CHAPTER FIFTEEN: BOY WITH A COIN
"A boy with a coin he found in the weeds
With bullets and pages of trade magazines
A girl with a bird she found in the snow
Then flew up her gown and that's how she knows
That God made her eyes for crying at birth
Then left the ground to circle the Earth."
"Boy with a Coin" - Iron & Wine
Friday. Finally.
As Roxas perched at the edge of a gym bleacher seat, he stole a glance at his phone screen, and performed a quick mental calculation that had him released from his weeklong grounding in a little less than twelve hours. Impending freedom, or as much as he could hope for under the circumstances. It was less about having anything planned aside from meeting up with Xion, more that an unshakeable idea had been forming on what to do with the rest of his time. With Easter church services taking up most of his Sunday, the window of opportunity seemed destined to default to Saturday morning.
This was also the last day he'd been approved to sit out from phys-ed. As he eyed Seifer in the active process of shoulder-checking anyone he could get away with when the gym teacher had his back turned, Roxas acknowledged that he was looking forward to one type of liberation more than the other.
In the final handful of minutes left in sixth period, Roxas shifted his attention from Seifer's repeat displays of hyper-masculinity to another team of students playing basketball on the court below him. This team was headed by Tidus, but it was Riku whose presence was demanding Roxas' attention. His eyes remained fixed on the subtle motions of long hair pulled away from a defined jawline and the effortless athletics of his fellow classmate, but it was his latest exchange with Axel that was engaging Roxas on a more internal level.
So, you're reading a book about gays.
Dodging a player on the opposing team, Riku passed the ball to Selphie, a benevolent gesture if ever Roxas saw one. The girl objectively sucked at basketball.
Why?
Even without the ball, Riku remained actively involved. He leaned forward, knees bent, hands pressed against his thighs as he repositioned himself to better back up his teammate. There was visible definition in what Roxas could see of Riku's upper body, a marked contrast from Axel's much leaner frame.
While Selphie wound up and aimed at the basket, Roxas found himself grappling with a handful of questions that still vexed him.
Why, indeed. Why was Sora so hell-bent on spending time with this new guy? Why did Riku have to arrive at a time when everything was already in an active state of crumbling in Roxas' life?
And why, with so many available options, did his one-track mind have to compare and contrast every little facet of Sora's interest in Riku to his own preoccupation with Axel LaChappelle, of all people?
Guess I just find it relatable on some level.
As Selphie missed the rim by more than a mile, Roxas looked down at his splinted finger. He had another week before he could ditch it, at least if Sora's past injuries were an accurate indication. Long past hurting, it was now a mere minor annoyance when it came to taking class notes and juggling even the most basic routine of personal grooming. If the basketball unit weren't ending today, ceding to a sport that didn't require the use of his hands, Roxas might have been able to avoid assuming a more active role in gym class for another week or two.
As it stood, he couldn't. The most he could manage was a half-hearted, contemptuous thought aimed at their upcoming track and field unit.
What, 'cause you're gay or something?
Rubber soles squeaked against the polished gym floor. Although Roxas couldn't see him, he envisioned Riku's subsequent movements, well-timed and fluid. He mentally summoned the photo Selphie'd snapped at St. Bastion's, his brother's temple against Riku's knee, eyes closed and expression serene. Trusting.
The bell rang, but it hardly registered. Out of half-shuttered eyes, students filed past on the floor below him. It was only when one paused, a mere second's hesitation but enough capture his wavering attention, that Roxas blinked and looked down at Riku. Two sets of eyes locked as they regarded one another, vaguely curious, faces otherwise expressionless. A quick nod from Riku, then he was gone, and Roxas was left to rise from his seat and pocket his phone.
He took his time on the bleacher steps, one foot dragging in front of the other, finger splint playing a hollow tune against the metal of the stadium seating's railing.
Still, images continued to come to him, of a boy sitting next to another, comfortable with their shared proximity, even in the presence of classmates who may not've been inclined to be quite as forgiving.
Fingers fluttering out the driver side window, a casual smile that was already well on its way toward outright roguish.
Wreaths of smoke expelled in front of a blazing campfire.
The panicked look filtering across Sora's features a beat after one attending physician's name had been uttered, in particular. Frame already small, shrinking even more into himself.
Vulnerable.
I prefer the term queer, actually.
More and more, Roxas was finding it harder to make necessary distinctions, to keep various parts of his life separate from others.
He and his brother.
His brother and Riku. The pending conversation with Xion, plus Prom upcoming.
Axel.
Just, everything, everything, everything.
But life was supposed to be full of uncertainty, wasn't it? That's what made it so interesting, or so people claimed. With a subtle frown, Roxas hopped the last two steps, then swung himself around the rail toward the double-door gym exit, still frustratingly unsure if this knowledge brought with it a measure of comfort, or just the desire to full-out punch something.
o - o
Fifty minutes of US History were all that stood between him and weekend freedom. That, and Hayner's lingering fixation on the comments Seifer'd let loose with during lunch earlier that week.
"I still don't get what he was flappin' his jaw about."
Hayner was speed-walking as he glanced over at Roxas, only half successful at keeping up with the brisk pace Roxas had set upon slamming shut his locker.
For his part, Roxas said nothing. He just kept walking, and made the executive decision to pretend he didn't know which of their classmates Hayner was talking about.
Not that Hayner seemed to mind having a conversation that was more or less one-sided.
"Olette dating Seifer …like, seriously?"
They entered their classroom, Hayner half a step behind Roxas who still hadn't said anything or slowed as he made a beeline for his desk in the room's far corner. He dropped his bag, slouched into his seat, and fixed the clock above the chalkboard with a defiant look, determined to survive this final period with a modicum of poise.
Hayner didn't seem to pick up on his desire for silence. As he braced the surface of his desk with two flat palms and leaned forward, Roxas was unceremoniously reminded of the subject his friend was still stewing over.
"It'd just be nice to know how Hollywood came up with that idea."
That got his attention. Gaze flickering away from the clock, Roxas looked over at Hayner.
"Riku."
Hayner blinked.
"What?"
"Not Hollywood." Thrumming his splint against the corner of his desk, Roxas stifled a sigh. "Call him Riku."
Shooting Roxas a look of mild incredulity, which Roxas ignored, Hayner eventually shrugged, then dropped into his chair.
"Whatever."
"Or at least come up with something of your own." Reaching for his history text, Roxas lowered his voice as other students began filtering into the room. "I'm no fan of his either, but calling him that just buys into Seifer's specific brand of bullshit. It's not like there aren't other options. Pick something else."
"Christ, alright." Hayner's lips thinned to a line. "When is y'all two's wedding again? Remind me. I'll make sure to mark my calendar."
Roxas flipped him off, then opened his textbook.
As others took their seats and it became apparent that Roxas had no intention of responding further, Hayner offered his version of a white flag.
"Hey, sorry, okay? Let's talk about something else."
Although Roxas didn't look up, he did nod. Holding grudges over trivial shit had never been his style.
"Yeah, sure." He flipped to a page about the Reconstruction era. "What've you got on the books for tomorrow?"
"You mean, ballpark estimate?"
Roxas arched a brow, regarding Hayner out of the corner of one eye.
"Yeah… I got nothing." Hayner slumped into his seat as the one-minute warning bell rang out in the hallway. The moment it subsided, he looked back over at Roxas. "Why? Got something in mind?"
Roxas watched as their teacher strolled in and began setting up a slide projector that looked like it was old enough to have been in use before the fall of the Berlin Wall.
"I might."
When Roxas didn't supplement, Hayner pulled out his notes, then reached over and poked his arm with the eraser-end of a pencil.
"Care to share, or are you purposefully trying to keep me in suspense here?"
As their teacher began the lecture, Roxas waved him off with a flourish of gauze and medical tape.
"Tell you after class."
And that was that.
A mind-numbing near-hour of seventh-period lecture and Roxas would've been hard-pressed to recall a word of it by the time it was over. It was also par for the course at this stage in the semester. For Roxas, senior year had somehow managed to shape itself into a thorough clusterfuck of indifference and willful avoidance on his part.
Packing up, he and Hayner made their way through Radiant High's student-flooded hallways. Even with the afternoon crowds, they got to their lockers quickly.
Regardless of speed, Xion had been quicker.
Offering her a polite greeting before twisting to the first number of his locker combo, Hayner picked up where their conversation had left off earlier.
"So, what're the plans for tomorrow?"
Although her expression remained level, the subtle furrowing of Xion's brow wasn't lost on Roxas.
"Xion and I've got plans in the evening." He glanced at his girlfriend who treated him to an approving nod. "But I thought we could hang out before that."
"Sure." As Hayner exchanged one textbook for another, Roxas turned the combination to his own locker. "Doing what?"
"How about just pick me up late morning? We can get food at Mickey's, and I'll fill you in." Roxas shoveled a few books into his bag in a show of good-faith future studiousness, then looked back at Hayner over Xion's shoulder. "Sound good?"
"It sounds vague."
Although the look Hayner was shooting him was dubious, Roxas easily saw through it. Hayner'd been talking about wanting to hang out for weeks. No way would something as insignificant as an unnamed destination keep him from agreeing, Roxas figured.
A slam of his locker, then, sure enough, Hayner turned back to him.
"Should I invite Pence?"
"You can try." Roxas shrugged, then clicked closed his locker. "Pretty sure he's still taking that photography class out in Traverse for a few more weeks, though."
He shouldered his bag, then felt a hand slip into his, fingers brushing lightly, almost caressing the center of his palm.
"Well." Xion offered both of them a small smile. "It looks like y'all have a date of your own tomorrow."
With a quick squeeze of her hand, she pulled Roxas a few steps away from Hayner.
"I just wanted to make sure boy didn't forget about our own weekend get-together."
The instant she turned, Hayner aimed a smarmy look at Roxas.
So, a visit to the beach was apparently too juvenile, but lunch at a diner named after a cartoon character? Totally fine. Hayner logic, in a nutshell.
Hands still entwined, Roxas let Xion lead him around a hall corner, weaving their way through masses of students as they headed toward the front of the school.
"I didn't." Roxas looked over at her. "Forget about dinner, I mean."
As they approached the doors that led into the library, Xion slowed, looked up at him, and smiled her usual gracious smile.
"How's Sora's ankle healing?"
The hesitation that followed was associated less with an unwillingness to answer on his part, more about Roxas unable to remember if he'd even told Xion what Sora had injured. He hadn't been the best at keeping up with texts of late. That said, Xion had always been astute; she knew the overall score when it came to Sora. This time, anyone with working eyesight would've noticed the difference between standard-issue hospital crutches and those Sora was usually seen around school with, even if Roxas still wasn't sure why he'd made the switch in the first place.
"Slow going," he finally replied. "Same as most things of this nature. He's got probably a few more weeks with the extra splint, at a minimum."
Xion didn't press further, and Roxas didn't offer additional information. Despite their status as boyfriend and girlfriend, their relationship had always worked best when they didn't delve too deeply into one other's personal lives. Sora's health issues probably qualified.
Even though the halls remained loud with the voices of other students, a thick silence fell between the two of them. Fortunately for Roxas, the library doors opened before it could settle long enough to develop into something that required more conversation on his part. He watched Kairi emerge first, then hold open the door for Sora.
Up until recently, running into Kairi wouldn't have been all that remarkable, beyond her repeated crimes of daily fashion choices. With hair dyed a shade not all that different from a particular cousin of hers, however, Kairi's presence was now provoking a response just about the opposite of apathy in the pit of his stomach.
Kairi spared a quick glance at him and Xion before letting Sora scoot past her. She waved in their general direction but didn't stop to talk as she walked by them, an oversized, fringy purse slung over one freckled shoulder.
With a light nudge of her elbow, then a kiss offered up on tiptoes, Xion said good-bye next.
And then there were two, brothers whose lives and interests were often vastly different, who had in their possession enough shared memories to qualify as one person.
Roxas adjusted his pace to match Sora's slower gait as they headed to the pickup area, then eyed the bag secured over his brother's narrow shoulder. He had half a mind to stop them both and demand that Sora hand it over. Maybe if they'd been alone and less likely to attract the kind of attention Sora tried so hard to avoid, Roxas would have insisted on it. And maybe if Sora were less stubborn, he would even have conceded under those circumstances. Their current location made both possibilities unrealistic, so Roxas said nothing and merely kept himself occupied by chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"You must be looking forward to being off the hook with Mom."
Roxas glanced at Sora, whose gaze remained fixed ahead of them as he navigated the school hallways.
Even so, he shrugged.
"Don't matter if each day's same as the one before it."
Tomorrow would technically be different if he ended up seeing through with this idea of his. Roxas had no interest in listening to a logic-based guilt-trip, however, and Sora would be liable to lay one on him if he provided specific details. There was a reason he'd been vague with Hayner about what he was considering. Besides, he told himself, tomorrow was more an exploratory mission than anything approaching active combat. At this stage, there was no point jumping the gun and getting an earful from either Hayner or his brother.
"Well," Sora said, the word drawn out, almost playful, "I've got plans."
"Do you now?" Roxas fixed Sora with an uninterested look. "Plannin' another trip to the marshes to eat more graham crackers, or did you finally convince that girl of yours to concede to a proper makeover?"
Well accustomed to Roxas' brand of sarcasm, Sora just smiled, then slowed to let Roxas step in front of him as they reached the school's front entrance.
"You know, you've got a way with words that I don't think people give you near enough credit for." He waited for Roxas to pull the door open, then maneuvered himself out onto the sidewalk. "I have a theory you might be the creative one in the family."
"Right." Roxas scoffed. "I'm the Strife family's very own Gore Vidal."
At his words, Sora stopped so abruptly that Roxas nearly tripped over his feet to halt his own forward trajectory.
He shot his brother an annoyed look.
"What?"
A moment's pause, then a small shrug before Sora began moving again.
"Just, of all the things you could've responded with, I never would've guessed that. Not in a million years." Although Sora didn't slow again, his expression turned thoughtful. "That sounded almost scholarly."
As they neared their mom's old sedan, Roxas sprinted a few steps ahead so he could get the door and be ready to help Sora. Once situated in the car's back seat, Roxas passed back his crutches and shot his brother a lordly look.
"Maybe you've got it wrong and I'm actually the Strife family academic."
"Oh, you think?" Sora looked up after buckling himself in, the response that followed clearly sardonic. "I wouldn't quit your day job. As far as intellectual goes, one well-placed literary reference doesn't put you ahead of me, or Ven for that matter."
With a quick eye roll, Roxas slammed the door on the heels of Sora's knowing smile, then made his way around the car and hopped into the seat up front.
His mom turned to look at him as Roxas got situated. Her appearance reflected fatigue that Roxas was all too familiar with, but also encompassed curiosity, which Roxas didn't much like seeing. She held off saying whatever was on her mind until she'd pulled away from the curb and exited the school parking area.
"It's nice hearing you boys talk academics."
Although she included both of them in her comment, Roxas couldn't help but feel it was directed at him specifically. At some point, he supposed, he should probably clue her in about his college plans. That would take more mental effort than he was willing to expend at present, however. Roxas kept quiet.
Sora not so much.
"Yeah." There was good humor in his tone. "Roxas seems to have taken a real interest in one author in particular."
It was evident to Roxas that Sora was teasing him. In light of his mom's near constant exhaustion, the joking tone seemed not to register with her.
She glanced at Roxas.
"Which author is that then?"
Well, now Sora'd gone and done it. While Roxas had no idea how widely known this guy was, Axel's explanation had tipped him off to his preference of literary content. It wasn't something he wanted to get into, with a parental figure especially.
"No one," he muttered, hoping she would drop it, or that Sora would start chattering about some other topic, literally anything. Roxas wasn't picky.
Sora stayed quiet, and his mom seemed keen to continue digging.
"I'm just trying to have a conversation with my boys. Is that so wrong?" She shot Roxas a besieged look. "Least you could do is offer to humor me after getting up to no good skipping school last week."
So much for avoiding a guilt-trip.
Fine, alright. Directing his eyes out the passenger window to conceal the growing heat in his neck and face as he remembered Axel's comments from the day before, Roxas steeled himself and waited for the other shoe to drop on the heels of his answer.
"Gore Vidal."
The answer brought with it an image of Axel himself, along with the assured smile that by now he could easily picture. Axel hadn't seemed to think referencing sensitive subjects was all that earth-shattering. Then again, he also hadn't been faced with the prospect of discussing gay-anything in front of his mother.
Or queer, if one preferred. Whatever.
"Don't think I've heard of him." His mother's expression became thoughtful as she turned onto the main stretch of road in Radiant Hollow's downtown district. "What types of books does he write?"
It fucking figured the one time his mom wasn't content to just let things sit, the singular moment in recent memory that she wanted to have an honest-to-god conversation with him, it'd end up involving an author who'd written homosexual content, at least if Axel hadn't been bullshitting him. For all he knew, Axel'd been reading the literary equivalent of porn. And here Roxas was, just tipping his mom off to another great reason to keep him grounded from now all the way through to graduation.
Roxas waffled, made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat as he pressed back harder into the worn upholstery of the sedan's bucket seat.
He was about to pull something straight out of his ass, to throw out a few lines about tennis and friendship and just hope it sounded convincing, when Sora's voice drifted up from the backseat.
"He's an essayist." Sora's explanation was simple, voice smooth. "He's also written a couple of historical fiction novels."
There was the urge, subtle but sure, to turn around and stare at Sora. Roxas curbed it and lapsed into silence while their mom responded.
"Well, it sounds very educational." She reached over and patted Roxas on the shoulder. "I'm glad it seems like you're doing some studying this year in at least one of your classes."
The conversation turned to Sora and his Saturday plans, which turned out to be studying at the library. No surprise there. Roxas didn't even bat an eyelash when Sora mentioned who'd be with him. He'd already guessed that Riku would figure into the picture in some capacity. Nothing could shock him at this point.
They rounded the bend that led into their neighborhood. Still, Roxas said nothing, not necessarily content just to sit and listen but lacking anything of substance to contribute. He hopped out of the car before his mom even had a chance to cut the engine, moving to help his brother with routine precision. After confirming both boys were more than capable on their own, their mother headed up to the porch, then entered the house as Roxas went to work collecting Sora's belongings.
In the relative privacy of their driveway, Roxas didn't think twice about grabbing Sora's book bag. He swung it up to his free shoulder, his own backpack balanced beside it on the opposite arm.
As Sora slid his crutches across the seat and toward Roxas' outstretched hands, Roxas studied his brother with a look of appraisal.
"Where'd you come up with that stuff for Mom?"
Sora glanced up, then pushed himself to the edge of the backseat.
"What stuff?"
"The author stuff." Trying not to sound impatient, Roxas watched as Sora slid onto one leg, using the car's frame for balance. "You made that all up, right?"
"No…" Sora's brows furrowed. "Gore Vidal wrote essays about US politics. He also wrote historical fiction, just like I said."
The crutches transferred hands again, and Roxas tried not to acknowledge his growing irritation at the thought that Axel might've pulled one over on him.
"I thought he wrote, like ...gay stuff."
For the second time that day, Roxas felt a flush creep up the sides of his neck as Sora's eyes locked on him. Despite his best efforts to meet his brother's gaze with an expression that was more level than shame-faced, it was Roxas who looked away first.
A pause, then laughter, which soon turned into a raspy cough as the dust on the front lawn was upturned under Sora's crutches. Despite half-choking, Sora didn't seem to be able to stop laughing; even after raising a hand to cover his mouth, his shoulders shook with silent amusement.
Roxas scowled.
"Right, so my mistake then."
He looked down and kicked at a mix of weeds and gravelly debris, pretending they represented Axel. That deceptive shithead.
"Not really." Sora's voice remained higher than usual, his grin indicative that he was still finding humor in Roxas' current state of ignorance. "He wrote novels that had some …well. I guess you could say gay themes, maybe."
Roxas looked up. This time, he didn't even bother to hide his interest behind a front of standard indifference.
"Got him blacklisted in the publishing community for awhile and some of his books are still banned. It's always hell trying to convince the librarian to order them through the parish's inter-library loan system." Sora's smile settled a little as he looked over at Roxas. "I just didn't think that's what you meant when you mentioned him."
So Axel hadn't been lying. Huh.
Still smiling, Sora took off toward the porch ramp. Roxas rushed to keep up a few steps behind him, eyes aimed at the path Sora's crutches were traveling across an unkempt yard of dirt, weed patches, and grass. He moved ahead as Sora reached the screen door, then held it open. The living room was empty, sounds of their mother filtering over from the kitchen.
"So much for being the family academic."
Sora winked as he passed Roxas.
"But gold star for trying."
o - o
"You wanna go where now?"
Hayner's brows rose with a level of exaggerated skepticism that might have been comical if Roxas hadn't been dead serious.
"You're not deaf. You heard me just fine the first time."
He reached for a fork and stabbed a french fry straight through its center, then glanced out the picture window that framed the booth where a frumpy looking waitress had seated them. It was partially fogged, trails of water running downward in criss-cross patterns. They connected as though forming an abstract tree in reverse, first branches, then a thicker trunk that disappeared from view beneath the table. It reminded Roxas of something else, of the singular symmetry of blackwork body art, specifically. He tried not to dwell on it.
It'd been raining all morning, not exactly a great day to usher in his resumption of freedom. That said, nothing so much as Hurricane Katrina's second coming would've sufficed to keep Roxas inside after a week's worth of house arrest. He'd woken from a restless sleep, dug out a hooded, long sleeve zip-up from the depths of Ven's old closet, then headed downstairs to his ride, amenable to braving a little rain if that was the price he had to pay.
Now Hayner sat across from him, picking apart his BLT club without concern for the mess he was making as lettuce fell on either side of his plate and plucky country music filtered out of a cheap speaker above them. At least it was on a volume low enough to drown out by focusing on Hayner, Roxas noted. Small miracles.
"Yeah, but maybe I thought you'd develop some sense in the last thirty seconds."
Roxas glowered.
"You don't have to come with, you know."
"Oh, don't get me wrong." Dragging a piece of bacon out from between two soggy slices of Wonderbread, Hayner popped it into his mouth before finishing his thought. "I wouldn't miss this for the world, same for the ass whooping your mom's gonna hand you when you come home the day before Christ's resurrection looking like a convicted felon."
Clearly starting to enjoy himself, Hayner's expression brightened.
"Even better, I wanna see Cloud's reaction."
Twisting his fork in his good hand, still eyeing the impaled stick of greasy potato at the end of it, Roxas sighed.
"Glad you've got my back on this."
"Yeah, no prob." Hayner grinned. "I'm here for you. One hundred percent and then some."
He popped another strip of bacon into his mouth, chewed a few times, then switched gears.
"What I wanna know is how you think you're going to pay for this. Aren't tattoos pretty pricey?"
Roxas said nothing, just twisted a little to reach the back pocket of his jeans. He deposited his wallet on the table next to his lunch plate, then flipped it open to reveal a credit card.
"Hey…" Hayner's eyes widened. "How'd you get ahold of that?"
Shrugging, Roxas fiddled with the frayed fabric at one corner of his wallet.
"Applied for it through the bank. Mom set all us up with savings accounts a few years ago. Not that there's much in any of them, but I guess it was enough to get me approved for a card."
Roxas flipped the wallet shut with two fingers.
"And don't be so dramatic," he said. "I'm just gonna go talk to someone about designs and locations and such. I don't even have an appointment so it's not like anything drastic'll even be happening today."
"You're sure you don't wanna go to Traverse for this?"
Digging through his sandwich, Hayner located more bacon. It was slathered in mayo, thin shreds of lettuce sticking to it like limp confetti. Roxas watched with barely concealed disgust as Hayner stuffed it in his mouth, then licked what remained of the fatty spread off his index and middle finger.
"Like I said, today's just about research."
Bacon consumed, Hayner moved his attention to what remained of his ravaged sandwich.
"It's your body. Do what you want, I guess." His eyes traveled to the plate of fries, still virtually untouched in front of Roxas. "You mind?"
"Be my honored guest."
Roxas slid his plate toward Hayner and watched his friend make quick work of fries that by his estimation had come out of a bag straight from the diner's freezer.
A flash of movement caught his attention, and Roxas looked up into a pair of eyes that had already fixed themselves on him. Despite the downpour and no umbrella, Zack looked put together, his usual level of unruffled. Roxas didn't return the offered smile, in fact looked down, as though the table was suddenly worth studying. Today was not a day where he felt like rehashing anything, whether long since past or in the more recent present.
To his relief, Zack made his way past their booth without a word, and Hayner didn't seem to have noticed him.
"Anyway." Hayner's expression shifted to bothered. "I wanted to circle back to Seifer and that scene he made at lunch a few days ago."
"What about it?"
Roxas held back another sigh. He knew where this was going, just wasn't sure if he wanted to get into it. He had his own issues to deal with.
"Like, what was up with him throwing hints that Olette'd been talking to Holly—Riku." At Roxas' testy look, Hayner made the quick correction. "And why'd it seem like he was implying that had anything to do with me in the slightest?"
That damned letter. Hayner had every piece except the one that joined this puzzle together. As Roxas reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip of what amounted to nothing more than murky water, he tried not to grimace or otherwise reveal that he knew anything more than Hayner did.
"I was there and heard him same as you. Instead of asking me for my interpretation, why don't you just go straight to the source? Seems like that'd be a lot more efficient."
Hayner's expression darkened.
"Thanks, no."
"Fine. Okay." Roxas took one final swig that emptied his cup before deciding to speak his entire mind in one sitting. "You wanna know what I think?"
With a curt nod, Roxas saw how Hayner was now leaning closer from across the booth. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another glimpse of Zack. Perched on a stool at the diner counter, he was chatting up a waitress who Roxas realized he'd seen before, just not recently. Not that he patronized Mickey's all that often, but he had to have been about ten the last time he'd seen her serving tables. Maybe twelve. Unlike the server assigned to their booth, the one Zack was talking to was the conventional definition of pretty, with a fresh-faced, just-out-of-high-school look to her. He spared another few seconds to scrutinize the pair, long enough to acknowledge that some people had clearly struck gold when it came to the genetic lottery of longstanding youthfulness, then turned back to Hayner to say his piece about Olette. Over and done with and put to rest.
"I think this whole hissy fit of yours has run its course. The wedding's over, Olette and her mom moved across town almost a month ago, and, yeah, it made things awkward. Olette anticipated that and knew it'd take time to get used to so she kept her distance and let you stew."
Hayner opened his mouth. He looked primed to say something but Roxas kept going before the point he was trying to drive home got sidetracked—or totally derailed, by the across-the-booth look his friend was currently shooting at him.
He ignored it.
"It's been more'n a month, and everyone's more or less gotten over it, except you." He made a grab for his cup, only to remember it was empty. With a deepening scowl, Roxas forged on, cup in hand and waving a little for emphasis. "Half the time I'm convinced you like the drama because she keeps coming to you and you keep getting to punish her on account of something she had no real control over."
He rapped his splint against the chipped formica tabletop, then fixed Hayner with a withering look.
"I can guarantee that won't always be the case, and when the balance shifts and she's no longer interested in tiptoeing on eggshells, you're gonna feel like a damn fool for pushing her away for no good reason in the first place."
With a clatter, Roxas dropped his mug, then set both elbows on the table and cupped his chin in open palms. Across from him, Hayner remained a stony silent, possibly stunned. Maybe just internally fuming at Roxas' blunt call-out.
And Roxas wasn't even done yet.
"This whole thing's gotten blown way out of proportion from where I'm standing," Roxas continued. "Just make up with her already, for the sake of all our respective sanities."
Closing his eyes, Hayner pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
"It's not that simple."
"Actually, it is." Swiping a french fry from the edge of his plate, Roxas popped it into his mouth without bothering to sit full up. "You just walk yourself on up to her, smile all charming-like, and say, 'Hey lady, sorry for being an actual idiot. Wanna go to Prom together so I can make you up for it?' Ain't that difficult. Seriously."
Hayner's shoulders had tensed mid-way through Roxas' over-embellished comment, his eyes widening like saucers by the end with a look that bordered on panicked.
"Like hell I'm asking her out. Not with that meathead breathing down her neck."
"Yeah, so. Seifer? Take him out of the equation, right this instant." Roxas' tone was curt. "He's not interested in her, never has been, and lately all I've seen evidence of is him treating her like a sister anyway, being all protective and making sure people aren't messing with her." He swiped a hand through his mess of damp hair. "Quit making things harder on yourself with justifications that you formulated out of pure horseshit."
"Language, boys."
Roxas and Hayner both looked up at the apron-clad waitress standing over them. She leaned forward, flashing a generous helping of cleavage, and dropped a handwritten bill onto their table.
"This here's a family-friendly establishment."
With downcast eyes and a few mumbled platitudes, Hayner made a grab for the bill as she headed back toward the counter, then shifted his attention back to Roxas.
"Easy for the guy who's already got a girlfriend to offer advice when literally nothing's at stake for you in any of this."
Roxas snorted, then looked up at a dark stain on the ceiling above him.
"This situation's not even a little about me so don't go twisting it into something that is."
"This afternoon sure is about you, though." Across the table, Hayner arched an eyebrow. "And possibly some real bad life choices."
He reached for his wallet. As he flipped it open and dug out a few dollars, Roxas took a moment to consider offering up his card, then thought better of it. It was Hayner's turn to pay, and it wasn't like his bank account was flush with cash just because he had ready access to a running line of credit.
Shrugging, Roxas pocketed his wallet but said nothing.
What was there to say, really? Everyone knew misery loved company.
Hayner counted out the correct change and tip, then deposited the bills on top of their receipt.
As both boys rose and made their way to the front of the diner, Roxas made a point of not looking back at Zack or otherwise acknowledging his presence. He did get an eyeful of their waitress cozying up to another patron a few tables over, elbows pressed together to supplement an already ample bosom as she handed over a menu.
Rolling his eyes, Roxas held the door open for Hayner.
"Family-friendly my left ass cheek."
Pausing under the diner's tattered awning, Hayner glanced over at Roxas.
"What?"
Pulling his hood up over his head, Roxas offered a shrug as he made a dash toward Hayner's van.
Nothing important, that's what.
They got to the van in record time. After both doors slammed shut, Hayner shook his head like a dog, then ran both hands through rain-soaked hair. In the passenger seat, Roxas took a moment to wring out his coat.
"It's really coming down out there." Hayner turned the ignition, then flipped the wipers on and eyed the front windshield. "And they've got a drought all out on the West Coast. Hard to believe."
Roxas said nothing, just waited for the inevitable follow-up remark about how much climate change was an outright farce as Hayner pulled the car out of the diner parking lot.
Hayner's next comment had very little to do with denial of scientific fact, however.
"You really think I should ask her?"
Roxas glanced over but kept his mouth closed. Hayner had already made it clear that it didn't matter what he thought about this particular subject.
"To Prom, I mean," Hayner supplemented, as though clarification was the reason for Roxas' enduring silence.
Roxas turned to look out the passenger window.
"Do what you want, like we all know you're gonna anyhow."
Through the window's reflection, Hayner looked like he was set to argue, mouth slightly open, brows pinched together, eyes on the road in front of him. At least one lesson had been learned over the course of the past few weeks, Roxas thought, even if braking on a dime hardly mattered now without Sora wasn't strapped down behind them in the backseat.
They drove in silence. Hayner had apparently decided to drop the subject, while Roxas remained content to lose himself in a muddle of disjointed thoughts. It wasn't until they entered a side street in the downtown district that Hayner spoke up, and then only after he'd found a parking space adjacent the main street.
There weren't many people out, and Hayner was able to find a parking space almost directly in front of Radiant Hollow's only tattoo parlor. Nestled between a smoke shop and a dingy 7-Eleven in what amounted to a modest strip mall done up to look like something more quaintly architectural, Snipe's Piercing & Ink wasn't anything visually stand-out. With a name that harkened back to one of the region's many game birds, Roxas found it even less enticing.
Whatever. It was closer than trekking all the way to Traverse to get a question or two answered.
For a moment, both boys just studied the storefront. With a metallic rattle, Hayner unlatched his seatbelt and was the first to utter some personal impressions.
"I heard the owner's not all there in the head. Got the senses knocked clear out of him in one of them wars with the Muslims."
He glanced to his right. Still eyeing the shop sign, Roxas had yet to unlatch his own seatbelt or make any move to open the van door.
"Just figured I'd warn you before you decide to get something permanently inked on your skin by him."
"Noted."
The word was a murmur, implied dry humor. Even so, Roxas' expression didn't change, nor did his gaze move away from the sign.
Silence settled between them for a minute, then two, Hayner having run out of things to say, Roxas mentally running through the lines he'd planned to extract the answers he was seeking, then be on his merry way, fast as lightning.
Ultimately, he reached for the door handle, this time not bothering with his coat hood as he sprinted toward shelter under the tattoo shop's overhang. Hayner wasn't far behind. Roxas waited only as long as it took his friend to join him under the entry before pulling the door open.
The tattoo shop's interior was darker than Roxas had envisioned, considering the intricate, detail-orientated nature of work that took place there. They entered into a waiting area, separated from the back space and its padded tables, roller chairs, and assorted supplies by a countertop that effectively halved the room.
A buzzing noise met their ears, not unlike the high-pitched whine of dental equipment, and Roxas was quick to spot a man hunched over a girl lying flat on her stomach on one of the tables, chin propped atop forearms, back illuminated by a bright overhead lamp. Her shirt was also off and hanging on the folding chair beside her, and Roxas was quick to avert his gaze the moment his brain caught up with what his eyes had been ogling.
He only had time to shift his attention to the tattooist's needle, to note jet black hair streaked with thick striations of gray, before someone called out to him.
"Hey, my dude. You a walk-in?"
Tearing his eyes away from the pair, Roxas looked over at the guy who'd just spoken to him, then began to make his way over to the counter as Hayner moved in the opposite direction, toward one of the seats in the waiting area.
"Not exactly."
Roxas stopped in front of the counter, then shook his head. A row of three-ring binders separated him from the man who'd just spoken, one open to a page that showed off a selection of sample art.
"I just had some questions about the process. And other stuff, I guess."
"That's cool." Roxas was treated to a lopsided smile. "Lay 'em on me."
Hesitating now that he had someone to get answers from, Roxas glanced down, away from blond hair that was an odd combo of buzzed in some places and long in others. His gaze fell on a faded name pin that read Dem-something or another that he couldn't quite make out. Perched on a barstool, the guy had an instrument balanced on his legs, its neck thin, the bottom oblong, with a few strings strung up its center. To Roxas, it looked like a guitar on a major acid trip.
Turning just enough to ensure that Hayner was out of earshot, Roxas shifted his attention back to Dem-whatever.
"Like, I have some scarring."
Roxas lifted one of his forearms, inclining his head toward the athletic sleeve covering.
"Ooh, okay. Uno momento, compadre." Dem twisted in his seat, then called out to the man behind him. "Yo, Xig. You almost done? Got someone in need of a consult."
The whine of the tattoo needle ebbed as it hovered over the girl's back. The artist pushed the lamp away and looked over at them, and Roxas got his first clear view of a face that looked like it was dead-set on confirming Hayner's war veteran claim. An angry scar cut a jagged path down one side of his face, while the other was covered by an over-sized eyepatch.
Holy shit. Intense was an understatement.
"Not even close." The man shook his head, giving Roxas a better view of his eyepatch. "Sorry, kid. Time is money."
Dem didn't seem discouraged.
"That's cool. Nada problemo." He offered a thumbs up, then turned back to Roxas. Lifting the instrument and balancing it against the back side of the counter, he slid off the stool. "Our other guy is on break in the back. I'll see if he can spare a couple of minutos to chat with you."
Instead of walking off, Dem just leaned forward and braced the stool seat with both hands as he yelled toward the back of the studio.
"Hey, Axel! Got a minute?"
Roxas froze.
Body rigid, his mind was working double-time to perform a simple equation that calculated the likelihood of there being more than one guy with a name like that in a town like Radiant Hollow.
He wasn't a big fan of the odds.
With rising anxiety, Roxas followed Dem's gaze to a curtain in the far back corner of the parlor, then watched as he pushed off the stool and stood straighter.
"Probably can't hear me from all the way out here." He flashed another grin at Roxas. "I'll go get him. Back in a sec."
Roxas watched him head toward the back room. Deciding not test the piss-poor odds he'd already calculated, he turned and made his way quickly over to Hayner.
"Let's go."
Phone in hand, eyes still scanning what looked like his Facebook app, it took Hayner a moment to look up.
"But we just got he—"
Roxas made a grab at Hayner's free arm and hauled him up before he could finish the sentence.
"Come on."
He tugged harder, had both of them nearly out the door by the time he heard Dem's voice again, commingled with another, low but familiar. Face hot, Roxas had never been so grateful for the dark skies that inclement weather provided.
Unmindful of the rain matting his hair to his forehead, Roxas sped back over to the passenger side of Hayner's van, pointedly ignoring the muttered obscenities Hayner was aiming his way as he fished around in his pocket for keys.
He located them and opened his door, sliding in and taking his sweet time to reach over and unlock the passenger side door. As Roxas hopped in and slammed the door shut, Hayner made a frustrated sound and raked his fingers through dripping hair.
"Well, there wasn't no fire in this holy wet mess, so wanna explain rushing out of there like someone'd just set flame to half the town?"
Roxas shrugged out of his jacket, then twisted the excess water it'd collected out onto the van floor.
"Just don't want to be late to Xion's," he muttered. "You know how her mom gets about mealtime tardiness."
As Hayner revved the engine, he raised his phone up to eye level. He studied the lock screen clock, then shot Roxas a dubious look.
"You've still got almost an hour. It takes fifteen to get to there, tops."
"And that guy was a freakshow." Roxas slouched into the van's bucket seat, shoulders hunching. "I'll go to Traverse to get my answers."
Hayner kept eyes fixed on Roxas and didn't look an ounce of convinced. Roxas, for his part, stared defensively back, then conceded to crossing his arms over his chest and directing his gaze back toward the tattoo shop storefront through a window glittering with raindrops.
"You got your crosses when it comes to Olette, and I got mine, just about other things. So drop it, okay? You were right about it being a bad life choice. I'll admit to that."
"Fine. Whatever." Roxas turned away but not before he saw the look of skepticism coloring Hayner's expression. "But talk about horseshit…"
Twisting the steering wheel to angle them out of the parking space, Roxas could tell that Hayner wasn't even remotely satisfied with the explanation he'd been offered.
Too bad. Some things weren't meant to be shared, not even with the closest of friends. To hell with Snipe's and its creepy owner.
To hell with Axel for working there too, while he was at it and in a giving mood.
o - o
By the time dinner was over, the rain was down to a trickle, and the cool air of early evening felt like a refreshing reprieve from the day's earlier humidity. Roxas sat on a wooden bench set flush against the side of Xion's house, while Xion swung in a lazy rhythm on the porch swing, a fork held loosely in one hand and a plate with a slice of pecan pie balanced on her skirt-covered thighs. The chain links on either side of her grated with her slow rocking motions, her dark hair swishing against each side of her face in the direction opposite that the chair was moving.
There was a hypnotic quality to her movement. It was asymmetrical but measured, and Roxas watched it with a keen attention that he couldn't quite reconcile.
Usually, Xion's mother would have been eager to join them, then talk enough on her end to qualify the conversation as a solo performance. After dinner, she'd cited a headache, her pained expression exaggerated as she made a show of leaving the room to give Roxas and Xion some time alone.
Typical.
Despite skirting an extended period of the evening dealing with her mother, Xion's somber mood hadn't lifted at her departure. She'd remained quiet and mostly unresponsive to Roxas' attempts at conversation since they'd exited the house. Eventually, he'd conceded defeat to silence, content simply to listen to the hollow plonking of raindrops into the metal roof gutter that ran the length of the house.
At least the rain was keeping the birds away, but even that thought came with a caveat. For all he knew, the presence of Xion's corvid friends might have served as the proper catalyst to cheer her up some.
Then again, maybe not, because he'd expected more enthusiasm when he'd pointed out the brass bolt and shard of amber glass left at one of the porch's railing corners. As it stood, Xion's only reaction had been to retrieve the two gifts without a word, fingers curling around them, then depositing them into her skirt's side pocket before returning to her seat. Her expression remained closed, eyes directed away from Roxas and at the rental house in the distance.
This was leading up to something, Roxas knew, whether or not Xion's current silence was purposeful. Yet, they had their unspoken rules about broaching certain subjects for a reason. For the whole span of their relationship to date, they'd known not to question one another's secrets. Maybe that was why Roxas felt so reluctant to start the conversation. Maybe he just didn't want to see their carefully built façade crumble in front of them both tonight, specifically.
Or maybe he was still a little flustered about the near-miss with Axel, a mix of confused and irritated at his knee-jerk reaction to Axel's imminent appearance.
Who knew at this point?
There was one thing he was one hundred percent sure about, and that was the indelible fact that this holding pattern couldn't persist for the rest of the night. Xion might be content just to sit in sullen silence. Roxas, as it stood, was not.
With renewed resolve, he looked over at her.
"So, what'd he do this time?"
The question was blunt, but Roxas was careful to keep his tone light, conversational. There was no point in upsetting Xion from the start by making it sound like he was impatient or even bent on attacking her. In truth, this was new territory for Roxas; never before had he mentioned Xion's father in explicit terms without her referencing him first, which in itself was a rare occurrence.
Xion finally turned to look at him.
"Nothing."
Roxas wouldn't have bought that answer even if it'd been advertised as a red-tag clearance item. He shot her a look that reflected this.
"It wasn't him this time." Xion shook her head, the action unnecessarily vehement. "Not technically."
Roxas still wasn't convinced.
"Then what was so all-fired important that we needed to meet in person?"
There was doubt clouding her expression, a ripple of uncertainty that spread out from her features into the tense posture the rest of her body had adopted. Xion looked away again, then reached for the plate on the swing seat beside her. She placed it back on her lap, the whites of her knuckles stark against the darker shade of hand-crafted china.
"Because I do want to talk, and I might need your sound advice."
Roxas looked at her but said nothing, waiting for her to continue, which she ultimately did, just not before glancing around as though searching for something. Assuming she was looking for even just one raven out braving the storm, Roxas was relieved when her next words suggested they go back inside and continue the conversation in her room.
They weaved their way through the house's first floor, Roxas taking in the ornate furniture and fixtures of a home that had been in one family's possession for well over a century. The pre-war opulence should have annoyed him; it was gaudy, hinted at old money passed down from generation to generation, something his own family couldn't even come close to boasting.
Xion and her mother had never acted like Almasy-level socialites, even if they technically qualified. From Xion's quirky, hand-stitched clothing to her mother's down-to-earth demeanor and her preference for home-made meals over fast food or hired cooks, the Bellevues were a family of two that felt more cohesive than the Strife family's disjointed five.
There'd also been something appealing about Xion herself. Although sometimes oddball in her ambiguous responses and often prone to quoting dead American poetesses, to Roxas Xion wasn't like other girls. She wasn't fussed over her looks or about climbing some pointless high school social ladder. In the end, they hadn't decided to date as much as they'd fallen down a rabbit hole into a world of denial about each other's personal struggles. Up until recently, both had seemed content with their lots.
Except, this wasn't some watered down Disney version of Wonderland, and Roxas had serious doubts about the prospect of happy endings for either of them.
Without a word, he followed her up the stairs. They were well-carved, smooth with a coat of lacquer that had been reapplied just last year. When the sun was out and light filtered in from the tall foyer windows, each step shone like the surface of still water, so many polished, reflective universes in the span of a single staircase. In the dim visibility of the day's overcast evening, however, each step was a void unto itself. Inert. Lifeless.
As they entered her room, Roxas made a beeline for Xion's bed. Xion usually joined him there, sometimes opting for her reading seat, occasionally lowering herself onto the plush rug that covered the better part of her floor. This evening, she bypassed each of her typical choices in favor of the desk situated in front her room's largest window. Roxas was quick to notice that it was mercifully closed tonight.
Bunching her skirt into one clenched hand, Xion leaned forward and retrieved an envelope wedged between two books on her desk, then retraced her steps and joined Roxas on the bed.
With deliberate care, she placed the envelope on the sheets between them and drew her knees up to her chest, forearms wrapping around herself as she looked over at Roxas. Roxas looked back, studying her for a second, then slowly reached out and swiped the letter up with his good hand.
The flap was already open. He noted the return address without comment as he pulled out a piece of paper and considered the notarized seal of the State of Louisiana. Roxas skimmed the text until he came across the one-line directive at the end of the notice.
You are hereby summoned to appear…
He looked up.
"You got subpoenaed to go to court?"
Xion nodded.
"The Monday after Prom. Nine in the morning, sharp."
It was possible Roxas had imagined it, but Xion's voice seemed to quaver during her answer. For the first time since they'd begun dating, he wondered if she might start crying right in front of him.
She inhaled; the deep breath seemed to have a calming effect. Her shoulders lowered and the tension previously present in her expression relaxed.
Refolding the letter, Roxas slipped it back into the envelope.
"Can't your mom call someone?" He looked back over at his girlfriend. "I thought this business was supposed to be private, or expunged? Or…"
"Sealed," Xion offered. "The records were sealed. That's probably why they want me to testify now."
Her voice was a monotone. As Roxas grappled with the best way to respond, Xion spoke again.
"And Mama can't do anything. I'm eighteen, so this is on me to handle."
Roxas frowned.
"So tell 'em no if you don't want to have it dredged up again."
Xion looked down at the space between them. Roxas had never seen her look so defeated.
"I don't think it works like that."
Truth be told, Roxas didn't know the finer details of Xion's past. Xion, in turn, had never expressed an inclination to discuss them. Roxas knew enough to make a few educated guesses, and none of them were especially pleasant. Although their ordeals during childhood had likely differed, Roxas knew a thing or two about fathers who'd shirked their duties as supportive parental figures, even if he'd never uttered an actual word of it to Xion. Looking the other way in the face of their collective pain had become a form of watching out for one another. It was a shield that was strengthened via shared silence.
This was probably why Roxas' first instinct involved his usual brand of deflection.
"Well," he said, leaning back against one of the bed's plush pillows, eyes directed up at the ceiling above him, "if there's no real way to avoid the inevitable, maybe think about taking the edge off in the meanwhile."
Although he was no longer looking at her, Roxas could feel Xion's eyes on him as he slid a hand into one pocket, fingers seeking the smooth plastic of a baggy that was in his near constant possession. He only had three pills left; two, he amended as he pulled one out and deposited it into his mouth. He glanced at Xion in the midst of swallowing it dry, and chose to ignore the narrowing of eyes still watching him. The blue of Xion's irises fell almost entirely out of view as he held out the baggy.
Xion said nothing, but she eyed the two caplets, sky blue and cylindrical at the bottom corner of the ziplock.
"Oh, c'mon." Roxas shot a pointed look at his outstretched arm. "You can't honestly tell me you've never taken advantage of this, what with the stockpile your mama's amassed since both of y'all moved back here."
Her jaw clenched, then released as she looked over at him.
"No, I haven't."
With a small shrug, Roxas shoved the baggy back into his pocket. He pushed himself up on flat palms, then shifted onto his knees, cutting the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Extending one hand, he tucked a strand of wayward hair behind Xion's ear.
Leaning closer, fingers caressing her silky hair, Roxas brushed his lips against her cheek. Like a gentle wisp of wind, he moved up her jaw, stopping to linger just briefly near the shell of one ear.
"Liar."
The word was a teasing whisper, followed by a sense of personal gratification that lasted only as long as it took Xion to push him away. The action was surprisingly forceful, and Roxas had to brace himself against his own backward momentum as his spine connected with the mattress, elbows bending to keep himself partially upright.
The glare Xion shot his way was practically glacial.
"Boy, if that was meant to be funny, this isn't me laughing."
Roxas shrugged, as much as he was able in his current position.
"Then please to excuse. I just find it highly improbable, is all."
"You and I are very different."
The assertion was matter of fact, Xion's expression not so much troubled as haunted.
"Different, but complementary."
His own voice sounded distant, the result of the pill doing its intended work.
Xion blinked at his words and homed in on Roxas. She didn't speak, didn't so much as move an inch, actually.
"You acquire, and I avail myself," Roxas supplemented, offering a lazy smile as a sense of blessed calm settled over him. "That's what a relationship is, right? Symbiotic."
His faculties were quickly becoming stunted, sluggish. This was typical. Anticipated, even.
What wasn't was Xion's rapid-fire reaction, or the sudden weight on top of him, pushing him flat onto his back and into the duvet cover.
"Xi, what the—?"
She cut him off with a rough kiss, fingernails raking over the glossy fabric on one forearm.
At first, he kissed her back, the action more automatic than infused with any formal intention. At the back of his mind, logic still lingered, along with the thought that if he just let this play out Xion's rough conduct might yield to something more gentle.
It didn't.
If anything, his acceptance seemed to further incite her. Not satisfied with a kiss that was merely mouth against mouth, Xion's tongue sought entrance between his lips, de facto demanded it. While one hand moved above him, pinning his wrist against the pillow with enough force to induce pinpricks of failing circulation, the other moved lower, from his arm down his stomach until it settled over his lap, first kneading, then outright squeezing.
Panting for breath as sparks of heat jolted down his spine, Roxas struggled to break away.
"Hey, what the fuck?"
He felt another squeeze, this time gentler, her rhythm increasing, encouraging a physical reaction that was wholly unwanted. Once again, Roxas tried to shift out of her grip.
But Xion had him straddled, knees on either side of his thighs, effectively rendering his lower body immobile, the rest of her weight bearing down on his pinned arm, leaving Roxas incapable of any sort of movement under the cruel grip of her hand. Between his splinted finger and the odd angle left available to him, his other hand was just as useless, despite its relative freedom.
"Oh, c'mon. I thought you liked using others to feel better about yourself."
The words were soft, a mockery of his own. She released him a beat later, then pressed her lap against his. To Roxas' everlasting shame, the friction it caused offered hard proof of his body's own mutinous arousal.
"Just …stop, will you?"
The protest felt weak in the face of his physical response, a verbal no when his body was clearly declaring the opposite.
Their gazes met, Roxas' eyes wide and more lucid than only minutes earlier.
The look Xion returned was far more inscrutable.
"Why?" She quirked her head. "He didn't."
The sensuality had left her tone; what remained sounded hopeless. And weary. Although Roxas opened his mouth, no words issued forth, not a sound to counter the simple truth of her statement.
Nevertheless, she did release him, first his arm, numb and useless above him. His legs came next, Xion's hold loosening as she slid onto the bed next to him, cross-legged, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"'Did you tell him to stop? How come you're still in contact? He's paid child support religiously since the divorce, even more than what's legally required. Does this seem like the actions of an uncaring father?'"
Roxas stared at her as she dropped her chin to her sternum, dark hair tumbling across her face and obscuring her features.
"These are the things they'll ask, that I'll have to describe in-depth, first with the State's attorneys who will be nice, I expect."
She paused, long enough for him to cut in, to say something if he'd had a mind to. Thoughts still sluggish, mind still a bit stunned by Xion's recent actions, Roxas stayed silent, though he had the abrupt sense that someone else was watching them—gauging his every move and word from this moment on forward.
Xion eventually spoke again, this time in a way that was almost ruminative.
"It's the defense that will question everything. They're the ones who'll make me look like an outright liar in front of everyone if this goes to trial."
"So make sure it's airtight." Relieved he'd finally found his voice, the words came out in a jumbled rush. "Make sure to go over every possible way they could think to discredit you. Memorize each answer. Look them straight in the eye, all defiant-like. Don't waver."
He pushed himself up, then crossed his legs under him, copying her earlier action. Reaching forward, Roxas set his hand on top of Xion's, ignoring the discomfort that came with an appendage that hadn't yet regained full circulation.
She looked up at his touch, fixed her eyes on him; they held despair that Roxas immediately recognized, despite its drastically different origin.
"He's a state legislator. This will be all over the news." The words sounded strangled, the tendons in Xion's neck prominent as she swallowed. "The others are young, still children. They can't get him on me, just need my testimony. Mama's already warned me not to make trouble, plus who knows how many relatives will be mad at me, having their business aired so publicly? This is the Hour of Lead."
Before he could respond, she dropped her head into her hands, shoulders trembling, hair swaying around her face. Before he could utter even one word of comfort, Xion leaned into him with a frame so thin, so diminutive, that Roxas found it hard to reconcile how easily she had pinned him down just minutes ago.
Regardless, he held her, arms encircling Xion's shoulders, chin lifting enough to allow her to tuck her head beneath it. They rocked together, Roxas unsteady from the induced surreality of prescription painkillers, Xion from something far more psychological and long-standing.
Above them, a handcrafted mobile jangled, its crystalline baubles tinkling. A blond girl's spirit hovered over them, silent and observing everything.
Ghosts followed them both; of that Roxas was sure. More and more, they all seemed primed to push the limits between buried past and unearthed present to become their collective undoing.
Another thing Roxas knew with near certainty: It was only a matter of time before they could no longer hide, before their long-held silence was no longer able to protect either one of them.