A/N: There's a longer explanation for my absence on AO3, which is where I'm considering exclusively updating in the future. If you'd like to keep up with this fic, please subscribe there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN: STILL STANDING STILL
"In the nothingness, at least we're not alone
It feels like home."
"Still Standing Still" - flor (feat. Lostboycrow)
"Hey, Xig. Stop at the next gas station?"
"Are you fucking serious?"
Larxene's tone was positively feral. Roxas looked up, unsure of much beyond not wanting to get involved.
"As sin." Demyx shrugged at Larxene. "It'll only take a sec."
"That bladder of yours is pea-sized, if even. I have never wanted to stab someone so much." Larxene's jaw tensed, fingers thrumming the table surface. She looked up at the light fixture and let out a deep, beleaguered breath. "This week, anyway."
"Curb that homicidal urge," a voice called from the front of the vehicle." I'm not in the mood to scrub blood stains out of the upholstery again."
Curled on a love seat across from the dining area, knees tucked in to his chest, Roxas looked between Larxene and what he could see of Xigbar in the camper's front cabin.
He took a mental note, then filed it away for future reference: Don't get on Larxene's bad side. Noted, duly.
From the passenger seat up front, Roxas saw Zexion shake his head.
"I can't imagine why you removed those covers in the first place."
"Because it's my friggin' vehicle. My grave mistake for assuming grown-ass adults know how to conduct themselves."
"Touché." Hands up, Demyx blew a raspberry. "But I still gotta pee, so are we stopping, or …"
"Oh, we'll stop," Xigbar said, "but you're buying us a round of snacks to make up for time lost."
In the loft above the drivers cabin, Xion shook her head, then pushed up to her elbows on a thin blow-up mattress. She smiled down at Roxas.
This is fun, she mouthed.
Roxas pursed his lips. He sorely begged to differ.
It'd been thirty straight minutes of bickering. Coupled with roads that should've been repaved half a decade ago and Xigbar's twangy playlist that seemed hellbent on inducing a migraine, Roxas supposed he should've been glad a touch of nausea was all he was suffering—he failed to grasp how Zexion was still reading without getting car sick with all the stopping, starting, and jerky bouncing.
One saving grace: Axel wasn't around. Xigbar's pickup followed at a safe distance behind the camper, Axel at its helm.
Regardless, his phone had lost signal half an hour ago, leaving him with little to occupy himself apart from Larxene's verbal assault. Occasionally, Axel's voice would crackle to life through the two-way radio that Xigbar had insisted they take with them. That silky smoker's baritone wasn't nearly as unsettling as it was in person, but it still left Roxas battling an unwelcome wave of nerves that in no way harmonized with his existing motion sickness.
"Hey, Ax. Get off at the next exit. Dem has a UTI or something."
"Demyx, friend." Axel's voice was a velvety purr of put-on concern through the radio's receiver. "You should really get that looked at."
The comment elicited a chuckle from Zexion and an expression of exaggerated offense from Demyx. Xigbar just shook his head.
"There are snacks in it for all of us, on Demyx. It'll be your first left off the exit."
"Copy."
Larxene groaned, then said something that Roxas had no qualms tuning out. A stop would be a chance stretch his limbs, to get away from these people for a few minutes. Maybe he could even scrounge up enough signal to download a new playlist.
It took him half a soulful song chorus to realize that Axel would also be stopping. Short of beating Dem to the bathroom, which would probably create new problems, Roxas didn't have many ideas on how to avoid Axel.
The camper veered, and Roxas was unkindly reminded of the day-old coffee and trio of Kraft singles he'd wolfed down that morning. There was also his half-eaten school lunch, something breaded and fried, but otherwise unidentifiable.
Well. A trip to the bathroom might not be such a bad idea after all.
The gas station itself was unremarkable, just four fill stations adjacent to a mini-mart. Demyx leapt up and abandoned ship before the camper fully stopped. So much for Roxas' plan to preemptively hijack the bathroom.
Roxas glanced toward the pickup and made a quick decision. Instead of following Dem to the bathroom around back, he darted out of the camper and made a beeline for the gas station.
A full-on yellow-bellied coward. That's what he was, but Roxas had been floundering all week, revisiting that damned kiss on repeat.
He remembered it a couple of different ways already, after a mere five days and change: in some, Axel had been the instigator. In others, it was Roxas who'd planned all along to lean in. Nothing spontaneous about it.
Regardless of how far his memory had twisted the truth, every time Roxas saw Axel now—sometimes even just thought about him—wave after wave of roiling sensation rose and then crested in Roxas' chest.
He tried to rationalize it, thought maybe it was formed by his own disgust. Maybe Seifer's rampant, anti-queer rants had rubbed off on him so thoroughly the thought of kissing another guy induced physical aversion.
Bullshit, and Roxas knew it.
He exited the camper, hoping only for a temporary reprieve as he jangled through the mini-mart's door. Above him, bells rang heavy with accusation, but the attendant didn't look up from behind the counter. Roxas slipped down an aisle unnoticed.
That's when the whistling started.
At first, it was a quiet undertone mingled with other, more standard sounds. Roxas fixed his eyes on a row of beef jerky packets, scanning the labels without reading any of them. The whistling rose in a steady crescendo. When he glanced up, dark, spiky hair was already making its way toward him from one aisle over.
Lord, damnit. No rest for the wicked.
There was a chance Zack hadn't seen him. Sometimes being short gave him that latent advantage. This hope was dashed a mere second later. No mercy in the matter.
"Fancy meeting you this far out in the backwoods."
Fight me in hell, how about?
Roxas swallowed down the retort. "Back atcha," he muttered instead, eyes on a packet of alligator jerky, studying it with undue attention.
Then, silence. For one blissful moment, Roxas thought that hair might move on, that it'd take its nonchalant, disembodied voice along with it, without further comment.
"The city's always a fun weekend getaway. I remember liking it, anyhow. Those lights, all the tourists. A detour to go see Aerith." Roxas bristled but said nothing as Zack continued talking. "Cloud get a chance to make his out that way often?"
"No. And, anyway, we're not going to the city." Roxas turned away from what little he could see of Zack. A pane of smudged glass gave him a full view of the dirt lot where the pickup and camper were parked. Everyone was still there, except for Demyx. A thin trail of smoke hovered above Axel like a conflicted spirit that didn't know whether to dissolve or take a more solid form.
"Aren't you now?" Zack poked his head around the end of his aisle. A beat of silence, then he followed Roxas' gaze out the window. "I never pinned you as an outdoorsy type."
With a disgruntled huff, Roxas abandoned the jerky in favor of the back wall beer coolers.
"You neither."
"Well, nah," Zack said, all agreeable now. "I'm not. Got some work-business that needs attending."
"What, Big Government's gone and set up shop in the swamp?"
Zack grinned. He sauntered into view and leaned up against the frosted glass of the cooler next to Roxas.
"Actually, yeah. It's a prime location. Minimal traffic. Close enough to the city to access necessities." He surveyed Roxas, arms loosely crossed as he eyed the bottles obscured by freezer fog. "Want me to buy you something? Porter? Stout? Can't really see you enjoying anything hoppy, in all honesty."
Roxas knew Zack was teasing; he just wasn't in the right mood to play along—particularly when the jangling of bells announced the end of his reprieve from Axel.
"Gotta get going." Roxas shuffled up the nearest aisle and grabbed a bag of chips.
If Zack said anything in response, Roxas didn't hear it. A quick look out the storefront window confirmed that Axel was still outside smoking. Small mercies.
Demyx, on the other hand, was in fine form now that he'd returned from the bathroom.
"Keep it to a couple bucks, pleeeeease," Demyx beseeched, hands clasped. "My job pays bupkis."
For someone who claimed to be an aspiring musician, he sure was tone deaf when it came to controlling his volume.
Xigbar shot Demyx a pointed look. "I know a way it can pay less. Involves you being out on your entire ass by the end of the weekend."
"Hey!" Demyx huffed. "I work hard for my minimum wage."
"You sit around and play covers, mostly." That came from Zexion.
Demyx scrunched up his brows and shot Zexion an injured look. "You're supposed to be on my side. Those're the rules. Ooh, jerky." The next thing Roxas knew, Demyx was skipping down the aisle in his direction. He came to a sudden stop in front of the packets Roxas had been pretending to study. "I dunno. Kangaroo sounds a little exotic. And kinda like animal cruelty."
"Literally every type of meat would qualify, then." Larxene spoke in a bored tone. She opted for a large bag of Skittles, before relieving Demyx of his billfold.
"Yeah, okay," Demyx said. "But kangaroos are cute and fuzzy. These other options, not so much. Like, man, ostriches." He reached up and waved a jerky packet in a wide arc. "They aren't cute, right? They're mean and ugly and can't even fly. Fuck them. Seriously."
"They clearly deserved to be freeze-dried." Zexion again, this time in a complete deadpan.
"Totally." Demyx flashed a smile at Roxas and waggled his eyebrows. "My Zexy gets me."
Roxas heard a deep sigh from Zexion, followed by a look of long-suffering.
The conversation devolved as Demyx and Larxene bickered at the register. He was still trying to defend his use of Zexion diminutives when Zack sauntered away from the freezers, stopping beside Roxas.
"Aren't you a social little butterfly since our last chat. Never would've predicted." He chuckled and made to ruffle Roxas' hair, but Roxas ducked with a scowl. Shrugging, Zack twisted on his heel. "Suit yourself. Enjoy the trip, kiddo."
He disappeared into the next aisle. Then, more whistling.
"Did you pick your snack?"
Roxas half-jumped out of his skin as Xion placed a hand on his arm.
"Jesus." He blinked. Sucked in a breath, then let it out. "Yeah."
"We should head up to the register, then. Larxene doesn't seem like the patient type."
Right.
Roxas held up the bag of chips, then stole a quick glance back toward the aisle where he'd last seen Zack. The whistling was softer now, but still audible.
"I'll take those if you want to head back to the camper," Xion said.
He passed them over, and Xion paused, eyes on the label. "You're sure these're what you want?"
"Sure," Roxas echoed, then headed for the door. "Meet you back out there."
He made a point not to look toward the pickup. He could imagine Axel's eyes following him across the lot just fine without officially confirming.
Dropping back onto the love seat, Roxas made room as Xion scooted beside him. She passed him his chips, but Roxas was lost in a whirlwind of images. Axel in a dark suit. Zack and Cloud as teenagers. Aerith and her beloved flowers.
When the chips did enter his mind again, Roxas stared at the bag for what felt like a solid minute, then grimaced.
'Limited edition,' the bag declared in a swirl of loud cursive. He'd gone and bought chips flavored with hot sauce and chitterlings.
o - o
The closer they drove to the coast, the muddier the road.
Then there was the stillness of the bayou. Even from inside the camper, Roxas could sense it. Maybe remember was a better word. It wasn't about ghosts so much as memories—of ramshackle houses, Cajun culture, crows feet beside the laughing eyes of older relatives.
This was a lost world, the land surrendered to a fast receding coastline. Most of the bayou's residents had migrated north, or died before their time. Radiant Hollow was a backup his parents had mapped out when Roxas was young. Even though he considered it home, it didn't change facts: the Strifes were strangers in their own land. Modern-day migrants.
Vanishing shores. Few stable job opportunities. Pollution so wide-spread even fish caught in their own waters couldn't be eaten. In the bayou, there was too much instability, and too many illnesses that couldn't quite be linked to nearby oil refineries—not directly, which was the only thing that mattered to the government and its attorneys. Courts weren't on the side of the disenfranchised. Native Cajuns were on their own, like usual.
Roxas had long since surrendered his chips to Demyx, only half-listening to ongoing conversations. The deeper they drove into the heart of the southeastern swamps, the jumpier he felt. They had slowed to nearly a crawl, coasting over terrain that was often more sludge than roadway.
Eventually, the road ended, but Xigbar kept driving; Axel remained behind them, and Xion curled up against Roxas, dozing.
Roxas' memories of this place were a mixed bag of his nan forgetting his name every other day, and Dad downing bottle after hoppy bottle while his mom handled the meals. He and Sora spent time outdoors with their older cousins, avoiding the adults, entertaining themselves by stalking frogs. He remembered family conversations as a blend of English and Louisiana French, Creole cusses rounding out his vocabulary care of black neighbors. Whispered legends, too, plus conspiracy theories and political rants, the latter of which usually came from his dad. Those convictions still stayed with him years later, long after his dad had left.
Xion stirred, eyes fluttering open. The camper rolled to a stop under a glen bordered by cypress trees.
Yawning, Xion nuzzled into Roxas' shoulder. "We're here already?"
Roxas shrugged. They were in the swamps. Last he checked, the Gulf was still a ways off.
Demyx and Larxene didn't seem bothered. Both headed for the camper's back door to meet Xigbar and Zexion who had already exited.
Xigbar circled the camper, aiming for the pickup. He removed a large duffel bag from its covered chassis.
Ropes. Duct tape. Knives. Kerosine. Roxas let himself consider the remote possibility that he and Xion had accepted a trip into the middle of nowhere from a group of serial killers.
His gaze paused at Demyx through the window. He was licking chitterling chip dust from his fingers.
Yeah, on second thought, never mind. Assuming he kept out of Larxene's crosshairs, they were probably fine.
"Out, out, slowpokes!" Demyx yelled. "Oblivion waits for no one."
Xion got up first. Brows raised inquiringly, she took the hand Demyx offered her, hopping down from the camper. Roxas followed a few steps behind.
"Where are we?" Xion looked around, eyes half-lidded, expression calm.
Demyx grinned. He brought his hands together in one sharp motion. Birds vacated the trees above them in a chorus of flustered squawks. Glancing up, Roxas sucked in a breath and tried not to tense.
"Land of Departure." Demyx gestured past the trees surrounding the camper. "Or close enough. The dock's not far."
Roxas looked where Demyx was pointing. The trees cast dancing shadows amid a patchwork green-yellow in the late afternoon sun. A few yards ahead, the land sloped down. Grass gave way to a different shade of green. Swaying with the slight breeze, lily pads blanketed the swamp's surface, while light sparkled on thin slits of water between them, flecks of shimmering gold.
It was both foreign and familiar, yet Roxas couldn't guess what they were doing here. This swampy inlet might eventually lead to the Gulf, but that was still miles further south. It'd be faster to drive, even on sludgy roads.
Roxas turned to Demyx, prepped to ask questions, just as skinny jeans came into view, then sauntered past. In that instant, all Roxas accomplished was setting teeth to the spongy muscle of his tongue, along with a silent Creole cuss. An eyeful of Axel mingled with the hint of blood in his mouth. Mossy branches obscured Axel's movements, but not enough that Roxas couldn't see the care he took to avoid swampy spots where the ground was too soft to tread on.
"Nothing yet," Axel said.
"She'll be here soon enough. They know we're coming." Xigbar brushed past Axel, his duffel slung over a shoulder as he glanced at Roxas and Xion. "This here's our annual pit stop," he explained. "My joints can handle one night of conventional camping, tops."
Well, okay. Except that still didn't explain much of anything.
A foghorn offered the first tangible clue. It carried across the swamp, low and lethargic, rippling the brackish water. Around them, the forest fell silent.
The boat came into view in increments. At one time, its exterior may have been a pristine white, with red accents along the paddlewheel and railings. Years of trolling through briny waters had taken their toll. The white paint was now greenish, its accents a faded, dingy crimson.
"All right," called Xigbar. "This'll be home for the night so grab your stuff, younglin's."
Roxas followed Xion back to the camper. The boat seemed like it'd hardly moved at all by the time they returned to the dock. The ground was too soggy to set anything down, so Roxas copied Xigbar, hoisting his bag over one shoulder.
He looked back at the water, saw movement. A small boat was getting lowered on ropes from the larger boat's second deck. A man stood a level below, ensuring it didn't collide with the railing. It hit the water with splosh, then rocked precariously until the man crouched down to steady it. He looked up, waved toward the dock, then hopped in with agility that belied his equine size.
He rowed quickly, then secured the boat to the dock with a coil of rope and climbed out. Standing at his full height, the guy was easily twice Roxas' size.
"Xigbar, brother. Good'ta see ya." The men embraced, hands clapping flat-palmed against the other's backs. The newcomer surveyed the rest of the group, then addressed each person in turn. "How's the music career going? Read any good books lately or are they keeping you too busy at that school o' so-called higher learning?" A big grin here. Then, "One of my contacts might have a lead, if you're still looking to acquire a Chitimacha embossed blade cover." And, "New ink, right? That there's some fine lining."
Then, he turned to Xion and Roxas.
"Well, hi." He glanced at Xigbar. "New friends?"
Xion stepped forward, offering a hand and her name before anyone could do it for her. The man hunched down to her level and extended his own.
"Lexaeus."
They shook. Xion inclined her head with a small smile. "Plaisir."
"Tous de moi." Lexaeus grinned, then turned back to Xigbar. "Nice to hear des mots from a younger tongue, tu sais-que, no?"
Xigbar nodded as Lexaeus spoke in a blend of English and Cajun French that reminded Roxas of his grandparents.
"And you?" Lexaeus looked at Roxas next. "Qui c'est ça?"
Roxas offered his name in a low voice, eyes down.
Introductions over, Lexaeus waved them toward the waiting boat.
"I don't know about the rest of y'all but I had lunch hours ago. Now I've got an envie for a large supper. Anyone hungry? There's plenty to go around."
He gestured to Xion first, then helped her into the boat. Roxas went next. The boat soon filled with bags and bodies, until only Lexaeus and Axel were left standing on the dock, looking down at them.
It was Axel who seemed to be waffling. His eyes darted between the passenger boat and the larger vessel in the distance.
"Seven around?"
"Nah," said Lexaeus. "He's out in Lafayette on some mission or another. Wasn't particularly specific. You know him."
Pursing his lips, Axel nodded. Roxas considered the number Axel had uttered, trying to connect it to an image of a person that might clue him in. Yeah, nothing.
Eyes aimed at the larger boat, Axel finally boarded. Lexaeus hopped in last. The boat rocked with the additional imbalance of weight. Roxas held his breath until the water around them settled.
Taking up one of the paddles, Lexaeus passed another to Xigbar. The air around them was damp, gave off an earthen scent that took Roxas years back. In the trees above, Roxas could sense the girl, but she stayed quiet, seemingly content to watch events unfold in silence.
Beside him, Xion shifted.
"It's like you're Bernard and I'm Miss Bianca, on our way to save Penny from Madame Medusa," she whispered. Her breath tickled his ear.
Roxas wasn't sure how he felt about being compared to talking rats. Like the girl, he kept quiet.
They neared the river boat. On the deck, another man watched their approach. He was similar in size to Lexaeus. Roxas wondered how people this hardy could thrive in an environment that was more or less dying.
Lexaeus tossed a rope toward the other man, who caught it and reeled them in. Roxas' attention was drawn to the space beneath the first floor railing. There was lettering, a ship's name in faded paint, that Roxas struggled to read. He saw a few curved letters, a couple of sharp lines, and finally understood.
The boat was named after nothingness itself. How uplifting.
From the first deck, a ladder lowered. They exited the small boat in reverse order, Xion last this time. Axel kept his distance, his head bowed. Roxas supposed this was ideal. The last thing he wanted was to find himself cornered, forced to publicly discuss what had happened between them last week.
"Donc, enfants. Xaldin will show you your rooms." Lexaeus shifted his gaze from Roxas and Xion to the rest of the group. "I will assume you all still know what's what?"
"Dibs on Blue Room!" Demyx sprinted down the deck. While most people dispersed to the back of the boat, Xaldin started walking in the opposite direction without so much as a backwards glance to see if Roxas and Xion were following. They scrambled to keep up, then trailed silently behind him. Roxas studied Xaldin in profile just long enough to note the wild swirl of facial hair. Genetics were weird.
Xaldin led them to the boat's interior, down a corridor, to two sparsely furnished rooms. He waited for them to deposit their bags. Then they were off, this time in the opposite direction. Up a staircase with rusty railings. Entering a space that looked like a dual-purpose dining hall-game room.
Everyone but Axel was already there, along with two other men Roxas hadn't seen before. Unlike Lexaeus and Xaldin, this pair was normal-sized and clean-cut, although one was as sickly thin as Axel, with hair longer than Xion's. There was something off about his expression, something a bit unhinged. Roxas made a mental note to steer clear of him. He had enough instability in his life already.
The other man seemed older, his hair cut close to his scalp. Where Crazed-Face was lurking beside the bar in a far corner, Silver-Fox-Mafia-Boss was seated at what looked like a poker table at an old-time casino. If he was surprised to see a pair of high schoolers behind Xaldin, nothing in his expression revealed it.
A flurry of frenetic hand-waving drew Roxas' gaze over to Demyx across the room.
"Buffet style, y'all. Lex assured me he was the cook, so that's a guarantee it's edible."
Crazed-Face glowered even more at Dem's comment, which gave Roxas a decent idea of whose culinary skills left something to be desired. They approached a long table, set up at one corner of the room.
"Don't worry," Lexaeus said, watching Roxas scan the food. "The catfish came from a clean stream further north. Same for the craws."
"Used to be you could fish out here and live entirely off the land," the man at the poker table cut in, "but that time's long past."
If Roxas had anything to say, it got shelved the moment Axel appeared. They locked eyes and studied each other, Roxas looking away first, toward Xion, who was nodding in response to the conversation still going on. Her brows pinched in sympathy.
Like she knows anything about hardship.
Roxas mentally checked himself before he gave voice to a thought that could so easily be countered.
"Now all we've got is toxic waters, plus nutria—and you can only boil them river rats so many ways before you get tired of their gamey hides." Lexaeus looked from Roxas to Xion. "Ever tried any?"
Roxas shrugged as Xion shook her head. Not a shocker. There wasn't much more redneck than a meal of cooked swamp rats the size of small beavers. When they also came with a government-funded bounty, nutria hunting could be a viable side-hustle. While he and Sora hunted for frogs when they were younger, Cloud and their dad had often set their sights on furrier hides.
No point in admitting his boonies roots, though, especially with Axel within earshot. Roxas got in line behind Demyx, filled a paper plate with food, then headed for an empty corner of the room.
At the head of the poker table, Silver cleared his throat. "Cards, anyone?"
"Introductions first," Lexaeus suggested.
Crazed-Face turned out to have a name, as did Silver, not that Roxas bothered committing either to memory. Learning names of people he didn't care about was too much, particularly with Axel around to distract him. Even though Axel'd hardly acknowledged him since boarding Oblivion, the upward curve of his lips felt like it was put on solely for Roxas' benefit.
"Anyway, I'm in," Axel said to Silver once names had been exchanged for the second time that day. "Texas Hold 'Em?"
"I was thinking Stud."
"I'm game." Sliding a hand into his back pocket, Axel pulled out a lighter. "Got any rolls? Mine are a bit waterlogged from the trip over."
Silver shook his head. "I gave up cigarettes. How do you feel about Cubans?"
Axel responded with a beguiling smile. "Like they're out of my price range, most usually."
"C'mere," said Silver. "You can repay me by playing a solid game." He reached for Axel's lighter, taking a long, appreciative puff of his own cigar before offering Axel a fresh one. He scanned the room. "Table's open. The more the merrier."
The exchange had ended, but Roxas kept his attention fixed on Axel's appreciative expression as he drew in a breath, then released it in deliberate ringlets. In his distraction, Roxas hadn't noticed Xion's absence from his side, but Axel had. He pulled out a chair as she approached, then took a seat of his own.
"Ever played before?" Silver asked her.
Xion shook her head.
"Start 'em learning young. That's my philosophy." He turned to Axel. "Care to mentor her for a couple rounds until she catches on?"
Food forgotten, Roxas studied Axel and Xion sitting beside each other. A prickle of nerves climbed his spine, then took a detour toward his gut. It was unlikely either would have time to discuss anything beyond poker. That didn't entirely stifle the worry.
As others made their way to the card table, as beer bottle tops got pried off and the air thickened with the smoke of pricey cigars, Roxas slipped out.
There were times he was content to sit and stare for hours in a sluggish stupor. Over the past week something had changed. Now, the prospect of standing still, of being a passive observer, had become close to unbearable.
The voices faded as Roxas made his way toward the back of the boat. Soon, only the river boat's paddlewheel was audible as it sloshed into and out of the water below.
At the far side of the boat, Roxas crouched down, one hand balancing his food plate, the other finding the rail for balance. He set his plate on the deck beside him and let his legs swing. The lowest rail rung crossed just above his chest. He sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned forward until his sternum was rested against the rusty rung.
The girl was close. Even blind, Roxas knew this much. He could hear her in the rustling of cypress leaves, in birds chirruping, and the gentle slosh of bayou water. It was a song, distinctive as a fingerprint. Eyes closed, Roxas could imagine a lacy shift dress fluttering against pale legs, a gentle breeze whipping white-blond hair around her cheeks.
In these quiet moments, Roxas didn't mind the company. Her presence was less foreboding, more comforting. Sometimes, they came to a mutual understanding. They weren't at odds now, merely coexisting.
Breath in, then out. One after the other, from minute to minute, hour upon hour, until years passed and he was only a memory, as forgotten as a girl once called—
"I see you found an equanimous spot amid the din."
The words broke the girl's spell. Roxas blinked his eyes open, craning his neck over one shoulder.
The deck was bathed in dim light and darker shadows. He squinted, expecting to see Axel, but the speaker's voice was wrong. A fine mist curled around the deck floor. The shadows shifted, and Roxas found himself looking up at Zexion.
"Didn't feel like playing cards." Roxas shrugged, then turned back to the swamp. "Or blacking up my lungs with secondhand smoke."
"I see." Zexion's voice was low. His presence had a calming effect where other's grated, often adding to Roxas' aggravation. "Do you mind if I join you?"
"It's a free country."
God save the queen.
He could almost hear the click of Olette's kitten heels against decades old linoleum, Lord save him.
Half-expecting Zexion to sit beside him, Roxas was surprised to hear his footsteps grow fainter. He stole a glance at the deck, just as Zexion lowered himself onto an iron bench. Welded to the deck floor, it was situated under a dingy light fixture. In the dimming dusk, Roxas hadn't noticed the book tucked under Zexion's arm, even though it was thick. A veritable tome. Crossing his legs, Zexion lay the book across his thighs and began to flip to a marked page.
Roxas had left the game room seeking quiet, and Zexion seemed amenable to maintaining the status quo. But now that Zexion was here, Roxas found the silence a bit uncomfortable himself
He drew his legs up to his chest and twisted to face Zexion.
"Poker not your thing either?"
"The opposite, actually." Zexion closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on Roxas. "I almost always win."
On anyone else, that line would've sounded like gloating, but Zexion's inflection hadn't changed since he'd arrived. He'd spoken matter of factly. It took Roxas a second to make the connection.
"You can count cards."
"Indeed. As such, Luxord has seen fit to ban me from his games." Roxas detected a faint hint of amusement as Zexion looked down at his book again.
The thrum of a string instrument reached them, plucky and slow. Zexion didn't look up, and Roxas watched as his eyes drifted from one line to the next. He turned a page while Roxas considered the stark contrast between Demyx's boundless energy and the studiousness calm of the young man in front of him.
He'd never put much stock in the standard 'opposites attract' nonsense. But as his thoughts returned involuntarily to Axel, Roxas conceded it might have some merit.
"What're you reading?"
He wasn't sure why he felt the need to talk. Usually, it was Roxas getting annoyed when others dragged him out of his thoughts. Now, he was doing it to Zexion, not that Zexion seemed to mind. He answered with the same measured tone he'd employed since arriving.
"A history of the African American diaspora."
Roxas quirked his head, which accomplished approximately zilch to parse what Zexion had just said.
"Nearly six million blacks left the South between 1915 and 1970, seeking better opportunities." Zexion lifted the book a little, balancing it on his forearms. "This is an account of an American migration they tend not to teach in Southern schools."
Roxas had never heard of it. But then, he could count the number of black students in his school on one hand, if that. Teaching that aspect of history probably wasn't a priority in his district. 'Separate but equal' may have been struck down decades ago, but unofficial segregation was still par for the course in the South. Radiant Hollow itself was a mostly white town.
He looked at the ambiguous shade of Zexion's skin and ventured an observation.
"But not all of them left." It hadn't been intended as a question; nevertheless, the final word turned over itself, then rose.
"No." Zexion's smile was small and controlled. "And the ones who stayed are a large reason we have any Creole culture whatsoever."
"Cála enterèse, mo trouv."
The comment was out before Roxas could stop himself. Had the girl spoken through him? Or were they simply words of a language heard years ago, resurfacing like verbal memories?
Every time he heard the girl speak, Roxas wondered why she chose the language of his childhood neighbors, rather than his own kin. Now, looking at Zexion's brow as his visible eye widened to study him, Roxas considered the possibility that each word the girl had spoken since she'd first materialized had been primed for an encounter like this. Or an unplanned weekend. Just, something, something, something he couldn't pin down, no matter how long he tried to mull it out.
"You're certainly full of surprises. I suppose I can see why you've piqued Axel's interest."
Zexion held Roxas' gaze a beat longer, then returned to his book—and not a moment too soon, because Roxas wasn't confident the lighting would conceal the heat creeping into his cheeks.
He glanced down the deck, almost expecting to see a head of gelled red.
But, nothing. Just the gentle undulations of the boat, and the sounds of swamp life. The rest of the deck stayed empty.
Twisting back to the railing, Roxas let his feet dangle again. The music continued in the distance, a lulling strum that mingled with the occasional crinkle of turned pages.
Roxas took a breath in.
No more thoughts about Axel and Xion, he told himself. No more wondering if the girl was watching. Not now. There'd be time for that later. Until then, he closed his eyes again and focused on clearing his mind. If ever there was at place to fall into the inky nothingness of night, the second deck of a boat called Oblivion must be it, he figured.
o - o
The sky was on fire, and there was no one to warn.
No, wrong. It was ablaze, but no one cared. Did it matter even to him?
Roxas couldn't tell, could hardly remember how they'd gotten all the way up here, or why they'd come.
Backtrack, then. Start over. A mental retracing of steps was in order.
First: fried eggs. Plus collard greens and grits that had followed a night of dreamless sleep. Between ancient, architectural groans and the boat's rhythmic rocking, he'd fallen asleep with relative ease. Oblivion had earned its name.
Okay, second: Demyx. Waking everyone up with a crooned song well before dawn.
Third: Departure. Or was that fourth, after breakfast, which was third rather than first? Regardless, they hadn't lingered. Xigbar was ready to move on.
Next: Back to the camper, via the passenger boat. Duffle bags and Demyx pouting when Xigbar announced there'd be no stopping for bathroom breaks.
The coast was a mere thirty minutes south, but the roads grew increasingly narrow the closer they got. The state had long since given up repaving after every new hurricane. Too many, with regularity. Never enough money.
This time, Larxene took the overhead sleeper and Demyx called dibs on the love seat. Roxas remembered this only because it left Xion and him at the camper's dining table.
Cards: Xion shuffled the deck, then distributed them. A parting gift from Silver.
Half-heard explanations: "You shouldn't really play a poker game with just one deck" and "It makes the game too short, but also too easy for someone to cheat by counting."
Zexion: A grin. From his vantage, Roxas couldn't see Zexion's expression, but he could imagine.
The kiss: Still a secret? Probably. Must be. Xion would've said something.
Vaguely, Roxas recalled a slogging stop in a state park's gravelly clay lot, then energy he didn't know what to do with, much like the night before. It was tamped by a sudden, desperate need to see the ocean.
Eyes closed, mouth open. Crisp, salt-tinged air. Arms out. A sensation of flying and falling at the same time.
Eyes open, sensing a presence, which was Axel, hands tucked into jean pockets. Watching him.
Could a moment be a million years wrapped into a few seconds? Could they stand together on the beach, at a minimal distance, but still be worlds apart?
Tents went up, at some point firewood appeared, transferred into waiting arms. Dinner, then dessert prepped by Demyx the morning before, stored overnight in the camper's cooler. Larxene spitting into the sand, jabbing a blue popsicle through the air like a sword as Dem dodged to avoid her. Salt mistaken for sugar.
Smiles and laughter, his own, plus others'.
Or maybe he had imagined all that. Maybe Roxas had only ever been in this tower with Axel and Xion, the rest of the world an elaborate sham.
But no. That wasn't right. Before that, a spark of light. A little fire offered by Axel, along with a conspiratorial smile and the promise of peace, albeit temporary.
No. Thanks.
Shoulders tensing.
Xion's look of mild pity as she inhaled. Green eyes assessing. Judging, possibly.
Fine. Okay.
Before the sky was on fire, the inferno was in his throat. Inhaled smoke, then a coughing spasm. Eyes watering.
All three of them waiting for something, something, something.
But then: a weight lifting from his body. And, god, was he hungry.
The second hit was easier, his mental fog blessedly thicker.
The beach spun sideways. Their campsite was a blur, the beach an infinite-endless. Roxas' gaze strayed to something in the distance.
"Do you think folks still use that?"
He couldn't remember when he'd decided to ask, but these details seemed to matter less with each passing second.
"Probably." The word was a purr of consonants caressing vowels. "Ships still sail into the Gulf. They need to see where they're going in the dark."
Axel looked at him, blue caught in a snare of green. Ocean and bayou, mingling. "Want to go?"
Roxas simply stared.
Those eyes. That smile.
Go where now?
"Yes." It was followed by an uncharacteristic giggle. Xion was already moving toward Axel. One arm hooked around his tattooed elbow.
Go …
Xion slowed to a stop a few feet in front of Roxas. She and Axel swayed together, sand sifting beneath their feet.
"You coming?"
… where?
Above them, a formation of birds soared overhead, momentarily obscuring atmospheric oranges and pinks. Roxas watched, until they disappeared into the wetlands behind him. His mind finally caught up with Xion's question.
Oh.
She extended a hand, and Roxas let her lead him toward the light tower.
It was slow going. Underfoot, the sand separated into divots. Shoes sunk with each step. His head spun in a foggy loss of equilibrium that wasn't necessarily unpleasant. Just different.
Maybe this was what his dad felt when he drank, but Roxas quickly dismissed the thought. Nothing about his current state made him feel angry or inclined to violent mood swings. He just wanted to sit and think.
The tower, when they eventually got there, was little more than a succession of boards, held together with nails and decades-old support beams.
Axel pulled in front of them, taking the stairs two at a time, Xion not far behind. The boards groaned under their weight. Typically, this would've been enough to stop Roxas. Normally, he would've refused to be coaxed beyond the campsite.
If only to himself, he was willing to admit there was nothing typical about any of this.
The higher they climbed, the more the wind flung scratchy grains of sand at their exposed skin. What usually would have irked him, Roxas hardly noticed.
The steps leveled off. Then, the world: sky ablaze, sea reflecting.
Also: Skirt fluttering. Xion spun and lifted it until all the sand that had collected found a new home outside of her fabric's dark folds.
"They call this the widow's walk." Her tone was solemn.
Axel ran a hand through his hair before nodding. "Also known as a gallery."
"That doesn't sound near as romantic."
Another observation, uttered without thought on his part. Axel cut his eyes at Roxas but said nothing as he moved toward the tower's ledge. He sat, legs a double pendulum. History repeating.
"There's nothing romantic about death, or losing someone you love."
The wind carried the comment to him, tone androgynous. Roxas didn't know who had spoken, or if it even mattered. Thoughts of Sora swirled like Xion's skirt, each memory released fine-grained and fleeting.
When had Xion left him for Axel? One moment, she stood beside him, the next she was seated at the tower's ledge, shoulders brushing Axel's. Emotions warred at the sight, from longing to regret. Definitely some envy. This didn't stop him from approaching Xion when she beckoned him over.
Between Roxas and Axel, Xion sat cross-legged, skirt whipping as it tried to escape the gravity of her lower extremities. The fabric moved in erratic directions, caught between her legs and the ocean breeze.
"Feel like a girl yet?"
Roxas was aware that he'd lost all self-restraint at this point, but he'd asked the question less to mock, more out of genuine curiosity.
Across from him, Axel gave Roxas a questioning look.
"I don't." Head bowed, dark hair curtained Xion's features. "Not yet, anyhow. Maybe not ever. I don't know."
She reached for Roxas' hand, and Roxas let Xion thread her fingers between his.
Eventually, a heavy breath broke the silence, and Axel offered his two cents.
"There's a word for that." His eyes were fixed on the waves in the distance, but it was clear that his comment was for Xion. "Several actually, depending."
Xion made a soft sound, encouraging him to go on. Obligingly, Axel listed off a string of gender-based terms. Some even sounded familiar to Roxas. His internet searches had apparently served some educational purpose.
"That one." Axel paused mid-sentence as Xion's voice rose. "Not a boy or a girl or anything in between. I'm a nothing."
Nothing, Roxas thought. No one. But that sounded wrong. Xion was his friend, a student, someone's kid. To him, that was the opposite of nothingness.
Axel drew one leg up, arm curling around a bent knee. "Does that extend to pronouns?"
"Not sure yet."
Roxas felt Xion shrug against him. That was the extent of her answer. She followed Axel's gaze out over the Gulf, to a horizon set cardinal-red against the blues of the ocean.
"Do you think there are others seeing the very same colors, right this moment? An identical sunset?"
"Hopefully not," Axel returned. "It'd mean more people collectively witnessing this same pollution and not doing a thing about it."
Xion seemed to deflate a little. "You're probably right." She squeezed Roxas' hand tight and looked over at him. "Fib a bit for me?"
"What?" Roxas stared down at her.
"Fib," Xion said again, fingers still clenching his hand. "Just for today. Tell me the world isn't as bad as everyone keeps saying."
He'd always been so quick to reply, lies or otherwise. Now, his mouth felt ashy, tongue thick and impossible to swallow around.
Xion kept her eyes locked on his. Waiting.
Things'll be fine. Three words. That's all she seemed to want to hear.
Verbally, Roxas was stuck. The words wouldn't come.
"Seems it's just one of those days." Axel stepped in for him, adopting a subdued tone, with no hint of his usual bravado. "Sometimes haze is just haze. And somewhere out there in Alabama, maybe Mississippi, or Vietnam or some unnamed island, there're folks just like us, looking at the same red sunset. Maybe they're best friends. Could've just met. Doesn't matter if they go their separate ways come morning and never cross paths again. The sky remembers everything."
Xion took a breath in, then relaxed her grip on Roxas' hand. She shifted away, toward Axel, who bowed his head as though responding to a silent request. Xion's kiss was chaste, placed on Axel's cheek below violet ink.
Then: Done. Xion turned back to Roxas, hands searching for his again as she rested her head on the curve of his collarbone. Roxas leaned back to accommodate her weight, elbows locked, arms bracing. His fingers brushed the back of Axel's hand, and a prickle of sensation traveled up his limb. Roxas didn't jerk away. He felt Axel shift in place, but the contact remained.
They watched the day end, just the three of them. Morning would come quickly, with its persistent, grim realities. For now, bearing witness to the rising twilight was enough. Everything and nothing all at once.