at the local community college? It didn't seem like much of a future, didn't spell out any sort of desirable career trajectory. He should have cared more, but in his current state of mindless exhaustion, all Roxas had the energy for was keeping up a steady front of indifference, supplemented by irksome thoughts that reminded him he should, in fact, be aiming higher. Indifference outpaced idle thoughts of ambition without any effort, however. It settled into the pit of his stomach, churning; it paralyzed him enough not to want to get up and consider making his way back toward campus and his first period class that by now had no doubt already started.
He couldn't be sure when he'd closed his eyes, wasn't positive if a minute had passed or twenty. All he knew was that at some point he must have drifted off, because at some point the thunderous staccato of a vehicle's dissenting engine jolted him back to abrupt consciousness.
With a soft groan, Roxas locked his elbows, palms down as he pushed himself into a semi-upright position, the joints in his neck popping in protest at the awkward position he'd just woken up from. Eyes still unfocused and aching, he blinked a few times before sparing a glance out the backseat window.
It didn't take long to identify the source of the noise, situated a single parking space away. It took even less time to recognize the clay-caked exterior of the pickup truck that dropped off and picked up Kairi from school, and to catch a glimpse of hair, all spiked up garish and peeking out between a raised hood and the truck's front windshield.
This day just kept getting better and better...
As his senses returned to him, it was exhaust fumes he noted next, a nauseating smell of malodorous diesel that did nothing to calm the feeling that'd been steadily rising from his stomach since he'd first returned to Hayner's van.
Amid the noises of what sounded like a dying engine, Roxas also began to make out a creative array of muffled curse words, expelled with verve from a voice that by all accounts shouldn't have set his stomach off and fluttering in opposition to the steady breathing he'd begun to implement in an attempt to settle it.
He stifled a yawn, then climbed back to the front and settled into the driver's seat. Rolling down the window, he balanced on his knees, then arranged both fabric covered forearms on the ledge of the new opening, resting his chin against the prominent knob of one wrist, preferring the slight discomfort as a provisional method of ensuring continued attentiveness.
For a moment, Roxas just watched as red tresses bobbed in and out of view, simply listening to string after string of colorful curses, any one of which would have no doubt earned him nothing less than a severe parental reprimand — or a few day's of school suspension if he'd been caught uttering them on campus.
Still, there was something harmonious about their execution; maybe poetic was a better word for it. This was most likely why it took Roxas a beat longer before he came enough back to his senses to say anything.
"Her daddy's been driving that hunk of scrap metal since before we were in grade school," Roxas finally called out during an audible lull in both mechanical backfiring and animated expletives. "Might be a lost cause without the help of a professional."
The swearing ebbed, what Roxas could see of its orator momentarily frozen in place, no doubt a result of the unexpected commentary. The silence was short-lived as long fingers came into view. Roxas watched as they curled themselves around the edge of the oxidized truck hood before allowing it to drop back into place.
Without a word, the two eyed one another, Roxas with a modicum of guardedness that Axel LaChappelle's casual stance seemed at direct odds with. Between a rising coil of misty smoke and hair a blend of spiked up and gelled into deliberate position, Axel's appearance was less restrained today, a deliberately sculpted feral. To Roxas, it was no less oddball in appearance than during their first encounter in the marshes, just starkly different, given the generous visual that broad daylight readily offered.
Dark-inked shoulders rose and fell in singular succession, in full display thanks to the sparse cut of a white-ribbed tank top. Roxas followed Axel's languorous path back to the truck's driver side door with his eyes alone.
"Gotta get her runnin' first." The door creaked open as Axel slid into the driver's seat. "If it's a choice between a tow fee and the cost of my next meal, food'll always win out for me."
Finding the logic hard to argue with, Roxas said nothing, simply observing what he could of Axel's efforts as he turned the engine a few times.
It rolled over, then quieted to the point where Roxas thought it might have died again. One more rev seemed to provide it just enough encouragement to purr back to life. He saw little more than half of a self-satisfied grin on the sharp angles of a face only visible in profile before the driver door slammed and the truck it was attached to rolled back into the empty row of parking spaces behind Hayner's van. It next pulled forward to a precise stop, exactly at where their windows matched up. Before Roxas could analyze what was happening in any great depth, he found himself staring into the expressive eyes of Kairi's older cousin.
They were a darker shade of green than he'd initially realized, now that they weren't being illuminated by the unreliable glow of firelight, but no less intense as they studied him, tapering at each corner care of a smile rising on both sides of his lips.
"Running a little late on a Friday?"
As he spoke, Axel looked down, hand extending to rummage in the passenger side compartment. He straightened holding a box of cigarettes, and smacked the plastic-lined cardboard into the open palm of his free hand. He slid one out and placed what remained on the truck's nearest flat surface in front of the steering wheel. The cigarette settled at the edge of his mouth, bobbing intermittently as Axel continued to speak between pursed lips.
"Or are we playing hooky?"
Despite his attempt to maintain an air of indifference, Roxas found himself shifting toward his other default temperament, outright incivility, via an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
"What kind of sense would it make to trek all the way to school if I were fixing to skip?"
Another shrug, followed by the poised rise of one corner of Axel's mouth.
"To each his own, and I figure I don't know you well enough to make guesses at your preferences as relates to high school nonattendance."
The way he spoke, so smoothly articulate, served as a momentary distraction as Roxas paused to consider the timbre and cadence. Southern through and through, there were distinctions to how Axel pronounced words from the way that those local to Radiant Hollow spoke. Roxas just couldn't pinpoint a specific geographic location as the source behind Axel's accent and found himself more than a little irritated having to admit it even silently to himself.
Pushing his head up away from the window, Roxas thrummed his finger brace against the van's metal frame, his closed-brow expression conveying a hint of skepticism.
"You seemed to think you knew me well enough last weekend."
Or knew Cloud, as it were. Over the course of one sleep-deprived week, the details of that particular encounter had already begun blurring into something less based in absolute fact than it was subjective recall on his part.
The comment elicited a chuckle, partially stifled by lips still pressed together against the tip of an unlit Marlboro.
"Touché. You got me there."
Roxas remained quiet, as did Axel. If he'd aimed a bet at the assumption that Axel would elaborate, he'd just have lost the family farm. Instead of explaining himself, Axel merely changed the subject.
"So, got a recommendation for a reputable mechanic who knows a thing or two about ailing truck engines?"
Roxas stopped his thrumming, eyes lowering as he considered the question. After a prolonged moment, he looked back up and offered Axel a curt nod.
"Try the place off Beaumont. It's on the other side of downtown. You can look up the address on your phone."
"You might be able to. As it stands, I can't." Gaze dropping, one artificially dark shoulder rising as he pulled something out of his pocket, Roxas followed the path of Axel's hand as it presented an old flip phone that looked like it'd gone out of style when Roxas was still in middle school. "Interested in guiding me through this charming little town?"
Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe Axel just had a knack for catching him off-guard. Whatever the case, Roxas didn't suppress his corresponding expression of surprise nearly quick enough. When he ultimately did return to something resembling default indifference, it hardly seemed to matter. From the amused look Axel was shooting him, it was clear to Roxas that the effort expended had been pointless.
"I've got to get to first period."
It was a weak excuse, if a truth, but the comment didn't seem to faze Axel in the slightest.
"It's already half past. Might want to aim for second."
Considering how godawful he'd felt upon being jolted awake a few minutes ago, Roxas didn't need to pull out his phone and scan the time to know Axel was likely right.
Christ alive, if only he completed his homework as effortlessly as he managed to fuck up every other aspect of his life, he and Sora'd both be on their way to Harvard by the end of next summer, rather than the shitty little community college alternative he'd gotten them both consigned to.
"Afraid you're gonna get lost in a ten street town like Radiant Hollow?" he shot back, still not entirely willing to admit he'd been talked straight into a corner void of any verbal escape routes.
Upper body twisting away from him, hunching at an angle that highlighted the sharp lines of his shoulder blades beneath his tank, Axel reached down to retrieve something in the driver's side compartment, and Roxas heard the gravely click of a lighter before he saw the flame that corresponded with it.
"Maybe I just wanted some company whose exclusive focus isn't what shade of nail polish to paint on every morning."
Despite himself, the light jab toward Kairi brought out a smile, which Roxas was quick to drop before it came even close to its apex. Making a quick decision, he slid off his knees and swiped at the van's door handle. As he hopped down, he felt a prickle of circulation returning to the sides of both shins, looked up and saw Axel eyeing the flame dancing at the tip of his lighter with open appreciation.
"Alright, fine. I'll show you how to get there."
Drawing his eyes away from the lighter, Axel gave a tight-lipped grin, then beckoned Roxas forward with a flutter of fingers, the movement continuing upward to steady his cigarette between two of them. As Roxas tugged at the truck's creaky door handle, then slid into the passenger seat, a plume of smoke rose in greeting, followed by another rev of the engine as Axel tossed the lighter into his door's side compartment and coasted toward the parking lot exit.
As Roxas took one last look at his dwindling view of the main school building and spared a moment to consider just how royally fucked he was going to be once word got out that he'd ended up skipping, he felt a light tap on the upper reaches of his arm sleeve. The momentary contact was electric; later, Roxas would tell himself it was simply a result of the place he'd been touched as he looked up at Axel, hand soon returned to the steering wheel and eyes surveying the street in front of them. Later, Roxas would also reckon the observation was bullshit, once the events of the rest of the day had run their proper course and could be considered each in their own turn.
"You ready?"
Even though he knew Axel wasn't looking, Roxas nodded while trying somewhat ineffectively to keep his own wandering attention away from one of a set of inverted tattoo teardrops, now clearly visible as darkly plum, a shade that up until now Roxas most associated with some of Kairi's worst eye shadow fuck-ups. Maybe it was odd, then, but he couldn't help feeling the hue suited a guy ballsy enough to dye his hair the color of a gaudy fire engine.
"Yeah. Take a left."
The car remained idling, as though Axel was still waiting for something. After a few tense moments for Roxas, a handful of quick cigarette hits on Axel's part, Axel spoke again.
"Buckle up, buttercup. I'm not about to place bets on the likelihood that this piece of shit won't stop dead in the middle of oncoming traffic en route to your fabled mechanic."
Oh.
Face flushing, Roxas turned away from Axel and made a grab at the belt. At the sound of its secured click, Axel nodded, apparently satisfied.
"That's better. Now start navigating, Christopher Columbus. God only knows how long this'll take, and the Good Lord tends not to share such trivialities with me, no matter how much I pretend to believe in His omniscient existence."
o - o
For the first half of their journey, Roxas mostly just gave directions, carefully laying out the quickest route through the city center and toward the other side of town. Axel's silence between measured puffs of cigarette smoke was frustrating, but Roxas was willing to concede it was a step up from an alternative involving high-pitched whistling, and at least the guy had enough decency to exhale out the window.
Instead, classic rock permeated the vehicle, set at a volume low enough for Roxas not to be able to identify either singer or individual song lyrics. It wasn't his genre of choice by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a far cry better than Hayner's preference of country music.
Once his cigarette had been reduced to a few remaining inches of flesh-colored filter, Axel reached for another, then held out the box to offer one to Roxas. As Roxas straightened and eyed him, nose wrinkling at the mere thought of coating his lungs in a substance that was in his view nothing more than a creative method of slow suffocation, Axel seemed to associate his visible disgust with brand packaging rather than the product itself.
"Nothing like hand-rolled, I know, but these work in a pinch."
"That shit'll as good as kill you," was the best Roxas could come up with. A pithy statement maybe, but true.
"I'll take that as a no."
Axel laughed, then studied the dark look Roxas was aiming at him.
"Well, kid," he said, eyes lowering until they came to a deliberate pause at Roxas' covered forearms, "we all have our vices. No point in passing judgment, in my personal opinion."
Caught off-guard by the comment, Roxas jerked his head toward the passenger side window and delivered the final handful of directions in a flat voice in the minutes that followed. Realizing he was still leaning forward at an awkward angle, spine rigid and undeniably uncomfortable, he eventually dropped back into his seat, determined not to engage Axel further, barely resisting the urge to cross his arms protectively over his chest out of habit.
It couldn't be that obvious. No one else had ever said anything beyond making the occasional comment about his odd choice of arm accessories, Sora excepted, and these were all people who'd known him since childhood. Even if Axel knew a fact or two about Cloud, a subject about which he seemed content to keep archly dancing around rather than just outright explaining, it didn't mean shit all when it came to Roxas and the past year of his life. Axel had to be just firing off astute observations, then judging his subsequent reaction.
Roxas hoped that was the case, at any rate.
"So, this mechanic. He worth the drive? You been to him before?"
Axel's voice pulled Roxas from his increasingly troubled thoughts. Despite himself, Roxas looked back over at the driver's side of the truck.
"Don't have a car. The van I was in belongs to a friend." Disinclined to hash out why he was present and accounted for in it when he should've been slouched in the plastic chair attached to a pock-marked desk boasting faux wood in first period, Roxas was grateful Axel didn't seem interested in questioning that aspect of their encounter this morning. "But yeah, this guy's been working on cars practically forever. Everyone I know goes to him, including Cloud."
A plume of rising smoke was the only indication Axel had heard him, followed by the downward tilt of the sharp lines of an angular chin. Annoyed by his failure to get Axel to engage, Roxas averted his eyes and began taking acute interest in the finer details of his finger splint.
They halved the remaining distance to the mechanic shop in silence, Axel still taking occasional hits off his cigarette, Roxas trying not to fidget or steal any further glances to at red hair or the distinctive minutiae of Axel's face and neck.
Instead, he studied the pattern of Axel's tattoo on the arm holding the steering wheel located closest to him, noting superficially that it was filled almost entirely with black ink. Despite the contrast to the pale shade of Axel's God-given skin, it was less the dark ink that captured his attention than the areas left void of it in between broad blocks of tattooing.
They were lines, relatively narrow but painstakingly straight; a modest few originated from the outside of Axel's wrist where the black ink began, their single digit numbers multiplying gradually like the branches of a tree by the time they reached the crook of Axel's elbow. The lines were non-ink negative space that criss-crossed Axel's bicep but remained precise, every edge sharply geometric, the blackwork pattern ending at the natural curve of Axel's shoulder, before disappearing beneath the white band of his tank top without making another appearance in the scooped neck area that displayed a small portion of Axel's upper chest.
Roxas shifted his attention to the other arm, propped up at the elbow on the open window frame, well within reaching distance of the cigarette still in Axel's mouth. He caught a quick glimpse of the filled in lines around otherwise unblemished skin, a nearly identical inverse of the right arm's pattern, before Axel finally caught him staring. Tattooed shoulders lifted an inch, then resumed their former position; a beat later, Roxas felt the weight of eyes on him.
He bit the inside of his lower lip without actively realizing it, considered the rising urge to reach over and poke Axel in the shoulder and tell him to watch the road in front of them both. It took him a second longer to remind himself that Axel wasn't Hayner.
Kind of laughable, really. The comparison wasn't even close.
He forced himself to meet Axel's eyes. It was a momentary connection before Axel turned his attention back to the windshield. Unaccustomed to so much quiet in the presence of another, Roxas found himself close to suffocating on the thick silence that threatened to engulf the space, at the same time acknowledging the irony of being in the position he most often resented of others when they initiated pointless talk for the sake of filling a void, perceived or otherwise.
"How long're you planning to stay in town?"
He'd much rather have asked about Axel's extensive inkwork, but that meant admitting his curiosity about something that felt much more personal. It was a line of questioning strangely akin to intimate; moreover, the prospect of discussing someone else's arms hit a little too close to home for him, especially after Axel's earlier remark about individual vices.
If there was a question that could evoke a more generically impersonal set of answers, Roxas would've been hard-pressed to envision it. Either Axel was here out of a self-perceived obligation until Kairi turned eighteen, or he was the generous type who'd stick around through her graduation, then head back to wherever he'd come from in the first place.
As they turned the last corner, the repair garage came into view and Axel initially said nothing. When he finally did speak, the answer was much more nebulous than Roxas had anticipated.
"Long as I'm needed." The words were garbled as a result of the cigarette pressed between his lips. He reached up and plucked it out between two long fingers, then performed a one-handed turn toward the open driveway in front of the mechanic shop. "Got employment downtown, so that gives me some freedom."
The image of Axel doing any kind of work had never occurred to Roxas, although he supposed that was mere high schooler shortsightedness. If he knew Cloud in some capacity, Axel was probably in his mid-twenties. That would mean working to earn a living just like every other adult in Radiant Hollow, with the exception of a few notable fathers, unless deadbeat and abusive had become professions in the time since Roxas had last given either any real consideration.
The kind of work that would be viewed as appropriate for a guy as inked up as Axel was beyond Roxas' current capacity to guess at, and in a matter of a few infuriating seconds, Roxas found himself caught wanting to continue asking questions about Axel's background rather than simply maintaining a complete lack of interest in the man altogether. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cared so much without having a good reason to feel something.
A man clad in oil-stained overalls waved them forward. As Axel pulled into the garage and rolled to a stop, Roxas surveyed the cavernous space and considered the astringent smell of diesel and rubber that was soon inducing a resounding level of eye burn. That, coupled with the near deafening sounds of floor to ceiling machinery, was enough to make him rethink his decision to skip school in favor of playing the part of local navigator for a veritable stranger.
Axel shifted gears into park, and Roxas found he didn't have time to do much more than go through the motions of unbuckling his seatbelt, then following as Axel hopped out of the truck and handed his keys over to a garage employee. He made his way toward the enclosed visitor center next, stopping to consider a metal sign faded with age and barely legible above the door frame. Axel's expression adjusted, one side of his mouth lifting as though amused. It presented yet another minor mystery to Roxas, as nothing stood out as particularly humorous about either the sign or the fact that his eyes had just officially submitted a formal complaint against unfavorable working conditions in the proximity of such overtly offensive odors, watering with an enthusiasm completely out of line with the rest of his stoic demeanor.
"Highwind's Tire and Mechanical…"
Axel read the sign in a ruminative tone, what was left of his cigarette twirled with an expert effortlessness between index and middle finger before he turned back to Roxas. There was an expectant quality in his expression; for the third time in less than an hour, Roxas sensed that his natural inclination to keep stonily silent was about to get upended.
"The building's nothing special, but people swear by the owner."
Yep. There it was. When it came to his interactions with Axel, the unasked for questions and commentary seemed to pour out of him like the testimony of a priest tasked with sharing God's holy word with the ignorant masses.
He crossed his arms over his chest, no longer concerned about whether it'd be interpreted as defensiveness. Eyeing Roxas without commenting, Axel turned toward the visitors area. At a loss for something more productive to do, Roxas followed, found his bleary eyes wandering up from the garage's oil-marked concrete floor to the hem of Axel's stone-washed skinny jeans. It was an odd sight to see in a town that played host to folks more inclined toward baggy pants or denim cut-offs, although Roxas was willing to silently admit the cut suited him. The same went for Axel's white tank top, an article of clothing much more commonly worn in Radiant Hollow, just generally not as a means to highlight two full bare arm's worth of intricate body art.
As Axel reached for the door handle, Roxas made up the distance that remained between them.
"Owner's name is Cid." He followed Axel into the enclosed area and up to the service counter, noting that the oily smell was mercifully less overwhelming inside. "He's got a reputation for being rough and isn't a fan of strangers, so be polite and try not to get on his bad si—"
"Well, I'll be damned," a gravely voice cut Roxas off. Looking up toward the service desk, it was the high-pitched squeal of an office chair twisting a full one-eighty that announced the shop owner's presence before a familiar flash of short-cropped blond hair appeared in his line of vision as Cid stood and walked over to them. "The prodigal son returns."
By Roxas' side, Axel leaned forward, offering a smile as he snuffed what remained of his cigarette into an ashtray at one edge of the counter.
"Hi, you old shit. Been awhile."
Before Roxas could shoot Axel a warning look about insulting the guy tasked with both fixing an ailing vehicle and determining the subsequent cost of it, his thoughts were interrupted by Cid's raucous laughter. A moment later, the man was making his way around the counter, bypassing Roxas completely as he reached out and pulled Axel into a crushing hug that culminated with a hard slap at the center of his back.
"Awhile's an understatement, boy. I haven't seen your face 'round these parts in near about half a decade. Was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me specifically." Pausing only long enough to take another breath in tandem with a light shake of his head, Cid continued on before anyone could interject. "And speaking of faces, looks like yours has gone through a few changes."
Axel grinned, chin lifting to show off the facial ink. "Sounds about right on all counts, purposeful avoidance excepted."
With an exaggerated eye roll, Cid glanced over at Roxas. "Kids these days, eh? Always tryna be unique in the most extreme possible ways."
'Kid' was about the last word Roxas would have personally used to describe Axel, although 'extreme' seemed to fall a bit closer to the mark. Given how Cid had hardly spared him more than a passing glance throughout the entire rapid-fire exchange, he didn't think his opinion was really needed on the matter — or had even been asked for, come to think.
"Anyhow." As Cid turned his gaze over to the grimy viewing window between the visitor area and his garage, he changed topics and got down to business. "What can I do for you?"
"Uncle Ray's truck is acting up, sputtering, backfiring, sometimes dying." Axel smoothed back a wayward strand of hair as he spoke, expression thoughtful. "My guess'd be the engine, possibly the transmission, but trucks aren't my specialty so I thought I'd bring it to the town's best mechanic and see about getting it an official diagnosis."
At the comment, Roxas sucked in a sharp breath, which he immediately regretted. Between the rubbery smell of tires and gasoline fumes pervading every inch of Cid's workplace, he was quickly consumed by a fit of coughing, rather than emitting the snarky scoff he'd initially intended. Unsurprisingly, it caught the attention of the pair in front of him.
"So..." Despite his best attempt to keep a level tone, Roxas found himself clearing his throat on the heels of another raspy coughing spree. "How do y'all two know each other, exactly?"
The question was laced with a skepticism he wasn't entirely successful at suppressing, but Roxas was fast discovering that he increasingly didn't care at this point. He'd agreed to give Axel directions to a reputable repairman out of expected social convention, not to end up an unsuspecting witness to a reunion between the town mechanic and a previously presumed out-of-towner.
Two heads swiveled his direction. To Roxas' everlasting irritation, both sets of eyes took a split second longer to lower themselves down to his height level.
When neither initially spoke, Roxas turned back to Axel. "I mean, you told me you didn't know your way around and here you are getting hugs from the town mechanic like you're his long-lost brother."
Axel's grin returned, and it took all of Roxas' willpower not to scowl as he was offered an answer that was equal parts as obnoxious as it was frustrating.
"I asked you who the best mechanic in town was and explained I didn't have a smartphone. Didn't say I was unfamiliar with the town's layout or who worked what jobs."
Forgetting himself and his resolution to maintain a façade of relative calm, Roxas gawked at him as he tried to wrap his mind around the jumble of words Axel had just spouted off with.
Holy annoying semantics, Batman. Was this guy being a full load of serious?
"Yeah, kiddo," Cid chimed in. "We've got an old-time local in our midst." He offered a wink that only served to ruffle Roxas further. "Though I do appreciate the recommendation, of course."
"I was mostly curious if your reputation still held." As Axel spoke, he pulled out another cigarette. Rather than light it within an enclosed space, he simply rolled it between his fingers as he continued chatting with Cid. "Seems it has, at least among the Strife family."
Another belly laugh, followed by one more slap to Axel's back, and Cid was off, out through the door to the garage and barking orders at lounging workers to give the aging truck a full diagnostic work-up.
Turning away from Roxas, Axel headed toward the nearest waiting room chair. It was box-shaped, its frame metallic, the actual seat covered in faded fabric with tears that revealed the yellowing foam cushion beneath it. Still trying to make sense of Axel's latest reference to his family, Roxas followed and took a seat on the far side, leaving three chairs open between the pair of them.
Apparently unbothered by Roxas' deliberate choice of distance, Axel reached forward and retrieved a copy of some outdated celebrity gossip magazine from the coffee table in front of him. Leaning back, legs straight and crossed at the ankles, he began flipping through the glossy pages, while Roxas stewed silently next to him, unconsciously copying Axel's slouched position as he tried to form a coherent thought and sleep deprivation threatened in earnest to overcome intrinsic logic.
By now, it was already obvious that Axel hadn't needed him to provide directions, so what had been the point of encouraging him to navigate half across town in the first place? Axel also looked like an outsider, talked like one too, yet Cid was more than happy to treat him like a longtime local. Or maybe Axel was just someone like Zack, who'd graduated school and left years ago only to return at a time Roxas personally didn't have the energy to deal with getting reacquainted.
Not that he'd have forgotten someone as distinctive looking as Axel. That, at least, seemed highly improbable.
The discrepancies were many, maddening, but it wasn't like Axel was openly offering up answers, and Roxas was disinclined to come out and ask any more questions. He'd often been accused of being stubborn by his mother, Cloud, and others. Irony of all ironies, sometimes even Hayner pointed the finger. In this moment, where he just couldn't make himself ask that which might clear up the handful of the questions about Axel that yet lingered, Roxas finally thought he might understand what others were getting at when they referenced him and pigheadedness in the same single sentence.
That didn't mean he planned to deviate from the standard that'd already been set - or that he wasn't above asking questions of a more indirect nature.
"How old even are you?"
Axel glanced up, the binding of his magazine cracking between two outstretched hands.
"How old do I look?"
For fuck's sake. At this point, three empty chairs-worth of space between them was the only thing keeping him from leaning over and smacking Axel clear upside his over-gelled head.
He also couldn't help hazarding a guess. Doing some quick arithmetic mostly associated with Axel's claimed knowledge of Cloud and Cid's statement that he'd been gone about five years, Roxas ballparked a figure, wound up, and pitched it.
"Twenty-four."
The sound of Axel's laughter filled his ears. It echoed, then transformed itself into peals an octave higher. Roxas blinked, expression dropping into the scowl he'd just had the poor judgment of thinking he'd successfully managed to conceal. A moment later, bewilderment, as Roxas realized that, although upturned, Axel's mouth wasn't even open, the voice he could still hear ringing around both temples now much more feminine.
"Wrong," Axel returned, eyes traveling back to the magazine in front of him, "but I'll take that as a compliment."
Still unsettled and only half listening, it took Roxas a few seconds longer to realize there was more than one way that Axel's comment could be interpreted.
"No, seriously."
This time Axel's lips did part and Roxas caught sight of a prominent incisor before redirecting his attention to the inbound response. It turned out to be yet another irritating non-answer.
"You're welcome to make another guess. I'll tell you if you're correct."
And let himself feel like the butt of a joke that was missing a punchline when he ended up another year or two off in either direction? Yeah, he'd pass. Fuck that.
Hand moving to his front pocket and determined not to engage Axel further, Roxas pulled out his phone and scanned the notifications that had come in over the past forty-five minutes.
It was Hayner asking where he was, with Pence confirming he'd disposed of Olette's note.
And a message from Xion, saying she was feeling sick and planned to head home from school early, wondering if he could meet up between classes before she left campus.
God damnit, he wasn't winning any awards for stalwart friendship lately. Or remembering his relationship obligations either, apparently.
Unsure how to explain his current whereabouts to Hayner, he shot off a quick text to Xion instead, making it clear enough that today wasn't a good one to talk about anything drawn-out without actually bringing up the fact that he wasn't even on school grounds. Then, without any form of conversation to tether him to the present, Roxas found his mind wandering. Again.
He did make an honest effort to remain conscious at first, tried scrolling social networking sites he rarely ever checked in on. Considering he didn't give a shit about friends' vacuous status updates or uploaded photos on the best of days, his phone was even less successful at keeping his mind active than it otherwise might have been on a day when he wasn't bone-tired and mentally exhausted from trying to come up with subtle ways of getting Axel to answer even the simplest of questions.
Eventually he gave up, as evidenced by the soft sound of his phone dropping into his lap out of a lax grip. Pointedly ignoring the fresh gaze he felt from Axel's corner of the room, Roxas closed his eyes and let the sounds of garage worker voices shouting to one another and assorted repair shop garage noises drown out his quickly dissolving thoughts from one wall over.
Awareness became an ambiguous concept as Roxas drifted in and out of consciousness. Behind closed eyes, he saw flashes of recent memories, of Sora's joyful smile after successfully clearing a marsh puddle, then Xion twirling in her long, frilly skirt in front her bedroom's open window. As the images faded, the feeling of weightlessness intensified, along with a sense that he was falling, unable to slow his speed or the freewheeling trajectory adopted by gravity. Downward he fell until he felt hands on him, slowing the rush of harsh wind at his cheeks as long fingers he recognized as Axel's caressed covered forearms and steadied his balance. Roxas studied Axel, wide-eyed and wordless, noting that tattooed arms and shoulders were no longer bare but covered beneath the form-fitting fabric of a jet-black overcoat.
All the while, Zack's voice mingled with the effervescent laughter of a girl whose accent rang reminiscent of a language nearly forgotten among his own generation.
That was a long time ago. People change.
Nothing is real...ariyin ditou.
The name's Axel. Got it memorized?
The fingers returned, this time lightly tapping at the curve of his shoulder. They were followed by a voice uttering the two syllables of his name, vocals quiet and tone subdued.
Realities merged and unconsciousness ceded to the more abrasive realm of mental sentience. Green and red filled his vision the moment Roxas jerked awake, the sound of his phone hitting the linoleum floor with a dull thud filtering in to him next.
Crouched in front of him, forearms balanced on the tops of both legs, Axel watched Roxas as Roxas stared back, lashes a flutter of unconscious movement as he tried to reconcile the dreamscape image of a dark coat with the unsettling contrast of Axel's stark white tank top.
"Didn't mean to startle you, but Cid worked his magic and found a temporary solution for the pickup." As Axel spoke, his voice remained low, eyes still on Roxas but void of any mean-spirited amusement for having caught him in a moment of self-perceived weakness. "Soon as you're ready, we can head out."
Still in the midst of fending off sleep-induced muteness, Roxas followed the movement as Axel leaned forward and retrieved his phone, then passed it back over to him. For the briefest of instances, two sets of pale fingers brushed against one another before the phone transfer was completed and the moment over with.
Axel stood next, then offered a small smile.
"Vehicular mishaps, flagrant school truancy, and mid-day naps."
"What?"
As Roxas pushed himself to standing, he eyed Axel, not quite following.
Axel looked back, one eyebrow rising, before he gestured to the door he had already begun heading over toward, the hint of a good-natured smile clearly visible in profile.
"I'm just saying, God as my witness, my own high school experience might not've been such a mix of unpleasant and tedious if more people like you had been present."